A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “How could I not? But I would have loved to join Cook in that big, wonderful kitchen.”

  “Maybe next time you can do that too.”

  “I, ah . . .”

  “You don’t want to come back?”

  Gunlaug leaned forward and dropped her voice. “I feel guilty for letting other people wait on me like this. I like washing dishes and cooking and working in the garden.”

  Nilda chuckled. “Oh, Mor, I know you do, but look at this as a time to try new things. You had more time to knit, and you warped the loom for me. And you could have spent time up in the sewing room if you were staying longer.”

  “And if I knew how to use that machine. Gerd does all the machine sewing at home.”

  Nilda smiled. Yes, the farm was home now, and she was glad Gunlaug felt that way too.

  “Is Mrs. Benson able to sell all the rugs you’ve made?”

  “So far.”

  Nilda smiled. “Good. When you have more in stock, we could talk with several shop owners here who might like to carry them. The same with Rune’s skis, since so far he is able to handle all the orders. He said he plans to make some ahead. After all, he can shorten a rough ski easily.”

  Gunlaug nodded. “He has a pair of shorter and narrower skis for children finished. Leif has been using them. The boys get to school faster on skis in the winter than on Rosie.”

  “Next time I am home, I hope to sit down and talk with Rune about the business. The man here in Blackduck whom you brought the skis for is interested in talking with him next time he comes to town. With Ivar and Bjorn there, surely Rune could spend a night or two here. When he does, I will make sure he can meet with some of the competitive skiers. They have all their skis brought from Norway, but now perhaps they will buy from him.”

  “Life sure can change, can’t it?” Gunlaug sat back and shook her head. “So much change.”

  Telling her mor and Leif good-bye at the railroad station the next day was harder than Nilda thought it would be. After all, they really weren’t that far away, it just seemed like it.

  She hugged her mor again. “Thank you for coming. And for bringing Leif. I’m sure Kirstin has really been missing him.”

  “They probably all have been missing him.”

  They turned to see Leif bidding George farewell and walking toward them with his book under his arm.

  “I hoped to finish this before I left but . . .”

  “Don’t worry. Like Mrs. Schoenleber said, just give it to Mr. Larsson. Or Bjorn and Ivar will be coming for the social next Saturday afternoon. They can bring it back, if you’d like.”

  As the northbound train steamed and screeched to a halt, she hugged her mor again. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  “Don’t make it too long.” Gunlaug heaved a sigh. “And here I thought when I moved to America that I would have at least three of my family all in one place. You just never know what God has in store.”

  “Has Johann shown any interest in moving to America?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Like you always say, we shall see.” She passed her mor to the conductor. “Now you know how easy it is to come here. Perhaps you and Knute can come after haying.”

  “By then we’ll be canning.”

  “Then he might have to come by himself.” She stepped back. “Good-bye.”

  She waved until she could no longer see Leif’s face at the window, then turned to walk back to the buggy.

  Now to get back to work. After all, she needed to contact smaller schools to see about libraries or lending books. And she had an appointment to meet with Thor Haglund about Blackduck’s future. Back to her real world.

  Chapter

  16

  Gunlaug sure felt welcome. She was greeted as warmly as if she’d just arrived from Norway.

  “I’m so glad to have you back home.” Signe released the hug that had wrapped around her mother-in-law.

  Gunlaug nodded. “While we had a wonderful time there, I too am glad to be home.” She shook her head. “They wouldn’t let me do anything there. I couldn’t help in the kitchen or out in the garden, and I didn’t learn about the sewing room until just before we left for the train station.” She looked down at the tugging on her apron. “You missed me too, didn’t you, little one?”

  Kirstin answered her, but the only clear word was a new one: g’ma.

  “Is she saying what I think she is saying?” Gunlaug asked.

  Signe smiled. “She calls Gerd that too. G’ma Gerd is out in the garden.”

  Kirstin ran to the door. “Go.” She banged on the screen. “Ef, Ef, Ef.”

