Sophie's Dilemma

by Lauraine Snelling

  But he knew folks were beginning to think him surly when he kept turning down invitations for supper or Sunday dinners. He’d not shown up at a party over at the Baards’, even though he’d said he would. Before, it would not have been like him to be rude.

  ‘‘So how do you like living in Blessing?’’ Ingeborg asked.

  ‘‘This is a good town,’’ Garth said over his shoulder. Perhaps it is time to talk. He’d ignored the prompting earlier, but everyone had been so welcoming and nice to him. Taking in a deep breath, he continued. ‘‘Coming here after my wife died was a good thing.’’

  ‘‘Sometimes a change of scenery makes the grieving easier.’’

  ‘‘I hoped it would. Keeping busy helps.’’

  ‘‘I found that to be true when my first husband died. Nearly worked myself into an early grave, but God and His grace brought me through.’’

  Her smile to her husband gave Garth more courage. Here was someone who understood.

  ‘‘That was why I left Minneapolis and my two children with my sister. I hope to build a house and bring them here soon.’’ Until he said that, he’d not realized he’d been thinking on it.

  ‘‘You’ll be needing a housekeeper then?’’

  ‘‘He needs a house first,’’ Haakan said dryly. ‘‘You might talk to Andrew, our younger son; he’ll be at the house too. He bought a package house from Sears and Roebuck out of their catalog. We put it up in no time.’’

  ‘‘It came in on the train.’’ Astrid spoke up too.

  ‘‘Really? I think I read something about that but never paid much attention. Is there land available?’’

  ‘‘I’m sure we could find you a lot in town, or were you thinking on farming?’’ Haakan asked.

  ‘‘No, I’m a mill worker, not a farmer.’’ Garth watched as a mottled brown and gray dog shot off the porch and tore down the lane to greet them. ‘‘Town would be best.’’

  ‘‘Then you’ll want to talk to Hjelmer Bjorklund. He is selling off some of his land in town.’’

  ‘‘He was at the interview. He’s in government. Right?’’

  ‘‘Ja and has the blacksmith shop and machinery sales.’’ Haakan stopped the team in front of the white gate of the picket fence that fronted the huge Knutson house.

  Garth stepped out of the buggy to assist the two ladies behind him.

  Astrid gave him her hand and a saucy smile as she stepped out.

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  He nodded and took her mother’s hand. Mrs. Bjorklund’s smile dashed any thoughts that she might still be ill from her surgery.

  ‘‘Thank you.’’ She settled her skirts and slid her hand through the bend in his arm. ‘‘We are delighted you could come today.’’ She walked with him up the stairs. ‘‘We want you to feel welcome and at home here.’’

  He opened the door for her, and she preceded him inside.

  ‘‘Oh, it smells wonderful.’’ Garth inhaled the aroma of roasting chicken overlaid with a hint of cinnamon.

  ‘‘Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.’’ Ingeborg hung her shawl on the coatrack by the door. ‘‘Make yourself at home. The others are right behind us. I’m going into the kitchen to help Kaaren.’’

  He could hear the laughter and exchanges outside as two other wagons arrived. Did all of Blessing come here for Sunday dinner? He remained in the parlor as the various families streamed through, the men remaining, the women carrying food to the kitchen, and the children heading back outside to play off some of their bottled-up energy from church.

  He remembered days like this, freed from church and making sure no adults were nearby to remind the children that Sunday was to be a time of quiet and reflection. Perhaps things were different on farms where cows had to be milked and animals fed no matter what day of the week it was.

  Pastor Solberg came up and shook his hand. ‘‘I’m glad to see you, Mr. Wiste. I’ve been meaning to visit you at the boardinghouse, but somehow after school starts, time gets away from me.’’

  ‘‘You teach at the school also?’’

  ‘‘Yes. We are in desperate need of another teacher, our school has grown so much. I keep hoping one of our young people will come back to teach here, but we’ll most likely have to petition the state for another teacher for next fall. We hope to add on to the schoolhouse next summer. Blessing is growing.’’

