“You look lovely, my dear,” Mrs. Schoenleber said, a smile accompanying her nod. She rose from her chair in the morning room, setting her navy silk rustling. “You know who these people are, and they are of the same mind as we are. All for the good of the people of Blackduck. Just remember, for several of them, the dollar sign is most important. It is our job to convince them that this will not only profit the people but them as well. A big order I know, but you—we—are up to it.”
They both turned at the chime of the front door and Charles’ footsteps as he answered it.
Mrs. Schoenleber puffed out a breath, one eyebrow lifting as she smiled again at her protégé. She leaned closer. “Remember, these are the same men who played croquet on our back lawn last summer when we hosted the picnic.”
“Ja—yes, I know, but I remember something else. Several of them like to win at all costs.”
Together, they swept into the parlor, where Charles showed two men inside and then turned to answer another chime at the front door.
“Good day, welcome, so good of you to come.” Mrs. Schoenleber extended her hand to shake theirs. “I hope your day is going well.”
Mr. Mathew Amundson, president of the First National Bank, took her hand with a slight bow. “I know you have something up your sleeve again, and I am looking forward to our coming discussion.” His eyes twinkled. The two of them had been friends for more years than they liked to count.
“You know me well, Mathew. Together we have accomplished a great deal for our town. Today is one more opportunity.”
Mrs. Schoenleber greeted the others as they arrived by twos and threes until twelve people were gathered, including one other woman, Mrs. Schwartz, who always managed to be on the other side of any issue Mrs. Schoenleber took up.
Fritz joined them in the parlor. “Sorry I’m almost late.”
Nilda nodded. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
Charles appeared in the arched doorway to the dining room. “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you, Charles.” Mrs. Schoenleber turned to the guests. “If you will. Miss Carlson put nameplates at the settings.”
“So we cannot gang up on you?” Henry Mueller, head of the local Lumbermen’s Association, said with a grin.
“Henry, you found me out.”
Chuckles danced through the group as they found their places. They greeted each other, all relaxed, fully expecting a fine meal and a good, possibly memorable discussion.
Nilda took her place to the right of Mrs. Schoenleber, watching as they all discovered where to sit and stood behind their chairs. “Reverend Holtschmidt, will you please say the blessing?”
“I’d be delighted.” He waited for the rustlings to settle. “Father in heaven, we gather here to learn how we can best serve you in our positions of leadership in this town. Thank you for the many ways you have blessed us and for each one gathered here. Give us your wisdom and foresight to do and be our best. Thank you for this meal and the hands that prepared it. All to your glory and honor, amen.”
“Thank you, please be seated.”
While Mathew Amundson seated Mrs. Schoenleber, Henry Mueller pulled out Nilda’s chair. “Thank you.” She smiled at Henry over her shoulder. She had planned to seat him beside her because he reminded her of one of her uncles at home in Norway. Besides, he had given them the idea in the first place.
Henry leaned closer to Nilda to whisper, “I see your cook has been at it again. My wife and I envy you all with such a cook to feed you. I’d hire her in a minute if only she were looking for a different job.”
“Why, what happened to your cook?” Nilda spread her napkin in her lap.
“She had to go take care of her sister, so my wife says we have to find a good cook very soon. Do you know of anyone?”
“I will ask Cook if she knows anyone.”
He nodded. “That is a very good idea. Thank you.” He smiled up at the butler, who set a bowl of soup in front of him. “What kind of soup is this? I was busy talking.”
“Cream of mushroom with a touch of lemon, sir.”
“And Mrs. Solvang’s secret ingredient? I know she always adds something.”
“Now, surely you don’t expect me to give away her family secrets.”
Nilda could hear the smile in Charles’ voice. He always enjoyed hearing their cook be praised, and he would be sure to tell her.
