A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  Not surprisingly, Mrs. Schoenleber was already at the table, reading her morning paper.

  “Do you never sleep?” Nilda asked.

  “Someone once told me that as we get older, we need less sleep, but then, I’ve never needed a lot of sleep. Except after Arvid and the children died. Then it seemed I slept for months. When I was sleeping, I wasn’t crying, at least. Although I guess that’s not really true either. I so often woke with a wet pillow.” She nodded. “But those days are gone, and now we have a lot of work to do, don’t we?” She studied Nilda’s face. “You look back to yourself.”

  “I am, so thank you for letting me go to bed. I fear Jeffrey was disappointed.”

  “Be that as it may, you did what you needed to do.” Just as Mrs. Schoenleber was about to ring the bell by her plate, Charles backed into the room, carrying a tray.

  “Good morning, Miss Nilda. You look back to health this morning. We were all a bit concerned about you.”

  “At least exhaustion can be cured by extra sleep, and I didn’t even hear Gilda leave the room.”

  “You didn’t stir when I peeked in on you,” Mrs. Schoenleber said.

  “The next thing I heard after Gilda’s good-night was a bird singing his heart out. The world was aglow, and he was announcing it.”

  Charles set a cup of coffee in front of her and a plate with two eggs, two strips of bacon, and a fresh cinnamon bun. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Are there any strawberries left?”

  “I’ll ask.”

  Nilda bowed her head to thank God for the food and bit into the warm roll.

  “Good, aren’t they?”

  Nilda nodded. “Miss Walstead will be delighted.”

  “What will I be delighted about?” Miss Walstead asked, walking into the room. She sniffed. “Oh, don’t tell me. Cook is doing her very best to spoil me beyond measure.”

  Charles whisked into the room with a plate of rolls and a cup of coffee. He set them in front of her. “I’ll bring the rest in a minute.”

  “What a way to start the day.” She sipped her coffee and bit into a bun. “Please don’t tell me Cook makes these only when I am here.”

  “Oh, no.” Nilda dipped her bacon in the yolk of her eggs, her eyes darting to the newspaper folded beside her plate. “Look, there’s an article here about Mr. Haglund donating the land for building the houses.” She read through it. Perhaps that would help generate more support.

  She had already been hard at work in her office for over an hour when Jeffrey knocked on her door. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a roll in the other.

  “Can I bring you anything?” he asked as he sat down in a chair near her desk.

  “Thank you, but no.” She went back to typing another letter. She pulled the sheet of paper out and laid it on the pile to be signed. “Do you know how to type?”

  “Heavens, no.” He looked at her like she’d accused him of secretly stealing horses. “That’s what we have secretaries for at the office.”

  “Interesting. I’ve heard that many colleges are now requiring students to type their papers, so I assumed you knew.”

  “I write mine out and have my secretary type them for me. He also edits, which in my case is a good thing. Did you have breakfast?”

  She straightened the stack of papers on the desk. “Of course, some time ago.” She looked up at the grandfather clock. “The morning is half gone. How do you manage to get to morning classes? And you start work at the company next week.”

  “I know. I’m treating each day before that as my vacation. But here I am now, willing to do whatever you need me to do.”

  “I don’t need you to do anything, but surely I can figure out some way you can help me. I know, I have several letters that include lists of books for the school libraries. I need them compiled into one sheet.” She handed him the letters. “Would you like a table to work on?”

  He heaved a sigh. “I was hoping you would like to go for another walk, like we did yesterday.”

  “Mr. Schmitz . . .”

  “When are you going to call me Jeffrey?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not. That’s not proper.”

  “But I heard you call Fritz by his first name.”

  “Well, we have become friends over these several months, and using given names is appropriate.” She wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, but it was comfortable. “You get those lists compiled, and after dinner, you can go with me to see how they are doing clearing the land for the houses.” She ignored his eye-rolling. “Thanks for helping me, as you said you would like to.” A sweet smile punctuated her comment.

  He set down his empty coffee cup and opened the first envelope. “Do you have a special way you want this done?”

  “No. I can alphabetize it later when I type it. Unless you want to break it down according to type, i.e., novels, history, geography, science, etc. According to age levels might be good, but the teachers can do that.”

  “Let me get them compiled, and then I’ll see.”

  She glanced up a while later to see several sheets of paper with lines crossed out. He flipped back through some pages, looking for something. She went back to typing.

  “Why don’t you hire someone else to do your typing?” he asked.

  She looked up. “Why? That’s part of my job.”

  “But you are writing the same letter over and over. You could hire someone else to do that so you can go on to something more important.”

  She stared at him. That had never entered her mind. But that would involve another typewriter and desk and finding someone who wanted the work. She nodded. “That’s worth thinking about.”

  He laid the list of books in front of her just before Charles announced that dinner was ready. “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” She made sure her desk was neat with weights on the stacks of paper so breezes from the open windows wouldn’t blow them away. They went to the dining room.

  Nilda could think of nothing much to say at dinner, but Jeffrey found enough to talk about, almost always about himself, that the air was filled with words.

  “We’re going out to look at Mr. Haglund’s land,” Nilda announced. “You two want to come?”

