A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  Nilda smiled. “That leaves more for those left, then.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Mrs. Schoenleber commented, “I see that Rune is aware of the end of logging and planning ahead to find other means of income. The land that grows those big trees is not good farmland without a lot of soil improvement.”

  “I know that is a big concern of his. He works manure and leaves, pine needles, sawdust, anything that will decompose, back into the land. Signe read that hog and chicken manure are best. In any case, it’s much, much work.”

  “Ah, Nilda, the future. I am not so sure that I am ready for it.”

  The next day, when the telephone on the wall by the kitchen rang two shorts and a long, Nilda answered it to learn there was a parcel for them at the railroad station. She passed the message on to George and returned to answering letters for Mrs. Schoenleber.

  “Must be the typewriter,” her employer said. “I wonder if Jane has found us some help yet.”

  “Do you want me to telephone her?”

  “No, she dislikes it worse than I do. Were you planning on taking a walk today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, we’ll send her a note.”

  “No lessons today?”

  “She had something else to do. I know, I’ll send George over on his way back from the station.”

  As soon as they finished their meal, Nilda wrote the note to Miss Walstead and dispatched George on the errands. The cool breeze coming in the window felt good, so she took her new leather-bound writing case outside on the terrace, in the shade. First on her list was a reply to Jeffrey Schmitz.

  Dear Mr. Schmitz,

  Thank you for your note of last week. I also enjoyed the symphony. I had never heard such glorious music.

  As to your request to know more about me, I was born and raised on a farm near a town in the Valders region of Norway. It could hardly be called a town, its only buildings being the local school, a church, and the general store. In the late spring when the snow had melted on the higher valleys, the young women and the children took the cows, goats, and sheep up to the seter, where there was grazing for the cattle. We took care of the animals, sheared the sheep, and made cheese from the goats’ and cows’ milk. I have many good memories of those months.

  I have three brothers, one of whom came to America before I did, then sent me and our younger brother tickets to come to help an uncle and aunt near Blackduck. Rune and his family are all west of Benson’s Corner on the farm still. After my father passed away, my mother immigrated with a cousin and her little boy.

  Mrs. Schoenleber employed me to be her assistant and has been training me ever since. As soon as we decide on a date for the next social, I will send you an invitation as you requested.

  Sincerely,

  Miss Nilda Carlson

  She addressed the envelope and set it with the others in the basket for George to take to the post office. One proper thing done. Why Jeffrey would bother to answer was beyond her.

  She wanted to spend another hour on the proposal, but since she would have to go inside to do that, she watched a butterfly flit from daisy to daisy and up to the roses. The purple martin chorus sang in full force, and it looked like the males were standing guard and bringing food to their nesting mates. Inhaling the sweet scent of roses, she closed her eyes in delight. This yard was certainly a piece of heaven. And such colors! The blue of the sky made the green in the trees glisten in the sunlight, the leaves dancing with the breeze while the piled puff of clouds changed shape before the sculpting winds.

  She opened a leather-bound Dickens novel, one of the books Miss Walstead had assigned for her reading. Cold winter nights would be far better for this than a summer afternoon.

  What were they doing out at the farm about now? Her mor was most likely at the loom. Signe might be weeding the garden. The men might be out in the woods or perhaps starting to build the long barn for the hogs. Next winter the sheep would spend the nights in there too. If Nilda were there, she could be weeding or carding wool or working at the spinning wheel.

  “Why the sigh?” Mrs. Schoenleber asked from the doorway.

  “Just thinking of all they are doing out at the farm. If Kirstin isn’t down for a nap, Leif might have her with him in the wagon down at the barn or out in the garden. Wherever she is, she will need to be washed down before she goes in the house.”

  “I would be so pleased to have your mother come visit and bring Kirstin and Leif. Do you think it could ever happen?” She sat down in the opposite chair. “I don’t come out here often enough. Thank you.”

