A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “That’s beautiful.” Nilda had known some of this about her employer’s life, but this made it so much clearer.

  Mrs. Schoenleber continued, “And I plan to carry on the tradition he established of assisting others. My brothers have lost sight of that larger goal, so perhaps having Jeffrey here will bring home that lesson again.” She called in George. “I plan to make some social calls today, so could you please have the buggy ready by ten?”

  “Of course. Anything else?”

  “You will be meeting my nephew Jeffrey at the train station at four. He will be our guest for several days.”

  George looked at Nilda. “Will you be going with me, Miss Nilda?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “No one met us at the train in St. Paul, and there is no chance of him getting lost at this station.” She thought of the monstrous train station in the city, with all the rail lines coming in and all the huge doorways leading out. She was grateful she’d been with Mrs. Schoenleber, who had plenty of experience with train stations—especially that station.

  After Mrs. Schoenleber left, the house was quiet but for Nilda tapping the typewriter keys. In her practice every morning, she pushed for speed. During the day she worked for accuracy. When she could finally pull a perfect sheet of paper out of the machine, she felt like celebrating. She signed each letter and set aside the ones needing Mrs. Schoenleber’s signature also. After typing the addresses on the envelopes, she applied the stamps and set them in a basket, ready for George to mail.

  Charles rapped on the library door and stuck his head in. “Are you about ready for tea, Miss Nilda?”

  “I’d rather have coffee, if that’s all right. And thank you. You read my mind.”

  “Actually, Cook is the mind reader around here. I will be right back.”

  She began a letter to Clara Baldwin, who organized the practice of sending boxes of books to places that requested them and had become head of the State Public Library Commission.

  After another tap on the door, Charles carried in a tray with not only a cup for coffee but a pot covered in a padded tea cozy. Along with a plate of cookies.

  Nilda smiled and put her work aside. “Tell Cook thank you for me, please.”

  Charles poured her a cup of coffee and left the room. Nilda settled back in her chair, elbows on the arms, and held her cup with both hands, the better to sip it. She had typed up all the notes about their housing venture so she wouldn’t forget anything. Now to bring it before the general public. Perhaps an article in the newspaper along with an advertisement, possibly a whole page. But was it time for that, or should they send a letter to every organization in Blackduck? But how to get such a list? Who might have one? She would ask the editor of the weekly newspaper, the Blackduck American. And was it time to include other towns, especially Bemidji, in her search for donations? She dunked a ginger cookie in her coffee.

  Mrs. Schoenleber was planning to talk to the pastors of the local churches regarding feeding the men building the houses. Might they be wise to host dinners or suppers at this house to get other people involved? Lord, help me, I have no idea what I am doing. And thank you for Thor Haglund and Mrs. Schoenleber, who care about helping those less fortunate.

  She dunked another cookie and refreshed her cup. The verse she had read about Queen Esther rolled through her mind. “For such a time as this.” Lord, did you put me here for such a time as this, to help others who come from Norway and other countries so they can feed their families and make a new home here? She resolved to go back and read Esther’s story again. God had trained Esther. Had He set Mrs. Schoenleber to train Nilda Carlson? Was this something she wanted to talk over with Miss Walstead and Mrs. Schoenleber? She knew God used ordinary people. The whole Bible was full of them. He even used donkeys and other creatures to get His points across.

  She drained her coffee cup, set the tray off to the side, and got back to typing and making lists and searching for answers.

  Mrs. Schoenleber returned in time for dinner, albeit a bit later than usual. She unpinned her hat and, after using the powder room, joined Nilda in the dining room.

  “Need I bring my notebook?” Nilda asked.

  “No, let’s just eat and talk.” She smiled up at Charles as he pulled out her chair.

  “Please ask Cook to come in here for a moment.”

  Charles seated Nilda and then returned to the kitchen, returning shortly with Mrs. Solvang in tow.

  “Verna, I apologize for returning late. I know how you like to serve dinner right at noon when you have it ready, so please accept my apology.”

