Sophie's Dilemma

by Lauraine Snelling

  No Hamre. No, he hadn’t been there. No, no one had heard from him. He was probably visiting the rest of his relatives, Ilse suggested. Sophie thought up reasons to go visit Tante Ingeborg.

  When she cleaned the schoolrooms, she checked the windows to see if Hamre was coming. Sitting out on the porch peeling potatoes, she had a clear view of the road and lane. No Hamre, and she hated peeling potatoes anyway, along with most other homemaking things like cooking, sewing, knitting, cleaning. Although she did them at her mother’s insistence, she always dreamed of adventures far away from Blessing.

  By bedtime she’d still not seen Hamre.

  The next afternoon when the wagon stopped at their house, she saw a familiar figure talking with her pa at the machine shed. Her heart picked up a beat and her feet a skip. ‘‘He’s here,’’ she signed to Grace, nodding toward the men.

  ‘‘I can see even if I can’t hear.’’ Grace didn’t bother to speak, just signed back, her fingers flashing.

  Sophie stomped up the porch steps and into the house. Why couldn’t Grace be happy for her?

  ‘‘Hamre will be staying for supper, so set an extra place,’’ Kaaren said. She glanced over to see Sophie staring out the window toward the barn. ‘‘Perhaps you should milk all the cows. All by yourself tonight. In an hour.’’

  Grace rolled her lips together to keep from laughing.

  The banter between Grace and Mor laid a background as Sophie’s thoughts ranged far afield. Mrs. Hamre Bjorklund. Sophie Marie Bjork-lund. We will own ships instead of farmland. Hamre will be a fine father, teaching his sons about the sea. She leaned against the window frame. Hurry up, Hamre.

  ‘‘Sophie!’’

  Returning from her dreaming, Sophie turned at the insistent tone of her mother’s voice. ‘‘What?’’ She knew her voice was not the most pleasant, and the raising of her mother’s eyebrows said she recognized that too. ‘‘Sorry.’’

  ‘‘You have your good dress on?’’

  ‘‘I . . . ah . . . well, we’re having company.’’ Sophie refused to look at Grace. She could feel her twin’s secret laughter. She sucked in a breath and slapped a smile on her face. ‘‘What was it you wanted?’’ Sweetness worked better than snapping, in her mother’s outlook.

  ‘‘We need some help here. Would you go out to the well house and bring in the jug of cream? Also I have a new mold of butter we’ll use.’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course.’’ She flew out the door. The springhouse was closer to where the men were leaning into part of the steam engine. Perhaps she could go ask if they wanted anything. She thought of taking cookies down to them, but that might be a bit obvious. Please be thinking of me, Hamre.

  As she opened the door set in the stone wall that helped keep the well house cool, Sophie eyed the two men still talking. They were spending too much time talking about farming, she was sure. Why didn’t they come up to the house? Didn’t Hamre want to see her? If he knew she was waiting and he was tormenting her . . .

  Water ran from the windmill into a pipe that poured into a concrete trough and ran out the other end via a pipe into the watering tank for the cattle. Crocks and jars set in the cold tank stayed fresh. Eggs filled a basket with straw in the bottom. Smoked meat hung from hooks in the rafters, as did spekekjøtt, haunches of mutton dried in the top of the barn in the hot summertime. It would be sliced paper thin and served on bread or with cream. Like the cellar under the house, the springhouse spoke well of the larder and the hard work of the family. When the weather cooled enough for butchering, crocks of sausage patties and headcheese would line the floor against one wall. Ropes of sausages would hang in loops from the rafters. On a hot day the well house was a great place to work.

  Sophie took the wooden butter mold and the jug of cream her mother needed and closed the door carefully behind her, dropping the bent nail into the hasp to lock it. She glanced around, only to see the men were no longer by the machinery. Had they gone to the house? Surely Hamre would visit with her before he returned to the boardinghouse. What had they been talking about all that time? If only she could read lips long distance.

  Supper at the Knutsons’, when the deaf school was in session was always an adventure, especially at the beginning of the year while everyone was still in training. The older students took turns helping with the meals and serving; the younger ones set the table and helped with the cleanup afterward.