  “He’s down at the barn already, checking on his animals.” Gunlaug glanced out the kitchen window. “Ah. Here he comes.”

  As soon as Kirstin saw Leif, she shrieked and, rattling the whole door, yelled his name at the top of her lungs. Leif pushed in through the screen door. His face said that all his animals were happy.

  Signe asked, “Can you take Kirstin with you, Leif? As you can see, she missed you.”

  “Sure.” Grinning, Leif scooped up his little sister and trotted her to the sink, where he pumped a glass of water and downed it, which wasn’t easy with Kirstin slapping on his chest and at the glass and doing a fine imitation of a wiggly worm. “You want to go to the barn?” he asked her.

  “Go, go, Ef.” She turned and, looking at her mother, waved good-bye.

  Signe shook her head. “Thank you.”

  Leif asked, “You need anything from the well house?”

  “Please bring up the churn and, if you would, empty the milk cans so we can skim the pans, please.” The excess milk went to feed the pigs and chickens, along with the whey from churning butter. Now that the calves were off milk, the other animals got more.

  “I’ll set more cheese too.” Gunlaug walked out the door with Leif and his babbling little sister.

  When he set the toddler in the wagon, she banged on the slatted sides and told him something.

  “Not now, we have to haul milk,” he replied.

  “What did she say?”

  “She wants to go to the barn and see the pigs.”

  They had all learned that Leif could understand more of what Kirstin wanted than anyone else could.

  “From what your mor told me, Kirstin will be so much happier now that you are home.”

  Leif frowned. “It wasn’t like I was gone a long time.”

  “No, but when you’re that small, it probably seems like forever.”

  “I still can’t believe Mrs. Schoenleber sent a box of books home with me. She wants me to give the ones I’ve read to Mr. Larsson. So many books, all in one room in one house. I liked just reading all the titles. She said there are libraries with room after room of shelves of books.”

  Together, they loaded the churn in the wagon, and he pulled it to the back porch. Gunlaug tagged along, partly to help but mostly just to watch this little grandson. Although he wasn’t very old yet, he was not a little boy. Gunlaug had learned that in the last few days. He was a mature young man, despite his young age and small stature. After taking the full milk cans down to the barrels for the pigs, he lifted Kirstin out of the wagon.

  “See how big they are growing, K? Time to move them into a pen of their own.” He now had two pens of growing hogs, one with the older litters, the other for younger pigs, where these would go. He set her on the ground so he and Gunlaug could empty the milk cans. She waddled to the rail fence and squatted down, hanging on to the rail. The little pigs came over to investigate. She touched their round noses, giggling and chattering to them.

  Leif scooped her up and set her back in the empty wagon. “I’m going to have to build these frames higher, since you insist on standing up in here. All you need is to take another header over the side.”

  “Leif, can you come help me pick peas?” Gerd called from the garden.

  “Be right there. Come on, K, garden next.” Once there, he lifted her out of the wagon and set her in the co
rner they had fenced for her to play in. A stack of feed sacks cushioned part of it. With a pea pod in each hand, she sat down on the pile.

  With Gunlaug, Gerd, and Leif all going down the row, they rapidly filled the oblong, flat-bottomed baskets.

  “We have a good crop,” Gunlaug observed. Good? It was amazing. She thought briefly of trying to grow peas in the worn-out soil of Norway, nowhere near as productive as this land.

  “That we do. Plenty of jars to fill.” Gerd nodded toward Kirstin’s corner.

  “Sound asleep.” Leif grinned. “I think this afternoon I’m going to teach her how to go down the porch steps.”

  “We need a gate so she can be out on the porch,” Gerd said. “And you need to split wood, since we’ll be running the canner before supper. Knute can stay and help after dinner.”

  Leif nodded. “That’ll make him happy.”

  Gerd sniggered. “He learned how much you do while you were gone and he had to do it.”

  “No wonder he was happy to see me.”

  Signe joined them. “You’ve done a lot.”