  Cook rolled her eyes. “Well, thank you, but I had an idea today might go like this, so nothing was ruined by waiting awhile.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber shook her head. “I would be so lost without you. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” Cook smiled back. “You have no idea how grateful I am to work here. Who could dream my life would be like this? You too, Miss Nilda. I am so pleased you have become part of this family.” She sniffed and puffed a breath. “Now, can I get you anything else?”

  “Only a reminder. Jeffrey will be here for supper and is staying until after breakfast on Tuesday. He’ll return home on the morning train.”

  “I wonder if sauerbraten is still his favorite. I made it for him anyway, so we shall see.” Cook returned to the kitchen, humming.

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded. “Anytime Verna is humming, you know all is right in this world. Let’s have grace.”

  After dinner they adjourned to Nilda’s office, where Mrs. Schoenleber gave her a list of what she had accomplished. She had commissioned the cook at Grandview Hotel to deliver sandwiches, coffee, and a dessert to the men at noon every day for a month with the possibility of continuing if all worked out well. The Catholic church would serve breakfast at daylight. The Presbyterian church would serve a big kettle of soup or stew, with bread, for two weeks, to be continued if it worked well. “I will shoulder the cost of food and try to coerce Isabella into sharing it. She’s rather tight with her money,” Mrs. Schoenleber confided.

  Nilda felt good. “So the workmen are fed and housed. That is the biggest thing.”

  “Miles—that is, Mr. Goddard is special-ordering enough hardware to furnish four houses. And that is as far as I got. Next I will be asking for financial contributions. I suggest we target a group for each house. They will know they are donating for house one and so on. But first we need to know the exact amount needed. A thought that just came in—what if that same organization or someone else were to assist that house’s family through the winter?”

  Nilda nodded. “You are amazing. So much in one morning’s calls. I think personal contact might make this work better.”

  From the doorway, Charles announced, “Miss Walstead is here.”

  “Oh good. Come into the war room, Jane.”

  They explained what had happened so far and watched her nod and make notes.

  “I believe people like to help more when they know exactly what is needed and how long the need is going to last,” Miss Walstead finally said. “I think the house-raising story that Nilda told us is a good case in point. The people who could give more time kept on until the house was finished, even after the family had moved in. I have read many stories of house and barn raisings as people have moved west. Communities pull together to help those in need if they know what the need is. Why should our community be any different?”

  Charles tapped on the door with another announcement. “George is going to the station to pick up Mr. Jeffrey.”

  “Thank you, Charles.”

  “Oh my.” Nilda looked down at her gingham dress. “Do I need to change?”

  “How much do you want to impress him?” Mrs. Schoenleber asked.

  “Why do I need to impress him?”

  “There’s your answer right there. You look very nice, but not the fashionable young woman he might be used to.” Miss Walstead smiled.

  “I believe you are the reason he is
coming here,” Mrs. Schoenleber repeated.

  Nilda frowned. “I didn’t invite him.”

  “No, he invited himself. I think his father wants to know what is really going on up here, so he is sending Jeffrey.”

  Miss Walstead shook her head. “My, my, Gertrude, but you have a suspicious mind. What if he thinks he has fallen in love with our Nilda and wants to court her?”

  Nilda burst out laughing. “Jeffrey? All he wants to do is play tennis and go to whatever social function his mother says he must. His father says he has to finish college and work in the family firm, so he will do that.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber turned serious. “Don’t underestimate Jeffrey. He has a good mind, always has, and he might have learned to use it. He can be crafty and decidedly uncharming when he wants something.”

  “I’ll go freshen up anyway.” Nilda left her desk the way it was and climbed the stairs.

  Gilda met her at the top of the stairs. “I have another dress ready for you if you want to change.”

  “Do you think I should?”

  “This blue of the dimity matches your eyes. I’ll do your hair a bit fancier, add a spritz of lavender toilet water, and you would catch any man’s eye, not just Mr. Jeffrey’s.”