  “Now, before canning season begins, would be a good time. Do you want to send her an invitation?”

  “Yes, and I ordered tea and lemonade.”

  Nilda turned the pages of her calendar. “We also need to set the date for the picnic social.” She tapped her pencil on the pages. “I suggest we schedule the social on the last Friday of the month and invite Mor for Wednesday two weeks from now, and she could return home on Friday. I’m sure she and Leif would come, but . . .” Nilda shook her head. “Kirstin is not much into leaving home yet.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps you are right. Will Gunlaug be offended if I order things for them? I have so much here, and I would like to share it with them.”

  “I will see what I can do.”

  “Remember, I did not grow up with all of this wealth. We were not poor by any means, but . . . but I do understand pride.” Her smile had a tinge of craftiness. “I guess I could purchase skis for relatives or half of the schoolchildren of Blackduck.”

  Nilda shook her head. The woman she so respected might just do such a thing.

  “Or hams and bacon or . . . I’m going to do some thinking on this. You know, instead of housing, perhaps we should feed people. Buy from local farmers and such.” Mrs. Schoenleber thanked Stella and chose a glass of lemonade. “These Norwegian immigrants are a proud folk; they would rather work for something than get a handout.”

  Nilda choked on her lemonade. She coughed, and Mrs. Schoenleber thumped her on the back. When she could breathe again, she nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Was it really that shocking?”

  “No, no, of course not.” She could not look at the woman across the table without laughing or at least shaking her head. “Probably the surprise was you saying that. I mean, I know about pride, but I’ve also come to believe the saying ‘pride goeth before a fall.’” Nilda was assigned Bible chapters at each English lesson. If this kept up, she would read the whole Bible cover to cover. In English.

  “Perhaps I can give them presents. I’ll have to think about it. After all, you dealt with all your new clothing and schooling.”

  “Only because you were my employer and I was being paid to learn a new way of life. And no, before you ask, I am not one bit sorry. I always want to make you proud of me, because I know how important appearances are to you. It has to be that way for the position you are in.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Was that slight sarcasm she heard? “However, if you find me out weeding in the garden . . .”

  “You realize George would be horrified.”

  “I’ll tell him it is good for my soul.” Nilda stared down at her leather-bound writing case under the book she’d been reading. “Do you think it at all a possibility that your brothers would consider investing in my proposal?”

  “No. I could call for a vote, but four to one is not much of a help.”

  “Then I’ll complete the proposal and move on to my next possibility. We can invite the key benefactors of Blackduck to a dinner meeting here. Several of them already know what I have been exploring, but if there is anyone else who should be included, may I please have their names?”

  “Good. I can think of two, Thor Haglund and Mrs. Isabella Schwartz. She, like me, was widowed at a young age but has spent much of her life traveling around the world. I believe she just returned from somewhere. She usually attends the ladies’ functions whe
n she is in town.” She reached over and patted the back of Nilda’s hand. “I’m sorry to not be more positive about the board.”

  “Well, it’s good to be realistic, I suppose. I’m surprised a couple of those other proposals made it past your brothers.”

  “If they read them at all.”

  Nilda wrote the invitation to Gunlaug and Leif to visit in a couple of weeks as she had suggested. They could telephone their acceptance from Benson’s Corner, and the train tickets would be waiting for them there. Following that, she wrote six invitations to dinner next Wednesday, which would include a discussion about assistance for the residents of Blackduck. The next social would be the last Friday in July, but she went ahead and wrote the invitations and set them aside to mail later.

  “Your shipment is in the kitchen,” George announced. “Do you want me to uncrate it?”

  Nilda pushed back her chair. “I’m coming. Mrs. Schoenleber is upstairs taking a nap. I think we can unpack it and set it up here on the desk. I do hope there are good instructions.”

  Once the typewriter was sitting on the kitchen table and Nilda and George were trying to follow the written instructions and drawings, Mrs. Schoenleber followed the noise to the kitchen.