  Mrs. Schoenleber smiled. “Thank you, but not this time. I have a meeting at two. You go on and bring back a report. Don’t forget that Thor will be here later, and Mathew is coming too. They’ll be staying for supper.”

  Jeffrey said, or rather whined, “I take it there is no quitting time here, as in leave the job and go home? I know that’s hard to do when you are working in your home, but surely . . .” He slowed to a stop when he realized three pairs of eyes were drilling him into his chair. “Ah, could you pass the bread, please?”

  The soup and rye bread were delicious, but nonetheless, Nilda was glad when dinner was over. Eventually she could fold her napkin and rise. She led the way out to where George was waiting with the small runabout.

  George dropped them off at the construction site. “I’ll be back as soon as I take Mrs. Schoenleber to her meeting.”

  “I could have driven us here.” Jeffrey pouted. “I do know how to drive a team.”

  “We have several vehicles but only one team, so how could that have worked?”

  “I see. My father is planning on purchasing a motorcar in the next year. Pretty soon horses will be a thing of the past. Keeping up with the times is important, you know.”

  “Hello, Miss Carlson.” Mr. Haglund waved from the second lot. “Be right there.”

  Jeffrey scowled at the woodlot and shook his head. “For pity’s sake. This is what you are so excited about?”

  Nilda stared at him, trying to be polite. She could feel the mask settle into place on her face. Be careful what you say. “Yes. These will be homes for immigrants who are willing to work hard to live in America. In Norway they would have no land of their own unless they inherited it. They want a better life for their children, just like your father did and does fo
r his.”

  She almost snorted at the comparison. Her required reading had lately been on the French Revolution. The words that stayed in her head were spoken by Queen Marie Antoinette when someone informed her that the people were rebelling because they had no bread to eat. Her response of “Let them eat cake” made anger seethe somewhere below the polite surface of Nilda’s mind.

  Here came Mr. Haglund, smiling ebulliently. “Ah, Miss Carlson. Welcome to our attempt at the future.”

  She smiled. “Mr. Haglund, I’d like you to meet Jeffrey Schmitz.” She turned to Jeffrey. “Mr. Haglund has generously donated these ten acres for the town of Blackduck to have housing to offer immigrants who arrive with their families.”

  Jeffrey stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet a friend of my aunt’s.”

  “Ah, yes, her nephew from Minneapolis. You are the one about to finish college?”

  “I am, yes. I will graduate next May.”

  “Well, we’re glad to have you here. As you can see from all the survey flags, the land has been surveyed and the possible future owners are clearing each plot to build a house. Each house will have nearly half an acre of land that the new owners will clear. The women can plant gardens and have chickens to help feed their families and possibly bring in more income. The men will be at the logging camps, working all winter.”

  “I see.” Jeffrey did not seem to see at all. In fact, did he even know a survey stake when he saw one?

  Mr. Haglund said, “We are not giving a handout but a hand up.” He added pointedly, “Like your father has done for you in paying for your college education.”

  And a whole lot else. Nilda made sure her thoughts did not make it to her face.

  “So who has been clearing the roads?” she asked.

  “Volunteers.” Mr. Haglund motioned to the working men. “They cleared enough for the wagons to bring in supplies. I am hoping the city will take over from there. If not, we have plenty of volunteers.” He emphasized the last word. “I’ll bring the final plans later this afternoon, Miss Carlson.”

  “Mr. Amundson will be joining us also. Say, five o’clock, after the bank closes.” She added the last bit for Jeffrey’s sake.

  Mr. Haglund nodded. “Good, good. Come, I want you to meet our men. The trail is wide enough that your dress should be safe.”

  She grinned but made the mistake of glancing at Jeffrey. Stoic, long-suffering, bored? Which best described his face? She watched him glance down at his white shoes. “If you’d rather wait here . . .” she ventured.

  “Oh no, I’m sorry. Of course I’m coming.” He offered her his arm, but she stepped out ahead of him.

  She greeted each of the men in Norwegian, until one answered her in Swedish. She apologized in Swedish and welcomed him again. “My Swedish is, ah . . .” She laughed. “I don’t know the word. In English it is limited.”

  The men nodded and laughed along with her.

  “This is the assistant to our foreman, Mr. Sandborn.” Mr. Haglund waved toward a stocky little man in a jaunty cap who grinned broadly. His moustache was thick enough to hide a small rabbit.

  With a thick accent, he said, “I am much pleased to meet you. Unlike all these Scandinavians, I am of Moravia.”

  Nilda smiled and shook hands. “Welcome to Blackduck, Mr. Sandborn.”

  Mr. Haglund announced, “Miss Carlson here is the person who first conceived the idea of housing for loggers.”

  Nilda rather wished he hadn’t said that. Now she felt self-conscious.

  “Tusen takk,” one of the men said, and the others nodded.

  “George is here.” Jeffrey spoke firmly, sounding relieved.

  “We’ll see you later, then?” Nilda asked Mr. Haglund.

  “Yes. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Schmitz. Perhaps you will appreciate studying the plans this evening.”

