A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  Jeffrey took her hand at the station and gave her his most charming smile. “This has been such a pleasure. We have so much to look forward to.”

  He waved as he stepped into his private car. She waved back.

  He hadn’t learned a thing.

  Chapter

  21

  I think we need a blessing on the site and the builders before they begin,” Nilda said.

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded. “I will telephone Reverend Holtschmidt and tell him we need the blessing on Sunday afternoon. We will provide refreshments.”

  “That’s pretty short notice.” Nilda glanced at her calendar. “This is Thursday.”

  “True, but we have enough time to prepare.” Mrs. Schoenleber smiled. “But you are right. I better ask Cook first.”

  “Good thing she loves a challenge, since we keep throwing so many at her.”

  Reverend Holtschmidt agreed and set the time for two in the afternoon. “That way people can get home, have dinner, and make it back to the site. Great idea. I wonder why I didn’t think of that?”

  “It’s not like you’ve been sitting around all summer. I distinctly remember someone telling me they saw you with a mattocks over at the construction site.”

  Reverend Holtschmidt just smiled. “We’ll provide cake and lemonade, that might entice a few townsfolk. I’ll mention it to the newspaper too. It will be short and sweet.” He chuckled. “Blessing a house before it is even built.”

  Nilda and her employer took turns on the telephone, letting those involved know about the ceremony. Mrs. Schoenleber used the phone with great reluctance, but she did it.

  “Your cook is baking the cakes?” Mr. Haglund asked. “Then I will surely be there. We planned on setting the foundation on Saturday, so this is perfect timing. The foundation will show exactly where the house will sit.”

  Sunday blazed in with nary a breeze. The folks in church had all brought fans, but even so, women were fanning and patting their faces when they came out. By the time they gathered at the building site at two o’clock, even the dogs were digging holes in the shade. Mr. Haglund and a couple of the men had erected a canvas roof to shade the cake and the servers.

  Reverend Holtschmidt signaled to the man with a concertina, who played chords as loudly as possible. Those gathered quieted but for the rustling of fans.

  “We are gathered here to pray for God’s blessing, even though I think this is one of the most prayed-for projects I’ve ever seen. I know most of you know these people, but Mrs. Schoenleber and her assistant, Nilda Carlson, are the ones who dreamed this place into being. Thor Haglund donated this land, and these hearty fellows have been clearing the plots.” He nodded to the three people who had joined him, and motioned to the gang of men with shovels. He handed Nilda a shovel, Mr. Haglund a mattocks, and Mrs. Schoenleber a whistle. “Now we’re going to pray, and then these two will take the first whack at it, and when Mrs. Schoenleber blows the whistle, we’ll let the boys loose. Oh, and afterward, cake and lemonade will be served. On the table is also a box to collect donations.”

  Raising his hands, he began. “Lord God, creator of all things, giver of all good, including ideas. We thank you for your great wisdom and even greater love for your people. Your Word says we are to share what we have with those who haven’t, that we are to care for the poor and needy, and also that every man needs to work to provide for his family and for their daily bread. You have been guiding this undertaking from the start, and we pray that you will continue to do so. So, Lord, guide us, give us courage and strong backs, remind those who have sufficient that they are to share what you gave them with others. Give us great ideas through your Holy Spirit that we may all be following you in the path you have set before us. And now, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend this property and all who will build it and dwell here to your care. May Jesus Christ be praised.”

  Everyone said a resounding, “Amen!”

  The reverend motioned to Mr. Haglund and Nilda. Nilda knew what to do with a shovel, but the old man seemed at a bit of a loss with the mattocks. Still, he slammed it enthusiastically into the ground a couple of times. Mrs. Schoenleber blew her whistle with surprising exuberance. The crew gave a shout and rammed their shovels into the dirt in the middle of the first house.

  Applause broke out, the concertina swung into a peppy polka, and the crowd lined up for their cake. Some even dropped money into the box with a sign that said Building Fund.

  And with that, the ambitious project was launched.

  The next morning when Nilda came down to breakfast, Mrs. Schoenleber, as always, was seated at the table reading the paper.

  Nilda sat down near her. “I think I’ll go over to the site this morning. For who knows what reason, I’d like to see them beginning.”

  “You’ll have breakfast first?” Mrs. Schoenleber laid down her paper. “I’m sure they’ve already started.”

  “I know, I won’t stay long. And yes, I remember the meeting here at ten thirty.” She smiled at Charles as he set her coffee in front of her. “Thank you. May I have a poached egg on toast?”

  “Cook has sliced ham ready also. And strawberries.”

  Nilda chuckled, shaking her head. “Yes to both.”

  “Good.” He left.

  Mrs. Schoenleber snickered. “You might as well give up.”

  “I am well aware of that. You know that usually I just say whatever Cook is making or has made. I thought of asking for a bun and coffee to take with me, but . . .”

  She sighed at her first sip of coffee. “Thank you, Lord, for inventing coffee.”

  “The Norwegian national food.” Mrs. Schoenleber sniffed and went back to her paper.