  ‘‘I heard that a man wants to open a saloon here.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’

  ‘‘Ja. You hear all kinds of discussions at the boardinghouse.’’

  ‘‘He won’t be the first with that idea and most likely not the last. But our women are rather adamant that there will be no liquor served publicly around here.’’

  ‘‘You mean no one is making moonshine?’’

  ‘‘Not that I know of, and somehow I seem to get all the news one way or another.’’ He turned to greet the young man who’d come up. ‘‘Hello, Andrew. Have you met Mr. Wiste yet?’’

  ‘‘Now I have.’’ Andrew extended his hand. ‘‘Ah, Mr. Wiste, Pa said you wanted to talk to me about my Sears and Roebuck house?’’

  The man could have been an ad for young Norwegian manhood with his blond hair and intense blue eyes. Garth felt old and dried out next to him, even though probably not many years separated them.

  ‘‘Yes. Yes, I would.’’

  ‘‘I’ll leave you two, then.’’ Pastor Solberg turned to answer a question from someone else.

  After all his solitary days since he’d arrived, Garth was beginning to feel boxed in by all the people swirling around him.

  ‘‘Come, let’s go out on the porch.’’ Settling in the two rocking chairs on the porch with the pale winter sun burnishing the floor and posts, they both sat back with a sigh. The shrieks of the young children came from far away; the laughter from those in the house had closed to a murmur until someone opened the door to let more air in.

  ‘‘What did you want to know?’’ Andrew asked.

  ‘‘Why did you buy a package house is my first question.’’

  ‘‘Look around. Do you see a lot of trees?’’

  ‘‘Well, no.’’

  ‘‘That’s the first reason. We have to have all our lumber hauled in anyway, so when I read about the Sears and Roebuck houses, my curiosity got the better of me. I looked them up in the catalog at Tante Penny’s store. They said the houses went up fast, and everything needed came in the package.’’

  ‘‘And was it so?’’

  Andrew nodded. ‘‘Our only complaint was that the package didn’t come when they first said it would. They had fallen behind with too many people ordering the houses. But when it did come, we had most of it up in one weekend. We had dug out the cellar earlier and poured concrete walls so we were all ready. If you order one, we’ll help you put it up.’’

  ‘‘You would do that?’’ He didn’t add for a stranger? but thought it.

  ‘‘Of course. We work together in Blessing. It’s one of the blessings of this place, according to Pastor Solberg.’’

  ‘‘Haakan said there might be a lot for me to buy?’’

  ‘‘Talk with Tante Penny. Hjelmer won’t be back for another week or two. I know there is a plot out by the church, and I think she is willing to sell some behind her store. If you want to be out of town—’’ ‘‘No. I see no need of that. The closer to my work the better.’’ The thought of possibly having his children here in time for Christmas set his mind to whirling. He’d not realized how much he missed Grant until he thought of having him with him. And his daughter—it was past time to be getting to know her.

  ‘‘Wait a minute. I think Tante Kaaren has one of the more recent catalogs.’’ Andrew rose and went back into the house.

  Garth stared across the fields, the flat land broken only by buildings and haystacks and the trees along the river flowing in from the west, none of which looked big enough to become lumber. Perhaps one of Blessing’s older women would agree to be a housekeeper a
nd care for his children. Or was it better to leave them with his sister? Lord, is it selfish of me to want to see them, to be with them?

  Andrew returned. ‘‘Here, you can take this with you. But Pa said you might want to wait until spring. We’ve already had snow, and all signs say we are going to have a hard winter.’’

  Garth took the offered catalog. ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘Dinner is ready,’’ Astrid announced from the doorway. ‘‘Andrew, will you go call the children?’’

  After Pastor Solberg prayed, the men lined up first, and then the children, followed by the young people. Each person dished a plateful and then found a place to sit. The men gathered in the parlor, the young people in the schoolroom, and the children on the stairs, as if all knew their places. Garth joined the men, sitting off to the side, not taking part in the conversation unless asked a question. One learned a lot by listening, something he had discovered long years earlier. Maddie used to tease him about his quietness, but he’d always responded with the old saying, ‘‘God gave us two ears and one mouth for a reason.’’ He’d learned that one from his grandfather.