  With Lars at the head of the table and Kaaren at the foot, closest to the kitchen, Sophie, Grace, Trygve, and Samuel, along with Ilse and George, spaced themselves along the long table to help the students, who were required to use the proper signs to ask for what they wanted.

  Sophie paid more attention to Hamre sitting next to her pa than to the children around her until the milk from an upended glass flowed into her lap. She pushed back her chair and leaped to her feet, ready to scream at the offender, but her mother’s clearing her throat stopped her. Here I have my good dress on for company, and this happens. She’d taken off her apron, which added to the mess. But since looking at her mother would yield nothing but a note of censure, she fetched a couple of towels, one to hand to the child to wipe up the mess on the table and another to clean her dress. Now she’d have to rinse out the skirt tonight because she’d hoped to wear this to school the next day.

  Smiling sweetly on the outside, she took her place again and passed the bowl of potatoes to the person on her right.

  When supper was finished, the adults moved into the parlor while Ilse oversaw the cleanup and homework time.

  Hamre, look at me. Sophie tried to catch his attention, but he followed her family as if he had all the time in the world. Surely this wouldn’t be an ordinary evening with homework and casual conversation. She felt as trapped as a mouse caught by the tail.

  Kaaren picked up her mending and Grace the sweater Sophie had started knitting but quit weeks earlier after dropping some stitches. Lars indicated a chair near him for Hamre, leaving Sophie to finally flounce into a chair by her mother. If Hamre had just paid attention to her, they might have gone out on the porch to talk or walk, and perhaps she would take his arm and he would cover her hand with his and hold her snug against his side. Instead she had to endure another look of reprimand from her mother. What a wasted evening, and she had yet to rinse the milk out of her dress.

  ‘‘So how long do you plan to stay in Blessing?’’ Kaaren asked.

  ‘‘The schooner will leave for the Bering Sea about November first, and we have some work to do to get it ready. So another week at the most.’’

  Sophie felt her jaw drop and snapped it shut before her gaffe should become obvious. Only another week. She tried to smile, but her chin quivered in spite of her attempt.

  Lars cleared his throat and looked at his wife. ‘‘Hamre has asked me if he can court our Sophie.’’

  Her heart stopped, fluttered, and raced off. Had she heard right? Court our Sophie? Oh Hamre . . . She looked up and into his eyes. Finally. Could he read her soul? The happiness in her gaze? Sitting still took all her will when she only wanted to fling herself across the room and into his arms. Hamre!

  Lars shifted his attention to his restless daughter. ‘‘But I told him you are too young and have promised to finish school. You may write to each other with our blessing, and we’ll see what all comes by next summer.’’

  Sophie stared at her father. No! He couldn’t do that to her.

  6

  ‘‘BUT I WANT TO GO with you!’’

  ‘‘Sophie, you know what your pa said. I was hoping we could be married now, but we can wait. It won’t be long.’’

  ‘‘It will be forever.’’ Sophie spun away and went to stand at the porch railing, staring out over the moon-washed fields. Frost was in the air, causing her to pull her shawl more closely around her shoulders. She felt his hands cup her upper arms, and heat poured through her body. What if she turned into his arms? Would he kiss her? What would his lips feel like?

  ‘‘Sophie, I dreamed yo
u would feel this way, but we must abide by your pa’s wishes. I will go to sea for these months, and if all is well, I will come to visit again between the seasons. Do I dare to believe that you love me?’’

  ‘‘Oh, Hamre, I do.’’ She turned and stared up into his eyes, darkened now in the night. She paused. ‘‘Do you really love me?’’

  ‘‘Would I have asked to court you did I not?’’

  ‘‘But I need to hear you say the words.’’ Her voice softened, and she put all her heart in her eyes.

  ‘‘Ah, Sophie, I think . . .’’ He sucked in a long breath, and his voice deepened even more. ‘‘When I was a boy, I believed I loved Ilse, but I went away and couldn’t even remember her face. I wrote to you because your face, your laughter, never left me. I believe I have always loved you. But I was waiting for you to grow up.’’ He stroked the line of her jaw. ‘‘And now you have.’’

  ‘‘You never said. All those years.’’