  Nilda rolled her lips together. Mr. Haglund understood what was going on, but then, one needed to be deaf and blind not to pick up on how Jeffrey, a square peg, was not fitting into any round hole.

  When Jeffrey was seated in the buggy, he leaned over and dusted off both his pant legs and shoes.

  “Charles will see to cleaning those, if you so desire.” She heard the ice in her tone.

  “My man will take care of it when I return to Minneapolis.” He was frowning. “Or perhaps I will just buy new ones.”

  Once they reached home again, Nilda had planned to hide out in her office to work some more, but something prompted her to say, “After tea, can I entice you to a game of either croquet or badminton?” She fought hard to make her voice sound relaxed and friendly.

  “Are you sure you have time?”

  Ah, and she had struggled hard not to be sarcastic. Was verbal volleying part of being polite? Were she to act sweet, would he realize she was acting? “I’d say badminton. I’m sorry I have not learned to play tennis.”

  “I will gladly teach you when you come to Minneapolis. Badminton, it is.”

  She blinked. Was he totally oblivious?

  “They’re out on the verandah,” Charles said as he greeted them. “Can I get you anything?” He looked to Jeffrey.

  “Can you put a little life into the lemonade?”

  “Yes, sir, if you wish.”

  “I’ll be out in a minute.” Nilda headed for the powder room, wishing she could go up to her own room and bang something against the wall. Or perhaps out in the stable. Surely she could work off this frustration cleaning stalls, as if George would ever let her do that.

  After washing her hands and resettling some pins in her hair, she glared at the face in the mirror. “Miss Walstead would say you are lacking in your hostess skills. What she does not understand is that I have managed not to kill the pompous man.”

  She walked out to the verandah with a perfect smile in place. If she needed to act gracious until the next morning, she would do that. And make Miss Walstead proud of her.

  “Ah, there you are.” Jeffrey raised his half-empty glass in salute. He swallowed more of his drink and held it out to Charles. “That could be a bit stronger.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber caught Nilda’s eye with a slight cautioning shake of her head. “You reminded Thor of our meeting?”

  “He reminded me before I could.” She picked up a glass of lemonade from the table and sat down in the shade. “I met the men clearing the land for the houses. They seem an enthusiastic bunch. Mr. Haglund is delighted with the progress. I hope Mr. Amundson goes out there before he comes here.”

  Jeffrey cleared his throat and looked over at the badminton court. He had already drained half his second glass.

  “Would you mind terribly if I sit here for just a couple of minutes?” Nilda’s voice dripped sweetness.

  “Oh, sorry. That was rude of me. I’ve just been looking forward to this.”

  She smiled and caught the glance that went between her two mentors. “Would you like to join us on the badminton court?” she asked them.

  “No, I think not today, but thank you for the invitation.” Miss Walstead’s smile was as fake as Nilda’s. She stood. “I have some things I need to do, so I will see you at our get-together.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded in agreement. “You two have a good time. Nilda, is everything ready for tonight?”

  “Pretty much.” Nilda realized she was being offered an out. “Thank you.” She helped herself to another lemon cookie. “Aren’t these delicious? We have the best cook anywhere.”

  Jeffrey was sorting through the badminton rackets. “Next time I come, I’ll bring my own racket. I had it balanced especially for my hand.”

  Next time? If she had her way, there would be no next time.

  Nilda held her own on the badminton court until common sense caught up with her again. She quit fighting to win and let Jeffrey have the last set. The scowl on his face was replaced with a condescending smile when she congratulated him.

  “I’m going up to dress for tonight, so I will see you a bit before five.” She paused on the back
patio. “Unless you would rather not be involved in our discussions?”

  “No, no. I’ll be there. I think I’ll sit out here a bit longer. The breeze is picking up and it feels good.”

  Nilda smiled and went upstairs.

  Supper went fairly well, but Nilda thought perhaps it was because Jeffrey would be gone and out of her hair tomorrow morning.

  “I will talk to my father about this,” Jeffrey said when they were discussing the materials needed for building the houses. “He might agree to help, as he is a very generous man.”

  Nilda caught the look exchanged between the two older women. But it was true, they had not approached Heinrik on a donation basis, only as an investment opportunity. Maybe he would help.

  Jeffrey nodded to Mrs. Schoenleber. “Perhaps if you approached him too.”

  “Oh, I was planning on it, but we are just getting to the stage of needing additional finances.”

  And then he switched the topic of conversation back to himself.

  The next morning, after Jeffrey said his thank-yous and good-byes, Nilda rode to the train station with him.

  He cooed, “I’m looking forward to talking with you now that you have a telephone in your office to make it easier. I’ll check the schedules and see what will be produced at the theater this fall. I know you will enjoy that. And any concerts. Have you ever thought of attending a tennis tournament?” He smiled at her, so she forced herself to smile back. “I know you will enjoy getting to know my mother. She’ll help you with any concerns you might have about society events in the Twin Cities. It probably seems a bit overwhelming to a country girl like yourself.”

  “We shall see” was all she could say in response without actually lying. Overwhelming? Hardly. Although the thought of the next business meeting did make her nervous, it was not because of social graces. It was because she was parrying with four stubborn, money-minded businessmen.