  Nilda was just descending the stairs when Charles brought Jeffrey in the front door.

  He gazed up at her, and a smile burst across his face. “Miss Carlson, I do believe you grow lovelier every time I see you.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Schmitz. Welcome to Blackduck. Charles can show you to your room, and we will have refreshments out on the verandah when you join us. You have met Miss Walstead, I believe. Oh, and there is no rush.” She stepped off the last stair. “See you in a while.”

  “Yes, you will.” He paused but went on past her and followed Charles up the stairs.

  She heard him ask Charles if he would have a valet. When Charles responded, “Only if you brought one,” Nilda headed out to the verandah, grateful Jeffrey could not see her grin. Good for you, Charles.

  She went to her office for her notebook and took one of the chairs at the outside table. Butterflies were dancing and sipping in the flower beds, and the purple martins sang at their house and the feeders. Two badminton courts were marked off, and the croquet wickets were all measured for the game. Peaceful was the best description she could think of. What a shame to spoil it with social niceties. Why couldn’t they make Jeffrey fit into their lifestyle rather than the other way around?

  For some reason that thought made her breathe easier.

  Chapter

  19

  Bjorn didn’t mind getting up early, especially in the summer when the sun was already up. But this morning he and Ivar got up even earlier than usual to help with the milking and to eat breakfast before they mounted Rosie so they could go to Blackduck.

  “Drop this off at the store, will you, please?” Gunlaug handed them two envelopes. “Then this envelope is for Mrs. Schoenleber. Thank you.”

  Bjorn really enjoyed the ride into town. There were no mountains—in fact, this land was pretty flat—but that meant you didn’t have to climb anything and slide back onto the horse’s rump, and there were no steep downhills to make you slide forward onto the horse’s bony withers. Birds were singing, a rooster crowed, and a line of cows at a barn bellowed their impatience. A barking dog ran down a lane but didn’t bother to come clear out to the road. It was the best part of the Norway he remembered without the discomfort of ups and downs.

  Ivar asked, “Have you ever played that other game the invitation mentioned, badminton?”

  “Nope, never. But Nilda will make sure we learn how before the rest of the people come.”

  Rosie picked up her pace when she saw Benson’s Corner up ahead. They stopped, and Bjorn slid off the horse to deliver the envelopes. He took them inside Mrs. Benson’s store. “Mormor sent this.”

  “Oh, good.” Mrs. Benson smiled at him. “Off to the big town, eh?”

  He nodded. “We’ll be back for church tomorrow, so this trip is fast. See you then.”

  “Glad you made it so early,” Fritz Larsson greeted them when they arrived at his house a few minutes later. “I was afraid you might not come, Bjorn.”

  Fritz set his satchel in the back of the buggy, so they did the same. They turned Rosie out into the pasture, and then they were on their way at a fast trot. Buggies were nicer than riding bareback.

  “I hear Leif had a grand time in Blackduck,” Fritz said. “My aunt was really pleased that he loves to read so much. So much so that we are looking to start a library here in Benson’s Corner. Mostly for the school, but everyone will be able to check books out. I’m making a list of books I think we should have, so if you have any ideas, I’ll put them on the list.”

  Books. Bjorn was not much interested in books. But he could probably write the book on logging. “Do you think there are books on making furniture?” he asked.

  “Probably not in Norwegian,” Fritz said. “You have an extra difficulty, since you learned to read in Norwegian, so now you have to learn to read all over again, but it’s a simpler alphabet, if that helps. Knute and Leif have worked really hard at it.”

  Bjorn knew that. “Far gets a newspaper in Norwegian when he can.”

  Fritz nodded. “The St. Paul paper, probably. Have you thought about joining one of the logging camps?”

  “Not as long as we have trees at home to fell. Is Petter coming to the social?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “I thought he might be one of the drivers delivering the lumber for our hog barn, but he didn’t come.” Bjorn liked Petter. Petter was getting good at English, and he was always a happy soul, laughing and teasing.