While conversations blossomed around the table, as far as Nilda could hear, they stayed away from discussing the business of the coming meeting. When Mrs. Schwartz directly asked Mrs. Schoenleber a question about it, she smiled and deftly changed the subject. The man next to Mrs. Schwartz turned and asked her a question, earning Nilda’s gratitude. With every social event, she managed to learn something new. In this case, how to manage conversations with contrary guests. Nilda glanced up to catch Mrs. Schoenleber’s slight nod. How she kept track of everything going on was beyond Nilda’s comprehension. It was all she could do to answer any questions pointed to her and to keep Henry entertained. Good thing he was such a pleasant man.
While Charles and the maid cleared the table and set the chocolate mousse pie before them, Mrs. Schoenleber stood, waiting for their attention. “In order to keep our meeting from going all afternoon, we will begin while you enjoy your coffee and dessert.”
“Hoping to encourage agreement by sweetening us up?” Mr. Durfield, head of the school system, said, his smile encouraging similar responses from others.
“Now, that is not a bad idea, thank you.” Mrs. Schoenleber’s response brought a sprinkle of chuckles. Everyone was indeed in a good mood. “I know all of you have met my assistant, Miss Nilda Carlson, and today she will be our presenter. In fact, she has already asked many of you for suggestions on how we can provide opportunities for the residents of Blackduck. I hope you have been thinking on this and brought your ideas to add to the stewpot.”
She nodded to Nilda, who stood and smiled at those around the table.
Lord, please help. “Thank you for coming today. As Mrs. Schoenleber said, I have been talking with many of you already. She assigned me the task of discerning what the needs of the people who live in Blackduck are and how we can help.”
“The Bible says God helps those who help themselves,” Mrs. Schwartz said.
Reverend Holtschmidt grimaced. “Actually, that is not in the Bible.” Nilda caught the look that passed between him and Mrs. Schoenleber.
“But the Bible does say for those who have to share with those who have not.” Nilda almost bit her lip. How had that slipped out? Several undercover chuckles let her breathe again. “The general consensus has been that housing is needed, especially for the families of the men who come to the logging camps for the winter. I know they are encouraged to leave their families behind, but that might not be feasible for many of them. So I asked Mr. Mueller to give us a five-minute overview of an estimate for building something besides tar-paper shacks.”
He stood, thanked her, and gave cost estimates and income projections, passing out papers with diagrams and costs. “We propose that we form a charitable foundation and, with the money donated, have at least ten homes ready for occupancy by logging season. If we were assured of more funding, we could erect more.”
“I am opening the floor for discussion,” Mrs. Schoenleber said. “To begin with, we are seeking someone who will donate land close enough to town.”
“Money, money, money. All you ever want is money for this and money for that. I should have known better than to come today.” Mrs. Schwartz scowled.
“You know you came because you are proud to be part of the community of Blackduck.” Mr. Amundson leaned forward to make her look at him. “And, Isabella, you like your name on the plaques. That does not come for free.”
Mrs. Schwartz glared at Nilda and sputtered into her napkin but said nothing more.
Nilda breathed a sigh of relief. “Any more questions for Mr. Mueller?” She paused. “Any further questions on any topic?”
> Thor Haglund, whom she had just recently met, signaled her. “Yes, thank you. I been in this town since I was a young man, and I believe what my far always said. ‘Start your own business and save your money.’ Investing in land was what he advocated. So we worked and did that, then sold the trees and bought more land.” He looked around the room. “Folks were kind to us immigrants, and I believe we need to pass that kindness on. Now, it seems to me that we were all invited here for two reasons. We have money, and we care about our town and community. I have a piece of land a mile southeast of town, and I can donate ten acres without losing any sleep over it. The pine trees are long gone, but brush and deciduous trees are sprouting up, just like the Lord God ordained them to do. If I do that, we still have to come up with money for the supplies. I know some strong young men who would be grateful for the work and might just do so as a down payment on one of those houses. I know that Miss Carlson was proposing rentals so the investors could recoup their money, but what is needed here won’t make any of you go hungry. And you got to admit, we have a lot to be thankful for.”