  ‘‘I could not say anything. Words never came easily for me. And you were a little girl.’’

  ‘‘But now they do?’’ And I have grown up. So romantic, waiting for me to grow up. Writing to me as a friend. Ah, this is what stories are made of.

  ‘‘I think I grew up. Maybe talking to the cod fish helped.’’

  Chuckling at his response, she felt his hands wrap hers in a warmth that penetrated clear to her backbone and down to her toes. Leaning closer, she turned her head and rested her cheek on his chest. His breath feathered her bangs. If she looked up, leaned closer, could she kiss his chin? Surely his heart beat in time with hers, not a steady beat but more a race. He released one hand, keeping it caught between them and used his callused fingers to trace a line along her jaw. Ah, the bliss of his touch. So rough like sand but so gentle, as if afraid she might break. The trail of his touch burned like the sear of a flatiron.

  ‘‘Ahem.’’ Her mother’s voice came from the parlor behind them.

  They drew apart to the decorous distance of society’s strictures. Her whole front felt chilled, missing his touch. She sighed, a sigh that came from deep inside. A year seemed an interminable time. Why was there always something or someone to keep her from her dreams?

  ‘‘I better go.’’

  ‘‘I know. Ma is giving the signal.’’ But I don’t want you to go. ‘‘Will I see you tomorrow?’’

  ‘‘Ja, I will meet you after school for a buggy ride. Haakan said he would loan me theirs.’’ He brushed his fingertips over her cheek again.

  ‘‘Good night.’’

  He left her standing there, still dreaming of a kiss.

  Back in the kitchen, Grace took one look at her sister’s face and shook her head. Returning to the book she was reading for school, she ignored Sophie’s pleading look. Fine. If Grace didn’t want to talk about the love of her life, she would not tease her to do so. Sophie flounced up to their bedroom to dream of Hamre.

  Sophie woke in the predawn hours, her dream still a living part of her mind—she and Hamre married and riding the train to Seattle. What could she do to change her father’s mind? And her mother’s? The two were always in solid agreement. If she could get Grace to help her, perhaps she would have a better chance. She turned on her side and watched Grace sleep, her twin’s face only a pale form in the dimness. She choked on the pain of the next thought: I’ll have to leave Grace behind.

  They’d never been apart—not even visiting overnight at Astrid’s or Rebecca’s. Always where one went, so did the other. Would marriage to Hamre be like her and Grace, so close they knew what the other was thinking, and if one hurt the other felt it? She thought of the time Grace had had such a terrible cough. Her own throat had hurt, and she’d not coughed once.

  But Hamre. Warmth puddled in her middle at just the thought of him. So tall and strong, so gentle, the sparkle in his eyes, the set of his chin. The thrill when they touched. Go back to sleep, she ordered herself. But when she did, she could feel the rock and sway of the train, feel the warmth of his arm next to hers in the seat. She slept again, feeling his shoulder beneath her cheek.

  She woke with a plan.

  ‘‘Sophie, time to get up,’’ Kaaren called in her normal greeting.

  Sophie lay still a moment longer to savor her plan before waking her sister. Surely she could accomplish this. After all, Hamre was male, and according to whispered conversations she’d overheard, all men had the same kinds of urges. She’d even read of them in the Bible, not that she was supposed to understand it. But she hadn’t grown up on a farm for nothing.

  She touched Grace’s shoulder and watched her come awake. Her eyes fluttered open, and as always, she turned to smile at Sophie.

  ‘‘Good morning.’’

  ‘‘Ja, it is a good morning.’’

  Grace narrowed her eyes. ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Nothing. I am just grateful I don’t have to go milk cows every morning. Come on.’’

  By the time they were dressed and had brushed their hair, Sophie could hear Ilse and their mother talking in the kitchen but was not able to make out the words. Was it Norwegian? This was a morning like all school mornings, yet it wasn’t. Five days left until Hamre would get back on the westbound train. Five days to convince him to take her along.

  She forced herself to pay attention to her schoolwork rather than keep checking the back door to see if he’d arrived yet. When Pastor Solberg dismissed school and she walked out the door, sure enough, there he was sitting in Haakan’s buggy waiting. Her heart leaped, and a smile split her face. ‘‘Tell Ma I’ll be a bit late,’’ she told Grace and headed for the buggy before Grace could reply.

