A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  The next evening Fritz arrived in time for supper, served outside where it was cooler. A bit of breeze discouraged the mosquitos, so the verandah was doubly pleasant. His enthusiasm about helping bubbled over, although he seemed embarrassed by the paint that would not wash off his hands.

  “Strawberry shortcake for dessert,” Charles announced and glared over his shoulder at the offending telephone. “Not again.”

  Nilda went to answer it. She’d thought of paying the telephone operators not to put some calls through. Like this one. “Hello, Jeffrey. I’m at the wall telephone, so could you please call again in, say, an hour, when I am back in my office?”

  “I probably won’t be able to get through then.”

  “All right. Then how are you?”

  “Great. I just won the all-city tennis tournament in singles. My partner and I took runner-up in the doubles.”

  “Congratulations.” She could tell he’d been drinking. “Celebrating, are you?”

  He didn’t catch her sarcasm. “Yes, we have been. We earned it. I wish you had been here.”

  “Sorry, but we’ve been busy keeping track of all the assistance people of this area are giving to our enterprise. We’re receiving a very generous response.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Nice? A major outpouring of generosity and caring, and he says it’s nice?

  “Mother has decided to have a ball this fall,” he said, “and the two of you will receive an invitation soon. Father said to set the date the weekend after the fall meeting so you and Aunt will come. So the date is Saturday, October sixth, and it will be an autumn theme.”

  “I see.” Nilda knew she had been shanghaied to attend with no way out. That meant a ball gown and everything that went with it.

  “Isn’t that exciting? Your first ball, I’m sure.”

  “Yes.” And my last, if I have my way. Ask him if you can bring Fritz. She nearly laughed at the thought. “I will go write this on my calendar, and thank you for letting us know well in advance. Congratulations on your grand win, and I must go now, so good-bye.”

  She heard him sputtering as she clicked the earpiece back on the prong. Uff da.

  Fritz was practically glowing when she returned to the verandah. “There’s inside construction to be finished yet, but Thor and I are nearly done painting the exterior.”

  Gertrude’s mouth dropped open. “Thor? Painting?”

  Fritz laughed. “Almost as stunning as me painting. We’ll paint inside too. We decided it would be cheaper and quicker than hanging wallpaper. We should be done Wednesday or Thursday, ready for the first family to move in. The Norwegian logging crew under Mr. Nicholson is pressing to finish it.”

  Nilda nodded. “Petter has mentioned Mr. Nicholson more than once. His overseer out at the lumber camp. A fine man.”

  “He is indeed. Mr. Nicholson’s crew organized a big party for this Saturday.”

  Nilda frowned. “But that’s tomorrow! I thought you said it would be Wednesday or Thursday.”

  “Yes, but there are more people in town on Saturday. It’s when the farmers out in the country come in. Everyone is invited. Aunt Gertrude, I thought perhaps you would like to provide some of the food for the party.”

  “Good idea. I’ll talk it over with Cook and see what she’d like to do.” Gertrude jotted herself a note. “Will this be an afternoon or evening party?”

  “I have a feeling it will start early in the afternoon and keep on as long as the crew wants to continue. Do you know who will be the first family to move in?”

  Nilda replied, “I do. You know that older man on the building crew, Yousef Sandborn? He’s bringing his wife and four children up from Brainerd.”

  “He’s not that much older.” Fritz thought a moment. “How did you choose?”

  Gertrude answered. “He was the first to sign up and seems the most responsible. His three boys will be in school, and the younger girl will go the next year.”

  Nilda added, “One of the ladies from the Lutheran church has made curtains for all the windows, and my mor has donated a rug. Their pallets will be stuffed just before they move in.”

  She watched Fritz as he eagerly tackled his strawberry shortcake, and compared him with Jeffrey. No comparison.

  As opposed to a stuffy formal ball, the party on Saturday was a breath of fresh air. Nilda went out to the site after the regular meeting to watch the eager crews putting the finishing touches on the first house. She saw that two more houses had been started. These crews were working mighty fast.