  Haakan was most likely right. Starting a house now would be folly. But he could start the process. First he would have to sell his house in Minneapolis, and that meant going back there perhaps more than just for Christmas. Back to all the memories. Maybe it was good Helga and Dan decided not to take over his house. How would he find either the heart or the time to get it ready to sell?

  18

  Dear Sophie,

  I meant to write to you earlier, but when the baby came, I learned an important lesson—several in fact. One, my worries and fears were for naught. While having a baby is not an easy task, Dr. Elizabeth got here just in time, and all went as it should. She and Ingeborg had gone to Chicago for Ingeborg to have an operation. I was in labor when they got off the train on November 28, and Carl was born in the early hours of the next morning. I am happy to say that both mother and baby are doing well, although Grandma Ingeborg was sorry to have to miss this birthing.

  The second lesson? A baby takes up every hour of every day and most of the night too. Even when he is sleeping, I am washing diapers or trying to get the meals made for Andrew or—come to think of it, I’m not sure where all the time goes. Mor came to stay with me for a while, and she reminded me that all babies are like this. I guess I’d forgotten, or else it is different when it is your own. I love rocking him to sleep. When he has the colic, Andrew helps walk him in the night hours, as the rocking chair is not enough. My dear far made me the best rocker. I told him he should go into making only rocking chairs, but he didn’t think there was enough market for that to keep him and his workers busy.

  Remember how we used to dream of our lives? I wonder how your dream is coming and when I will see your dear face again and hear you laugh. Sophie, I miss you, as does everyone. I pray all is well with you, though I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have my husband gone to sea. Grace let me read your letter. I hope that was all right.

  Love from your friend,

  Ellie Bjorklund

  P.S. Have you thought of coming home to Blessing for the months that Hamre is gone? Love again. E.

  Sophie read the letter a second time before laying it in her lap and letting the tears run. There was no way she could go home. Grace rarely wrote; Pa never had. What country did Ellie live in to think all was forgiven? Besides, there was no way she could make enough money in Blessing to help pay for the boat Hamre wanted. Three weeks now she’d been working at the cannery, and never had she been so tired in her life. Surely by now she should have gotten used to standing on her feet at the gutting line all day. It wasn’t that different from milking and canning and gardening and all the things she did all summer long at home. She and Grace had always worked hard. That’s what everyone did, and no one thought anything of it.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the chairback. She could hear the bell ringing for supper, and she hadn’t washed yet. Her stomach rumbled as if set off by the bell. Heaving a sigh, she rose, poured the now cooled water into the basin, and scrubbed her hands and up her arms. Her clothes she’d hung on a peg by the door, as far from her as possible. She’d thought to ask Mrs. Soderstrum if she could undress in the washroom near the back door and leave her work clothes there. She’d never get the fish smell out of them anyway.

  After dressing again she made her way downstairs, dreading the thought that she’d have to go back up again. She could just sleep at the table with her head on her hands. She’d done that at work on her noon break one day.

  ‘‘Are you sure you feel all right?’’ Mrs. Soderstrum asked after supper was cleared away.

  ‘‘Just tired.’’

  ‘‘That is a hard job working the gutting line. I did it one year before I married my Arnet and then again after he died.’’ She set a cup of tea in front of Sophie. ‘‘You sure that’s all it is?’’

  Sophie shrugged. She wasn’t coughing or running a fever. Just incredibly bone tired.

  The next night when she came home, Mrs. Soderstrum met her at the door. ‘‘Perhaps this will help.’’ She waved a letter and then, with a wide smile that showed her missing lower front tooth, handed Sophie the envelope. ‘‘From your Hamre.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’ Sophie threw her arms around her landlady, hugging her in spite of the fish smell she wore. After removing coat, muffler, and boots, she headed up the stairs.