  “See,” Nilda pointed to a drawing on a page in the booklet. “They look to spool this way.”

  “Yes, miss, but I already did that and nothing happened.” George crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s start from the beginning again. You read them aloud while I follow them.”

  Cook jumped back when she noticed Mrs. Schoenleber. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

  “Would you please go ahead and fix whatever you had planned for tea?” their employer said.

  “Just having a bit of trouble.” George looked over at her. “You ever really looked at one of these contraptions?”

  “Not the insides, no. We could always call Elmer at the bank. I know he uses one.”

  “Wait, I think we have it.” Nilda touched one piece. George turned it with pliers, and the spools snapped into place.

  “Good job, miss. I’ll carry it in to the desk.”

  Nilda smiled in triumph. “I’ll bring the book. I think we have all we need here. There are instructions on how to use it, including which fingers for which keystrokes. Something like playing a piano, it seems to me.”

  Wrapped in more brown paper and tied with string, they found a ream of paper, another spool of inked ribbon, and a strange pink eraser.

  George set the machine on the desk and stepped back. Nilda sat down, picked up a single sheet of paper and, following the diagrams, turned the knob on the side of the carriage to roll the paper into place.

  “Type a word, or your name.” Mrs. Schoenleber sounded as excited as the rest of them.

  Nilda set her fingers on the middle line of keys but switched to using just her index fingers to make something happen more easily. She typed her name, then George, then Cook. “Oh, I forgot to hit the capital letters at the beginning.” She started again, pressing the shift key for capital letters. I did it. I really typed words on this machine. “I guess I will do all the lessons next.” She looked up at Mrs. Schoenleber, who was standing on her right side. “Do you want to try it?”

  “Not today, but I will at some point. Jane will be so surprised when she comes tomorrow. I didn’t tell her when it might arrive.” She nodded slowly. “I think this will be a turning point in the way we do business. Heinrik has been after me for the last several years, and we have now succumbed. Welcome to the twentieth century.”

  George pointed to a picture in the book. “According to this, that desk is too high for Nilda to use easily. We need to get her a low table like this one.”

  “I wonder if we can order one.”

  “Or I could build one. If you don’t mind, I’ll go over to the bank and see what they are using.”

  “You might ask where they bought them.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Charles carried in the tea tray and set it on the table between the two wingback chairs. “Unless you would rather have this outside?”

  “Not today, thank you. Come, Nilda, let’s leave the new toy alone for now.”

  After tea, where they further discussed the needs of Blackduck, Nilda returned to working on the keystrokes at the typewriter. When the telephone rang, she went to answer it, flexing her aching fingers. Lifting down the earpiece, she reminded herself she did not need to shout into the mouthpiece.

  “Hello, this is Miss Carlson speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Good afternoon, Nilda, this is Fritz Larsson. Is my aunt there?” The sound of his voice made her smile.

  “She is, but you know how she dislikes talking on the telephone. May I give her a message?”

  “Yes, tell her I am coming into town tomorrow for a meeting at ten, and then I would like to come for dinner. Well, actually, I’d like to return home the day after.”

  “I’m sure that will be fine. We have no engagements on the calendar.”

  “Good, then I will see you around dinnertime.”

  “Fritz, have you ever typed on a typewriter?”

  “I have, why?”

  “We have one now, and I am trying to learn how to use it.”

  “Perhaps we can do two lessons tomorrow afternoon, then. Typewriter and piano.”

  “Piano sounds much more appealing, but thank you. I’ll tell Cook that you are coming.” She hooked the earpiece back on the prong and returned to the room that was becoming more study than sun-room. “Fritz asked if he could come here after his meeting and leave the next morning.”

  “And you said of course.” Mrs. Schoenleber nodded. “That means we can have a foursome for cards, since Jane will be here too.”

  “True, and he knows how to use a typewriter.”