  Gunlaug waved a hand. “We haven’t even started on that row.”

  Signe smiled. “Let’s finish this row and start shelling. The men will be up for dinner in about half an hour.”

  Bliss. That was what this was. Gunlaug helped pick the bountiful crop. She helped shell the bountiful crop. She helped serve the bountiful dinner to family who laughed and chatted. She was doing! Working! Serving! So much better than having servants. And the bounty . . . oh my!

  When they finished eating, Bjorn nudged Knute. “Come on, we’ll all split wood for an hour. I bet I can split a bigger pile than you can.”

  “You’re on.” Knute elbowed him back. “Leif, you get to stack and keep score.”

  “Ivar and I will go work in the shop.” Rune stretched his arms over his head. “When you’re done, Bjorn, you and Knute can take the teams and disk up the land we cleared. Then, after we seed it, we’ll all pray for rain.”

  “We’re behind on the number of felled trees we planned on.” Ivar drained his coffee cup.

  “I know, but gaining more acreage is probably more important in the long run.”

  Gunlaug listened to her family plan out their goals for the week, her heart brimming with contentment.

  Dear Miss Carlson,

  Thank you for answering my letter. Life sounds more idyllic there in Blackduck than here in the Cities. I’m sorry my father was rather abrupt in declining to assist in your noble cause of helping those less fortunate in your little town. I understand Blackduck is booming due to the lumber industry, of which our company has a part, but still, in comparison to the Twin Cities . . .

  I have been playing tennis as many hours each day as I can, since once I start in the office, evenings will be my only available time, and Mother insists on planning social events at which she would like me to appear. She is not happy with the idea of my being gone for a few days or even a week. I understand your next social is coming up soon. I plan to take the train up on Friday, but I have another event here on the next Wednesday, so will need to leave again on Tuesday. I had hoped to stay there a bit longer, and perhaps I could assist you with planning the program for the loggers’ families.

  Please, I know my aunt refuses to use the telephone, but I hope you are willing to be part of the progressive ways of communication we have at our disposal. So please telephone me if my plan is not acceptable.

  I am looking forward to hearing from you, but more so to seeing you again.

  Sincerely,

  Jeffrey Schmitz, Esq.

  Nilda dropped the paper in her lap. “Esquire. The epitome of pompous.” She gave Mrs. Schoenleber her most plaintive look. “Do we have to accept his inviting himself to the social and to stay here for four nights?”

  “And two of those nights, Fritz will be here.” Mrs. Schoenleber shook her head. “I’m sorry, Nilda, but to keep peace in the family, I think we must accept this.” Shaking her head again, she wore a puzzled look.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m surprised at his sudden interest. Not that you are not a lovely young woman, but when I think of the women he usually shows interest in . . .”

  “I am not a society belle, and I never will be.” She looked at her employer. “You won’t ask that of me, will you?”

  “Rest assured that I will not. Those are the very reasons I never moved to Minneapolis after my husband died. I’d had my fill of it growing up, but I was fortunate enough to have a mother who also had no interest in being a society queen. Two of my brothers married into the social set deliberately. One, Jonathon, has never married. I learned that he had loved deeply, but after his beloved passed away before their wedding, he has not shown an interest in marrying. He would rather travel, and that is why he holds the position he does. He is on the train, sometimes on ships, more than he is in Minneapolis. He lives in a hotel, not bothering with a house like the others.” She stared at nothing, obviously in her thinking mode. Then she said, “I think I won’t warn Fritz, for if I mention Jeffrey is coming, he will most likely choose to remain in Benson’s Corner.”

  “I take it they do not get along?”

  “Oh, they are polite, but there is no love lost between the two.” She shook her head. “Here I am, dragging up the dirty family laundry. Pardon me, please. We will get through this, and life will be peaceful again.”

  “Monday we have a meeting with Mr. Thor Haglund. He requested it earlier this week, and while I’ve mentioned it, I neglected to write it on your calendar.” She stared down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “I see. Hmm.” She reached over and patted Nilda’s hand. “Don’t worry, all will be well. I wonder what he wants.”