  Hamre stepped down to help her in, his hand burning hers. She settled her skirt and smiled at him as he climbed back in the buggy. ‘‘Where are we going?’’

  ‘‘Where would you like to go?’’ His voice ran deep like the river. Again the puddle in her middle.

  ‘‘Anywhere, but I have to be home in time to help with supper. You will come for supper again, won’t you?’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry. I promised to go to Thorliff ’s for supper tonight.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ She let her lower lip pout just enough to attract his attention.

  He turned to look at her, his blue eyes growing sad. ‘‘I’m sorry. I . . .’’

  ‘‘That’s all right. I just want to spend every minute I can with you.’’ She let her eyelashes feather across her cheeks, raising her chin slightly to see if her action had the desired effect.

  It did. He looked at her with a smile that encouraged her to tuck her hand through his arm and lean against his strong shoulder. The horse trotted onward, head up, ears flicking, and the buggy’s swaying gave her a good reason to lean against him more firmly.

  ‘‘Tell me about your fishing trips.’’

  ‘‘What do you want to know?’’

  ‘‘What have you seen?’’

  ‘‘Whales longer than this horse and buggy rise out of the water like gray monsters. You see a puff of mist where they release their air, then their backs arch, and finally the tail fins flip as they let out sounds.’’ He drew the arch with the sweep of one arm.

  ‘‘Sounds?’’ Oh, I want to see whales, the ocean.

  ‘‘Then they go down under water again. We’ve seen gray whales, humpbacks, and killer whales. They’re a striking black and white with a big dorsal fin.’’ He turned to look into her eyes. ‘‘Did you know that whales sing?’’

  ‘‘Hamre, you’re teasing me.’’ She looked at him from under her lashes and swallowed at the glint in his eyes. Surely her ploy was working.

  ‘‘No, they really do. Underwater sound travels for great distances, and that is how they communicate.’’

  ‘‘Well, I never . . .’’ She shook her head. ‘‘Whales . . . what else?’’

  ‘‘Seals, sea lions, dolphins, grizzly bears along the shores of Alaska, moose, elk, deer, sea otters. You cannot believe all the wildlife up there, not that there is not a lot in Washi
ngton too. You will love it there.’’

  ‘‘I know already.’’ She sighed. ‘‘Such a long time away. What if you find someone else to love?’’

  ‘‘Do not fear for that.’’ He covered her hand with his other. ‘‘I have waited these years already for you to grow up.’’

  ‘‘If we could go together now . . .’’ She let the sentence slide ever so gently into silence. She felt his body stiffen next to her. So he thought the same, did he?

  ‘‘I know . . .’’ He tipped his head to the side to touch hers.

  ‘‘I think my heart might break right in two if you leave me.’’

  ‘‘It won’t be that long. You’ll see.’’

  She left it at that, only sitting closer so she could feel his leg through her skirt.

  ‘‘I better get you home, eh?’’

  ‘‘I guess.’’ She laid her head against his shoulder. ‘‘I miss you when you are not with me.’’ She looked up at him. Her breath caught in her throat when he stopped the buggy. He stroked her jaw with the tips of his fingers, leaning closer. She raised her mouth, and slowly he leaned down. With a sigh, he covered her lips with his, turning at the same time so his other arm circled her waist.

  This was not the light peck of the other boys. She’d always drawn away after a brief contact, but this time she melted into his arms and let the kiss linger. As if she had any choice. When he raised his head, he whispered against her lips.

  ‘‘You are so beautiful.’’

  She’d read of a heroine melting into the hero’s arms. Now she knew what that meant. With great effort she straightened and stared into his eyes. ‘‘Oh, Hamre. I never knew a kiss could be like that.’’ Her whisper made him smile.

  He nodded and clucked the horse into a homeward-bound trot.

  Say something. Her mouth dried with the wanting. Take me with you. Say something.

  He pulled the horse to a stop in front of the Knutson home and stepped down, then handed her down. ‘‘That was nice.’’ He touched the brim of his hat, climbed back in the buggy, and turned to drive back out the lane.