He sat down to a moment of silence. Henry Mueller started clapping, and one by one, the others chimed in.
“Thank you, Mr. Haglund.” Nilda looked around the group. “Anything to add to that?”
“Charles, would you please bring a basket to pass around?” Mrs. Schoenleber nodded as she looked around the group. “There are twelve of us here. You can put a note in the basket of what you are willing to contribute today, and I know Mr. Amundson will see that a fund is set up at the bank, to be drawn on as needed.”
He nodded. “And if you desire, you are always encouraged to invest more later. I suggest we put Reverend Holtschmidt at the head of this, with Miss Carlson assisting. Those of you who are willing will be the board that he reports to. Thor, if you can get us the plot of land and bring together a corps of men who are willing to start clearing brush immediately, that will be good. Henry, you provide the plans and deliver the lumber. Thor, they need an overseer, and I suggest you would be a good one. I know you are not afraid to get your hands dirty.”
Should Nilda intervene and regain control? She decided not. Things were flowing well, however rapidly.
Mr. Amundson turned to the lady beside him. “Mrs. Schwartz, since you have that good solid barn that you are not using, that would be a good place for these men who might not have a home here to bed down. I also know that your cook loves to feed a crowd, so perhaps you could provide supper every night.”
Mrs. Schwartz’s mouth fell open. She looked aghast. “But . . . but . . . I never . . .”
He stared right at her. “I know that is what Fredrich would want you to do with a portion of the money he so richly left for you. He and I often talked about building a town we could be proud of and continuing the tradition of caring for others.”
The glare she sent him could have curled what little hair he had left, but she finally jerked a nod. “There will be no spirits imbibed on my property.”
“You have every right to demand that, and Thor will make that clear to those who stay there.”
Thor raised one eyebrow and stared right at her.
“Any questions?” Mr. Amundson nodded. “Back to you, Miss Carlson.”
“Thank you, sir. Since I—we had no idea this meeting would turn into a whirlwind like this, I asked several others if they had suggestions for us to consider today. Mr. Larsson, please begin.”
“As a musician and schoolteacher, I, of course, am most interested in the best education for our children. That includes education and training in the arts. I believe that Blackduck would benefit from the addition of an arts center, for lack of a better word. A theater or auditorium, studio space, and classrooms. This would be open to the community to use and to bring traveling performers to this town. Ideally the theater would include an organ and piano along with other musical instruments. Students and the public could put on plays, bring in speakers and teachers. This would open a window of opportunity beyond what we can envision. I have here cost estimates that were produced for another town that had similar facilities.” He handed his pages to Reverend Holtschmidt on his other side. “Thank you.” He sat down and smiled at Nilda with a slight shrug.
Nilda announced, “We have another proposal from Dr. Andrews.”
The doctor pushed his glasses up on his nose. “This town and the surrounding counties need at least a clinic, but preferably a hospital. I can’t keep up with all those needing health care. The three beds I have are all that is available, as you know. The more people we have here, the more there are to get sick or injured. We’ve talked about this before, but talk is all we’ve done. If we ever have an epidemic here, people will die for lack of health care. If we had a hospital, we could attract a dentist and maybe even a visiting nurse and at least one other doctor. Now, you know I am getting up in years, and I don’t move as fast as I used to. We need to draw in young folks to help, and having a hospital would help that happen. It would be good if the donors and investors are from this group but not this group alone. The whole community would benefit, so I say the whole community needs to invest.” He nodded as he sat down. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Schoenleber stood. “I don’t know about you all, but I feel like I’ve been run over by a logging train.” Several others nodded. “I think we are all clear on our assignments on the housing project that has gone beyond a mere proposal. If anyone has anything else to question or add, now is your chance.” The pause stretched, but no one spoke. “I have asked Fritz to take notes on our meeting, and we shall get them to you all in the next couple of days. Again, thank you for coming and for your participation. Father McElroy, will you pronounce the benediction, please?”