  Saturday morning, Charles brought an envelope to Nilda. “This just arrived for you, Miss Nilda.”

  “Who was that at the door?”

  “The Amundsons’ hostler, Mr. Hanson. Mrs. Amundson is rather old-fashioned, you know.”

  Nilda slit open the envelope and removed a folded card with an elaborate monogram embossed on the front. She read it aloud.

  “‘Dear Miss Carlson,

  “‘I am writing this to invite you and Gertrude to join us for tea at two PM on Tuesday, at my home. A niece of mine is coming to visit, and I am hoping you will help her and Olivia meet more of the younger people in Blackduck society. If this time is not convenient, please feel free to offer an alternate time.

  “‘Thank you,

  “‘Mrs. Mathew Amundson’”

  Mrs. Schoenleber grunted. “Are we committed to anything that day?”

  Nilda checked her calendar. “No. Do you want me to write an acceptance?”

  “Please, and George can take it over. I do hope she moves this outside. Her house always seems stuffy.”

  “We can plead another appointment and leave after a certain period of time.”

  “I know, but perhaps this niece or the daughter could become a friend for you. At least she can attend the social and meet others, as Bernice suggests.”

  Nilda studied the calendar. This on Tuesday and Jeffrey on Friday. Uff da, as her mother always said. “I suppose I must telephone Mister Schmitz.”

  “That would be a good idea. Just get it over with. You are referring to Esquire?”

  The two chuckled together at the little joke. Humor always made difficult things easier to tolerate.

  Nilda sniffed. “He is probably out on the tennis court.”

  “Then he can return the call, and you can postpone the chore. But I suggest you pen that note to Bernice first.”

  “Yes, right now.”

  She wrote the note, gave it to George, and returned to get the telephone number of the Schmitz house, since she already had all the numbers for the company, not that she used them much. She turned the telephone crank, gave the number to the operator, and waited for a connection.

  “Schmitz residence. Who may I say is calling?”

  “Miss Nilda Car
lson for Mr. Jeffrey Schmitz, please.”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Jeffrey is not available. Could I please take a message?”

  “Yes, tell him that I called and the arrangements he suggested will be just fine.”

  “Would you like him to return your call?”

  “If he must. Thank you.”

  She set the earpiece back on the hook without a qualm. That was almost rude, her inner voice grumbled at her. No, it was rude, and right now I don’t much care. Sometimes her inner arguments surprised even her.

  She stuck her head back in the sun-room. “I’m going out to cut flowers before the day heats up even more.”

  Dusk was creeping over the land when the telephone chimed their number. She rolled her eyes at Mrs. Schoenleber and went to answer it. “Schoenleber residence.”

  “Could I speak with Miss Carlson, please?”

  She was so tempted to say she was not there that she had to bite her lip. “Speaking.”

  “Oh, you don’t sound like you.”

  She ignored the comment. “Yes, Mr. Schmitz?” She waited.

  “Oh. Ah, I’m looking forward to the trip. Is there anything you would like me to bring?”

  “Like what?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Did he think they had no stores here? She sucked in a breath. “Not that I can think of. George will be at the train to meet you. Your aunt and I are looking forward to your visit.” Good grief, she was bordering on rude again. Whatever was the matter with her?

  “Is your social more formal or casual?”

  “Very relaxed. We’ll be playing croquet and badminton, Cook will provide a repast, and we usually close with a sing-along with Mr. Larsson on the piano. Sunday morning we attend church.” My, you are getting downright loquacious. “Oh. I see I am needed. Thank you for calling.”

  “No, I—ah—thank you for calling. Good-bye.”

  She dusted her hands together after replacing the earpiece. If only she could deal with him as abruptly in person.

  Mrs. Schoenleber smirked. “You should be honored he is paying attention to you.”

  “That might be what he thinks.” She sank into a chair. “I don’t even like me right now. I was rude. Abrupt.”