  The day was quite warm out, muggy, and even a little hazy. No matter. Nilda rejoiced in the season, which was actually a little longer than was summer back in Norway. She climbed into the buggy, and away they went.

  A while later, George stopped the buggy on the street fronting the property on the west. “You be careful and stay out of their way, miss.”

  “George, you sound like a mother hen.”

  “Just doing my job, miss.” He assisted her down the step.

  Mr. Haglund waved at her, then walked over, steering clear of the busy men. Some were sawing, some moving and stacking a wagonload of lumber, and some were already nailing the subflooring to the floor joists.

  Nilda was surprised at the progress they had already made. “What time did you start?”

  “They ate breakfast at dawn and were waiting for me when I arrived at five thirty. They’ve set the challenge for this house to be move-in ready before the end of the month. And the good news is Mueller announced that the lumberyard is donating the lumber for this first house. Besides, he’s given us a good deal on supplies already.”

  Nilda waved back as several of the men greeted her, all in careful English.

  “Did you realize the newspaper was here yesterday?” he continued. “They’ve decided to chronicle this whole operation. I’m surprised they haven’t interviewed you yet.”

  “The Bemidji Pioneer talked with us recently. Perhaps I need to pay more attention to the newspapers. Thank you for the reminder.”

  Someone called for Mr. Haglund, so she excused herself and returned to the buggy. “See, I was careful.”

  “Yes, miss.” George headed for home. “I do hope you are pleased with what is going on. After all, it was your idea.”

  “I am, but I do believe this is God’s idea, and He is letting me work with it.”

  “True, but you listened and did. Too many good ideas die before they are born.”

  Nilda pondered that as they trotted the streets to home.

  Mr. Mueller joined the meeting that morning. “I can see this idea is picking up momentum now that the first house is going up. I was a bit dubious at first, but thanks to Thor twisting my arm, I will do what I can.”

  “Now, Henry, how can you say such a thing?” Mrs. Schoenleber chided.

 
“I just did, and I never speak idly, as you well know.”

  “Welcome aboard,” Mr. Amundson said. “I have the financial report ready, as you requested.” He nodded to Nilda. He read off the list of those who had donated toward the project. “As you see, other than Thor donating the land, and now the lumberyard the lumber for this first house, we have no other sizeable contributions—yet.”

  “Most of the other donations are in kind, like the churches feeding the crew. I believe that now that we have newspaper support in both the American and the Pioneer, our efforts will be more spread out. We have sent letters to all of my contacts, and now we wait to see what response we get.” Mrs. Schoenleber looked at each of the men around her table. “This is a way for people of influence to build a reputation of caring for others.”

  Mr. Haglund nodded. “And if they want to remain anonymous, that is fine too.”

  That afternoon, when Nilda was hard at work in her office, Charles came to the door. “There is a gentleman from the newspaper here to interview you and Mrs. Schoenleber. A photographer is with him.”

  Nilda nearly choked on her gasp. “I—ah—right now?” She looked down at her dress.

  “You look fine, Miss Nilda. How long before you come, shall I say?”

  “I need to stop in the powder room first, and I’ll be right there.”

  “He asked if they could take a picture of you in here.”

  “Why?”

  Charles shrugged.

  “Tell him that’s fine.” Taking a photograph for the newspaper was bad enough, but here in her office was anything but fine. She opened a drawer in her desk and cleared off a good part of the mess.

  She managed to put on a smile when the photographer walked through the door. “Good afternoon.” She stood to greet him.

  “I’m sorry to just drop in like this, but our editor said this article needs to be in this week’s paper. And what he says, I do.”

  Nilda nodded. “I understand. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “You just go ahead with what you were doing and ignore me. I need to get these developed right away. Our reporter is interviewing Mrs. Schoenleber right now, so if you would, please join them when I am done.”

  “Of course.” She rolled a piece of paper into the carriage and began to type another letter.

  “May I have one of you on the telephone?”

  She complied and sank back in her chair when he left the room. What I will do for the cause. That thought made her chuckle, so she was smiling when she joined the others out on the verandah.

  She nodded when Mrs. Schoenleber introduced her to the reporter. “How can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Schoenleber said this all began as your idea. Can you tell me how that came about?”

  Please, Lord. She inhaled and nodded. “I am a fairly recent immigrant from Norway, one of the fortunate ones. An uncle sent tickets for me and my younger brother to come join our older brother and his family on their farm near Benson’s Corner. We had work, a place to live, and food to eat. Not all immigrants have that when they arrive.” She watched his face as he wrote on his pad of paper.

  “Good. Good. Please continue.”

  “Then Mrs. Schoenleber offered me this position and gave me an intensive education, especially in speaking, reading, and writing in English.”

  “How long ago was this? You speak English extremely well.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been working here for almost a year now.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at Mrs. Schoenleber, who smiled and nodded.

  “You must have had some contact with the language before you came here.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber inserted, “She had some, but she has worked extremely hard here. We enforced an English-only policy from the day she began.”

  “And would you recommend that to other immigrants?”

  “Of course, but few people are given this kind of opportunity. We are going to be offering English classes for those who move into the houses this fall.”