  “Now, why didn’t I think of that? Of course he does. He worked for an attorney while he was going to college. Arvid hoped that would encourage him to become an attorney, but Fritz would have none of it.”

  When Nilda returned to her machine, her fingers seemed to be more cooperative, and she found herself humming. All because Fritz was coming?

  Chapter

  10

  A letter for you from Nilda.” Leif bounded up the porch steps.

  “You and Rufus went out to the mailbox?” Gunlaug looked up from her loom. “If I had known you were going, you could have taken one down for me.” She took the envelope and slit it open with a small knife she kept by the loom.

  “So, is she coming home again soon?”

  “Let me read it to find out.” She scanned the single page. “Well, my word, she is inviting you and me to come in on the train and stay there for a couple of nights.”

  “Us?” He thumbed his chest.

  “Yes. We are to telephone from Benson’s, and the tickets will be there waiting for us.”

  “A train ride. I need to ask Mor.” He started to dash out, then stopped at the door. “Do you want to go?”

  “I most certainly do. I’m sure we have butter and eggs, oh, and some soft cheese to deliver. You want to drive?”

  “I think we have more cream to churn. I’ll ask Mor. She and Tante Gerd are out in the garden.” He charged out the door and leaped over the steps. She could hear him through the open window.

  Gunlaug slammed the bar down to tighten the weave and picked up the rhythm of throwing the shuttle, slamming the bar and pressing down on the footpad to change the color of the stripes. This one was so close to being done that perhaps she could finish it in the next day or so. What they really needed was to get the spinning wheel busy. Gerd was about out of yarn for knitting. They had plenty of fleece, and it was time to shear again.

  Signe entered the house with Leif dancing beside her. “It’s getting warm out there.” She used her apron to mop her forehead. “The breeze through here feels good.” Returning to the kitchen, she pumped herself a glass of water. “You want some too?”

  “Yes, please.” Gunlaug smiled at Leif.
“Where’s Kirstin?”

  “Sound asleep in the wagon parked in the shade.”

  Signe handed Gunlaug a glass and sat down in the rocking chair, sipping while the chair rocked gently. She took the letter Gunlaug handed her and read it, nodding. “Do you want to go?”

  “I do, and it will be a good experience for Leif.”

  “Kirstin will be lost without him.”

  “I know, but we’ll be gone only two nights. I’m hoping to get this rug done before we leave and the loom restrung. Nilda seems pretty busy helping Mrs. Schoenleber. And all that studying she is doing.”

  “I’ll ask Rune if he has any skis to ship or deliver. That last order was from someone in Blackduck.”

  “If it keeps going the way it is, he will have to hire help. Especially through haying season.”

  “So, we are going?” Leif shifted from one foot to the other. When Signe nodded, he tore for the door, careful not to yell until he was away from the house.

  The two women exchanged smiles. “Leif and I will go make the telephone call tomorrow and deliver whatever is ready to go,” Gunlaug said. “He mentioned there is cream in the churn.”

  “It is on the back porch, so he must have brought it up. We have the pot of chicken and dumplings left, so supper will be easy. We’ll fry the two rabbits Knute brought in for dinner tomorrow. Good thing we have rice and beans, since there aren’t any potatoes. But the peas are ready for a first picking.”

  “Did you dig under any potato plants?”

  Signe nodded. “Not large enough yet. Another week might do it.” She cocked her head. “I hear Kirstin.”

  “I’ll go get her.”

  “Leif will bring her in.” Signe rocked peacefully, the songs of the rocker and the loom playing counterpart. The sparrow family who had built a nest on the back porch were having an argument. Gul, the tabby cat who was big-bellied again, came and rubbed against Gunlaug’s legs.

  “Ef, Ef, Ef.” Kirstin thumped her brother on the head as he carried her into the house.

  “And who is that?” He pointed at Signe.

  “Mo.” She reached with both hands for her mother.