  Nilda saw Mr. Nicholson, so she walked over to him. “Are they doing what it looks like they’re doing?” She watched the builders carefully hoist a pretty little pine tree up to the roof of the first house.

  Beside her, Mr. Nicholson chuckled. “If it looks like we’re topping out the house, you’re right.”

  Nilda smiled in delight. “We did that in Norway, but I didn’t know it is a custom here in America.”

  “It’s not really a custom all over America, I hear. But look at the men. Last winter, almost all of my crew out in the woods were Norwegians. These builders are nearly all Norwegian, and that’s a blessing. They’re hard workers and get along well together.”

  “They’re calling to each other in Norwegian.” Nilda watched them nail a base to hold the tree upright on the peak of the roof.

  “I encourage them to speak English. ‘Look,’ I say, ‘You have a good life here. You’re Americans now. You should try and learn English.’ I give all my orders in English and translate when I have to. They try, they really do, and they’re getting pretty good at common English. But when they get mad, they still swear in Norwegian.”

  Nilda giggled. That sounded like her nephew Bjorn too.

  Mr. Nicholson walked off to talk to a crew of sawyers cutting siding for the second house.

  Nilda turned, and her heart went thump. There was that investigator, the Pinkerton man, Crawford Galt! What was he doing here? He watched as the crew put the tree up on the ridgepole. He didn’t seem to know she was there as he walked over to Mr. Nicholson. They talked a moment and shook hands, so they were introducing themselves. Mr. Nicholson was not pointing out Nilda, and Mr. Galt had not noticed her yet. Good.

  Quietly, she moved around until she was directly behind them, then stepped forward so that she could overhear what they were saying.

  Mr. Nicholson waved an arm, explaining. “It’s called ‘topping out.’ When the outside framing is completed and the building is the size it is supposed to be, you hoist a tree up onto the roof. They waited on this one until the house was nearly finished, it went up so fast.”

  “This is a symbol of some sort?” Mr. Galt asked.

  “It is. It signifies several things to various people. Mostly, it’s a signal that the party is about to begin.”

  “A party?”

  “When Norwegians work, they work hard. And when they party, Mr. Galt, they party hard!”

  “I see.”

  Nilda smiled to herself. Obviously, Mr. Galt did not see, at least not completely; he probably had never seen a good old full-scale party.

  A general cheer went up from the work crew and drowned out the conversation for a moment. Nilda could not make out what Mr. Galt and Mr. Nicholson were saying. Someone hauled a table in front of the house, and two men carried a large keg out to set on the table. Two other men came toting yet another table. Women were bringing out food, glasses, plates, and steins. This was really going to be a party!

  Mr. Galt asked, “I understand Dreng Nygaard worked in the woods for a while on your crew. Petter Thorvaldson told me he disappeared partway through his contract. Can you tell me more about that?” He had Nilda’s full attention instantly.

  “Nygaard, that rapscallion! Yes, he was on my crew. You know he froze to death, don’t you? And good riddance.”

  “Oh? Explain, please.”

  “In the first place, he was no good at any job we tried him on. He couldn’t even limb logs right.
And he had absolutely no will to work or to pull his own weight. He ate three squares a day and didn’t earn any of it. He slacked off constantly, hiding while everyone else was working.”

  “I can see why you weren’t happy with him. But rapscallion?”

  Mr. Nicholson lowered his voice slightly, but Nilda could still hear. “He went down to the wanigan—that is, the cookhouse—early one morning. The cook’s helper, quite a nice young girl, was preparing potatoes for breakfast. He tried to, well, take full advantage of her. She screamed, and he choked her to quiet her, but two of the men heard her and came running. He tossed her aside—I mean literally, and broke two of her ribs—and ran off.”

  “Surely his attack was provoked by—”

  “No! Mr. Galt, when I tell you she was a nice young girl, she was. Never flirtatious, and the whole crew cared about her in a fatherly way, you know what I’m saying? They were protective of her as if she were a daughter. He knew better than to show his face around there again, so I sent one of the crew into town with a letter to the sheriff, telling him to arrest Nygaard for attempted rape if he found him.”