  “I see.” He jotted some other notes and tucked his pad back in his briefcase. “I think I have enough for this first story.”

  “Pardon me, but what language were you writing in?” Nilda asked.

  He took his notepad back out and showed her. “This is called Gregg shorthand. There is a textbook. I have one, if you would like to borrow it to get an idea.”

  Nilda nodded. “I’ve learned to type, but I think this would be a good addition to my skills.”

  “Stop by the newspaper office later, and I’ll loan it to you. You can order one too.” He stood. “Thank you both for your time. I’m glad the paper will be covering your story and the work ahead.”

  Charles showed him to the door and returned with the mail. He handed part of the stack to Mrs. Schoenleber and the rest to Nilda. “Looks like you have more work cut out for you.”

  Nilda flipped through the letters. A square envelope in Jeffrey’s handwriting. She held it up for Mrs. Schoenleber to see.

  “You have to give him credit for being persistent.”

  Nilda frowned. “Two telephone calls and now this since he left. He obviously did not get the hint.”

  “I think there is more behind this than meets the eye.” Mrs. Schoenleber pulled the bell rope and smiled at Nilda. “Let’s go for a walk around the garden. This has been quite a day already.”

  Stella appeared, and Mrs. Schoenleber instructed, “We will have refreshments out on the verandah.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Stella returned to the kitchen.

  Nilda expected her employer to stand up, but Mrs. Schoenleber remained seated. “Nilda, I’ve a favor to ask of you.”

  “Of course.”

  “You referred to me several times as Mrs. Schoenleber when the reporter was here, and that is altogether appropriate. But when it is just the two of us and we are working or in private conversation, I would be pleased if you called me simply Gertrude. It is my name, you know.”

  “Oh dear. That will be difficult for me. You are my employer, not a . . . an equal.” Nilda thought about it for a moment. “But since you ask, yes, I shall do so. Thank you, Gertrude.” How hard it was!

  “Telephone for you, ma’am,” Charles announced from the arched doorway.

  “For me?” Instead of heading outside, Gertrude went, scowling at the thought, to answer the telephone in the butler’s pantry.

  Nilda walked outside to wait on the verandah and breathe some fresh air. Just watching the butterflies sipping from the blossoms and the birds spraying water at the birdbath made her shoulders relax and her smile return. Perhaps she could bring her typewriter out here. At least she could take care of handwritten things. What a good idea.

  Gertrude joined her. “That call was from Fritz. He asked if he could be any help if he came.”

  Interesting. Were it Jeffrey, Nilda would have run screaming. But Fritz, now that was a different matter. “I hope you told him yes.”

  “He’ll be here for supper.”

  “Good.” Nilda grinned. “I’ll just hand him that stack of mail to start with.”

  In spite of the heat, their walk was refreshing, the lemonade and cookies even more so, and Nilda returned to her office with a lighter step.

  But instead of sitting down at her desk, she turned around and went to the kitchen. “Where’s Charles?”

  “I’m coming,” he answered. “What do you need?”

  “Could you please go to the newspaper office and pick up that book on stenography for me? Or should I ask George?”

  “I’ll do it, but that really is more his job.”

  “Sorry. I will go ask him.” She headed out the kitchen door and found George polishing a harness in the carriage house. She made her request to him, and he smiled at her.

  “I’d much prefer that to this. I’ll just ride the bicycle over there.”

  “I think I would like to learn to ride a bicycle.”

  “We’ll have to order a woman
’s one for you, then.”

  “What a good idea. Thank you.” Why hadn’t she thought of that before? But then, when had she had time?

  Back at her desk, she stared out the window. Fritz was coming. And before Thursday. Before supper today.

  The stack of letters to be signed was growing on her desk when George knocked and stuck his head in. “Here’s your book from that reporter, miss.”

  “Thank you for getting that for me. I wonder how difficult it is going to be to learn it.”

  “The way you pick up things, it won’t take you long.” He put the emphasis on you. He placed the book on her desk and closed the door gently.

  Do not pick that up now, she ordered herself and returned to her typing. When she had finished that group of letters, she signed them and got the envelopes ready for George to take to the post office.

  Why was Fritz coming so early? Of course he had to return home on Saturday, unless he put it off until very early Sunday. You are mooning, Nilda! Wasting time!

  She rose and went to find Gertrude, who was working at her desk. “Do you have an extra accounts ledger to keep track of donations?”

  “No, but you can order one at the same time you order your book on shorthand. Or maybe two ledgers. If we have an address for the donor, we can send a thank-you note.”

  “Do you need more embossed note cards?”

  “I already ordered some, but it’s not enough. The newspaper office is carrying more supplies like that. Just telephone an order for more. You better order plenty.”

  Nilda rang the operator and asked to be connected to the newspaper office.

  After that it was time to study. At least she could read her French history book out in the shade. She set aside an hour during each day to read so that she would be ready for the discussion with Miss Walstead. Therefore, she kept notes as she read. The French people had revolted, and she could certainly see why.

  A glass of strawberry juice magically appeared on the small table beside her chair. “Thank you.”