  ‘‘I will bring you some hot water.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, yes.’’ Sophie stopped at the large grate from the furnace and let the warm air flow up under the skirts and around her legs. No matter how many layers of clothes she wore, she always came home frozen clear to the bone. Cold in Seattle was so different from cold in North Dakota. Here it slipped past the skin and seeped into the bones and muscles, where it took up lodging in spite of the warmth of the house. She opened the envelope with shaking fingers.

  My dearest Sophie,

  We are here in Alaskan waters, and the fishing is some of the best ever. I row my dory out and many times have filled it three times in a day. The seas are relatively calm, so that is easier on all of us. You should see me. I stick that pew in and unload fish in record time. Knowing that you are waiting for me makes me work all the harder. Captain Jorgeson says I must have the fish all corralled, or I’ve got something in the boat that makes them come to me because I fill my dory up so fast. My shares from this season are adding up quickly. They are saying we might have a record season.

  I am writing by lamplight, as all of our daylight is used for fishing. Were I not writing to you, I would be sound asleep like most of the others. Every night before I fall asleep, I think of my beautiful Sophie and thank God that you are my wife.

  Love,

  Your Hamre

  P.S. You can write to me here at the cannery. They will hold our letters until we dock again. H.

  Sophie wiped the tears away. Not one hint of resenting the way she had sent him off. Or rather, didn’t send him off. Before he left he’d taken her on board the fishing boat to show her what his life would be like. She’d seen his narrow bunk, the galley and where they ate, the dories and the pew that resembled a wooden pitchfork but with only two points and used for scooping fish instead of pitching hay or manure. Now she could picture him there, writing at the wooden table with a kerosene lamp swinging overhead, the entire room so low he had to stoop to come through the door. He’d be wearing his oilskins, a jacket that came to his hips, with the turtleneck sweater underneath and wool long johns and pants.

  ‘‘Ah, Hamre, I don’t know if I can bear this all winter long.’’ Of course, he thought she was warm and snug here in the boardinghouse. He had no idea she was standing on the fish line with a slender knife in one hand, slicing from the tail up the belly to the gills, pulling out the guts, and sliding the fish on to the next in line, where it would be washed, fins and head removed, and sent on to the next. The assembly line of si
lver fish started at dawn and ended just before dark.

  She eyed the small packet of letters she had written to him. Not telling him about the job left her with little to say, other than the news from Blessing and the gossip she heard in the dining room at the boardinghouse. She’d tried hard not to whine about the unending gray days but knew some had leaked through her pen.

  Reading his letter again, she had to smile. Hamre had not wasted a word—so typical for him.

  She thought of addressing the letters but decided to put them all in one envelope and send them that way instead of individually. Sitting down on the bed to reread the letters she had written had been a mistake. She knew it as soon as her head felt the pillow, but moving took more energy than she had to give.

  A knock at the door woke her. ‘‘What? Ah, I’m coming. I’ll be right down.’’

  ‘‘No, I brought you some supper. Are you all right?’’ Mrs. Soder-strum pushed open the door as she spoke.

  ‘‘You didn’t need to do that.’’

  ‘‘You slept through supper, and I knew you needed the rest, so here you go. Bring the tray down with you when you come in the morning.’’

  She set the tray on the low table by the chair. ‘‘I brought you tea because I thought it might sit better. Would you rather have coffee?’’

  ‘‘No thank you, dear Mrs. Soderstrum. You are so good to me.’’ Sophie rubbed the sleep from her eyes with the knuckles of her fingers, making a face at the fish smell she’d not washed off. Would she ever be free of the odor again? The smell made her stomach roil.

  The next morning she woke more sluggish than ever. Turning over set her stomach to sloshing, so she lay flat for a few moments, massaging her middle. Whatever was the matter with her? She sat up, then stood and drew the chamber pot out of the stand. The smell made the gorge rise in her throat, and the next thing she knew, she was heaving into the basin. When finished, she wiped her face with the washcloth still damp from the night before. How can I possibly get dressed and . . .You will do this, Sophie Bjorklund. You said you would work, and you will. She dressed and clung to the rail down the stairs. But when they passed the platter with sausage patties, usually her favorite, she handed them on. Perhaps toast and tea was her best option this morning, although now she was feeling a whole lot better.