He’d just lowered his hands after the amen when Isabella Schwartz stood and gathered her purse. “Well, I never. Mathew, you and I will talk.” She thumped her stick on the floor and sailed out of the room.
“Don’t worry, she will do what I asked.” Mr. Amundson scrubbed the palm of his hand over his burnished head. He smiled at Mrs. Schoenleber. “It always helps to know someone’s secrets.”
She smiled back wickedly. “I notice that you did not ask—you told her, in no uncertain terms. Every mother knows the value of using bribery and guilt to advantage, but you have honed it to a fine art.”
He bowed. “Why, thank you, my dear Gertrude.”
Charles stopped in the doorway. “We are serving afternoon beverages out on the verandah.”
The remainder of the guests made their way outside. Nilda breathed in the fresh air. At least that meeting was over. She heard the opening strains of Debussy. Fritz had moved to the piano. She could feel her shoulders relax.
“I look forward to working with you, Miss Carlson.” Reverend Holtschmidt handed her a glass of lemonade.
“Thank you—I think.” She leaned closer. “Is this typical for meetings like this, or did we just see miracles happen?”
“I always opt for miracles. Makes good sense.” He patted her arm. “I think we just needed someone to get the ball rolling. After all, in the scheme of things, ten small houses is not a big undertaking.”
“It seems so to me. You will have to guide me if I am to assist you.”
“Oh, I will, never fear. Excuse me, I want to catch Mr. Durfield before he leaves.”
Nilda watched her project’s new benefactors mingle on the verandah. What had she gotten herself into?
Chapter
13
Two more hours, and they would be here. Mor is coming! Mor is coming!
Nilda felt like running to the station so she would be the first person they saw. She was already planning to go with George to meet them, but the running might take away her jitters.
“You could try sitting down.” Mrs. Schoenleber’s smile took any sting out of her words.
“I can’t. It’s like I have ants crawling over me.”
“While that is a good description, the picture is rather warped.” Mrs. Schoenleb
er patted her chest and looked around and in her chair. “I must have left my glasses upstairs. Could you please fetch them for me?”
“Of course.”
As soon as she was out of sight of her friend and mentor, Nilda took the stairs at a run, two at a time. At the top she bent over to catch her breath and walked to her employer’s bedroom and sitting room. First she checked by the bed, then, shaking her head, went over to the sitting room, running her hand around the chair cushion. They weren’t in the bathroom either. Finger to her chin, Nilda searched the room again. No glasses. The stand that held them during the night was empty, as was the shallow dish by the sink. Since Mrs. Schoenleber used them only to read, she inspected the dining room before returning to the sun-room.
“I’ve searched everywhere. Here, let me look in your chair.” Nilda found the glasses under the chair, hidden by the upholstery ruffle, and handed them to their owner.
“Strange how they could get there. However, I’m grateful you found them.” Mrs. Schoenleber set them back on her nose. “There, that’s better. I wish Fritz were here to play like he did yesterday.”
So do I. Nilda crossed to stand at the window, looking out over the verandah. The potted ferns guarding the wall were beginning to block the view if one were sitting down. Her fingers itched to go trim them back, but she hated to offend George, since he was rather possessive of his garden and plants. She’d already picked and arranged the roses and daisies for the house.
She drifted over and sat on the piano bench. Practicing would take her mind off the anticipated arrival. Starting with the scales she now knew by heart, she segued into “In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree.” She loved the tune of that one. But her relaxed manner tightened up as soon as she started on the pieces Fritz had assigned to her this week. As he instructed, after playing them so she would know how they sounded, she played the hard parts one note at a time, making sure she was using the proper fingers, then gradually picking up speed as she smoothed them out. Focusing, she moved on to the next page. Sharps and flats could cause all kinds of havoc.
A Song of Joy Page 12