  “The picture I got of Nygaard was that he was a decent young man. A gentleman.”

  “I suppose he could put on an act, maybe, if he wanted to impress someone. But it was just an act. I found out later that before that incident, he also attacked the cook, who is only a little younger than I am, but it made her angry, not frightened, and she beat him off with a frying pan. Later, some of the men told me about his boasting about women he had seduced. He was anything but a gentleman, Mr. Galt. A slacker and a predator, a womanizer and a sneak. Rapscallion is a more polite term than what he really was.”

  Another roar of cheering went up, so apparently someone at the new house had just made a speech. Nilda walked away before Mr. Galt could realize she had been listening. Would he believe Mr. Nicholson? He did not believe her mother or her.

  A fiddler and a man with a drum started playing. Some of the men danced with the women, but there were not nearly enough women in attendance, so several men danced with other men simply to be able to dance, and some of them danced alone, with fancy steps and turns. Soon a man with a trumpet joined in, then another fellow with a fiddle. There was so much laughter and boisterous good cheer that Nilda found herself not just smiling, but laughing as well.

  From near the new house, a booming bass voice called, “Skol!”

  “Skol to the Northland! Skol!” Dozens of voices. The men were lifting glasses and steins high, toasting the new house.

  “Skol!” It was Gertrude! She sat in her victoria, which was stopped right behind Nilda. Up in the driver’s box, George beamed. And Gertrude looked so happy. “Isn’t this glorious, Nilda? The whole town is becoming enthusiastic about this charitable enterprise.”

  Apparently a wrestling match had either been set up or someone had challenged someone else. Over by the house, two men stripped to the waist circled each other, parrying. They slammed together like cymbals, but the crowd was now so thick around them that Nilda soon could not see the wrestlers at all. Suddenly a pair of feet in logging boots poked straight up above the crowd and came down again, accompanied by wild cheering.

  Half a dozen boys were lining up along the street, which was blocked by merrymaking. A gun shot—into the air, Nilda hoped—and the boys broke forward running. They ran the length of the street as spectators and well-wishers cheered them on. Most of the boys ran on their toes, the fashionable and accepted way to run fast. Nilda noted that the winner, however, had won by running flat-footed, heel landing first, then toe pushing off. Another race was quickly organized. In this one, only one boy ran on his toes. Norwegians learned fast!

  Nilda wished mightily that Fritz were here. He had worked as hard as anyone else, and not because he was a natural-born carpenter. He was a natural-born musician who was giving of himself, helping. But he was in Benson’s Corner, giving several music lessons today.

  Gertrude asked, “Will you be staying for all of this?”

  “No, ma’am. The party is going to roar along for hours yet. I’m ready to return home so I can rest and perhaps write a few more letters.”

  “Then hop in.”

  Nilda did so and settled into the victoria beside her employer. George clucked, and they moved off. Nilda wagged her head. “With so many complications, I was afraid the project would fail.”

  “It was a bit dicey there for a while. But it is a worthy project, and I am so very proud of the way you persevered.”

  Nilda didn’t think her contribution was all that much; after all, it was Gertrude’s money and Thor Haglund’s organizing skill that had really floated it. “Thank you.”

  They rode along in silence a few moments. Then Gertrude called, “George, take the long way home past the new Methodist church.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Nilda smiled. “From that, I think you want time to talk about something.”

  “Very astute! I do. Tell me what you think of young Jeffrey.”

  Oh dear! What should she say about her employer’s nephew?

  Gertrude was studying her. “The truth.”

  Nilda licked her lips. “I have been trying desperately to come up with something that would be nice without actually coming out and saying I rather dislike him.”

  Gertrude chuckled. “Truth well phrased. Please explain.”