  When they arrived in Blackduck, they stopped at the lumberyard to turn in the order Far had sent with them.

  “Making more skis?” Mr. Hechstrom asked after reading over it.

  “We have several orders to fill. Do you have this here now?” Ivar asked.

  “No. I have some, just not that much, but we’ll bring it out when it comes. If your father is making skis at this rate, I’d better start keeping a lot more in stock. How’s that hog barn coming along?”

  “On hold ’til we clear a couple acres of stumps.”

  “Always more work than the days are long, isn’t there? Even as long as our days are for these summer months. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  They climbed back into the buggy, then trotted across town. George greeted them when they arrived at the Schoenleber house. “You go on in, and I’ll take care of your horse and buggy.” He paused. “Hope you enjoy the social.”

  Fritz looked at George. “Anything I should know?”

  “Jeffrey Schmitz arrived yesterday.”

  “Oh, really? Why, I haven’t seen him for years. Probably since he and his brother came that summer. What is bringing him up here now?”

  George half shrugged and licked his lips, hesitating. “Charles and I are thinking it’s not what but who.”

  Fritz stared at him. “You think it’s Miss Carlson?”

  “As I said, I’ll take care of the horse and buggy.” George took the reins and clucked at the horse as he led it away.

  The three young men stared after him. Then the two younger turned to look at Fritz.

  “My sister?” Ivar asked.

  Fritz nodded, obviously thinking rather seriously. “Come on, let’s take our bags to our rooms.”

  Charles showed Ivar and Bjorn to the same rooms they’d used before. “Dinner will be in an hour, so if any of you would like a bath, you have time. Will you need any help?”

  “Thank you, Charles, we can manage.” Ivar smiled at him. “Dinner in an hour, you say?”

  “Yes, Master Ivar.” Charles nodded and went back down the stairs.

  Turning to Bjorn, Ivar nodded to the room that connected their chambers. “I’ll start the water in the bath. You want to go first or second?”

  “You go first.” Bjorn crossed his
room to look out the window. “Ivar, come quick.”

  “What?”

  “Look.” He pointed out the window to where Nilda was walking with another man. “That must be Jeffrey Schmitz. Look at the clothes he’s wearing.”

  Ivar wagged his head. “Silly, I’d say. I saw a picture one time of tennis players. That’s what they were wearing.”

  “All white. How would anyone keep that clean? Especially if you do any kind of real work at all.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter when you’re rich. You hire other people to do your laundry and all your work.”

  Bjorn shook his head. “I sure hope Nilda doesn’t marry someone like that. Why, she’d go live in Minneapolis, and we’d never see her.”

  “I can’t picture her married to anyone like that. She’s too smart.” Ivar heaved a sigh. “I’ll go start the water.”

  Nilda performed the introductions when everyone gathered for dinner. Why was Bjorn shooting glances at Jeffrey? She heaved a sigh. This did not portend a grand afternoon.

  As soon as they finished dinner—fried chicken and mashed potatoes, since those were Jeffrey’s favorites as a boy—Jeffrey sat back. “She remembered.” He stared at his aunt. “All those years ago, and your cook remembered.”

  “You might thank her personally after dinner.”

  “I most certainly will. I seem to remember crispy gingerbread cookies, and there was something else.” He wrinkled his brow, trying to dredge it up.

  “Chocolate pudding with whipped cream on it,” Charles filled in.

  Jeffrey stared down at the clear-footed bowl now sitting in front of him. “Well, I never.” He closed his eyes in bliss at the first spoonful. “I also remember my father trying to entice your cook to come to Minneapolis to our house. But she would have none of it.” He ate half the bowl. “I wonder why I never came back again?”

  Mrs. Schoenleber gave a sly smile. “Your father sent both of you to boarding school that fall. Perhaps he was afraid you liked it too much here.”

  Nilda stared at her employer, then rolled her lips to keep from laughing out loud. This was mighty close to hanging family laundry out to dry in public. She looked across the table to see Fritz hiding his smile in his napkin.