  “I’m not sure I can, either in Norwegian or in English. He irritates me. He is everything you are not. He considers himself above the rest of us, a person of wealth and therefore of power, and we are simply ordinary people. You have never taken that attitude. He cannot hide the fact that he does not care for people. You care deeply. You have shown me what ample money can do to make the world a better place. I suspect the whole concept of spending money for the good of others has never occurred to him. I think my attitude toward him took shape when he signed his letter ‘Jeffrey Schmitz, Esq.’ Esquire indeed.”

  Gertrude did not seem at all offended by her opinion. Nilda felt a little better about having it, but still, she was speaking ill of the lady’s nephew. Then Gertrude asked, “And what about my nephew Fritz?”

  Now that was something Nilda could say without fear of offending. “He is a remarkably giving person who gives freely of his time and talents. He cares very much; for instance, the way he just dove right in to help us with this project. And his desire to help educate the children in this area. And his skill—his gift—as a musician and teacher delights me.”

  “Mm.”

  And that was all Gertrude said. Should Nilda push the topic further? She was curious about why she had been asked those questions, but as she thought about it, it was really not her business. It was something Gertrude wanted to know, and surely eventually she would explain why she had asked.

  Speaking of Jeffrey had reminded Nilda of the upcoming ball. Humph. Jeffrey seemed to think that little farm girl Nilda should be giddy with delight at being able to do a high-society thing.

  Hardly.

  Chapter

  23

  Nilda stared out the window of the library. “Can I say something that . . . something that I am struggling with?” Oh, please do not be offended. She bit her lip.

  “Nilda, haven’t I repeatedly asked you to be frank with me in regard to anything and everything? I am trusting you with everything. I know I hired you to be my assistant, but I believe I look upon you more as my daughter. So, please, whatever it is—tell me.” Gertrude wiped her eyes with the handkerchief she always carried. “I’m sorry, the tears surprised me.”

  Nilda reached in her desk drawer where she kept several squares of soft cotton and blew her nose. “Thank you. I . . .” She puffed out a breath. “Here goes. I have an idea, and I was feeling, ah . . .” She shook her head. “I thought of . . . might it be possible to announce that we will match other donations? I know this sounds outrageous, but perhaps that would encourage others to offer more.” She shook her head. “No, that doesn’t sound as
good when spoken aloud. Sorry.”

  “No, no, wait. Let’s think about this.”

  “It sounds like we . . .” Nilda stumbled over that word. We, such a small word with a world of meaning.

  “Continue. We . . . ?”

  “Are blowing our own horn. ‘See, we can afford to do this.’” She rushed through the last words and threw herself back in her chair.

  Gertrude rolled her lips together, tried to stop a bubbling laugh, and then gave up. “You constantly amaze me. To think we’ve been together barely a year. Our God is so very good.”

  Nilda stared at her. Laughter was not what she had expected when she started this conversation.

  “All right . . . back to the beginning. Your idea.” Gertrude gazed at her, a smile still playing about her lips. “Your idea is good, sound. Although anyone with a financial background would laugh us out the door. I can just see the look on Heinrik’s face, let alone Mathew’s.” She nodded. “So, how can we rephrase this?”

  She leaned over and picked up the receiver from the telephone on Nilda’s desk. “Good morning, Milly. Ring Miss Jane Walstead.” After a pause to allow the connection to click into place, she said, “Jane, can you come over, please? I will send George immediately.”

  Nilda could just hear Miss Walstead’s tinny voice coming through the receiver. “Is something wrong?”

  Gertrude chuckled. “Not at all. Nilda just came up with the most astounding idea, and we need your assistance.”

  “I’ll be waiting on the front step by the time he gets here. It sounds exciting.”

  Gertrude sent Charles off to arrange for George and the victoria and to call Cook in. “We need tea and sustenance for three in about twenty minutes.”

  “Will this be in place of dinner, ma’am?” Mrs. Solvang asked.

  “No, but please postpone dinner for about an hour. Thank you. And yes, Jane will most likely eat here.” She clapped her hands on the arms of her wingback chair. “I hope you can tell that I am excited.”

  Nilda nodded, eyes wide. “I got that idea.”

  Charles knocked on the open door. “The mail is here.”