Sophie's Dilemma

by Lauraine Snelling

  ‘‘A boat returned from Alaska. The Sea Lily went down in a terrible storm.’’ Her voice broke and she blinked back the tears that brimmed over.

  ‘‘There were no survivors. I’m so sorry to bring such terrible news.’’

  Sophie stared at her. No survivors. Surely not. The Sea Lily was a strong boat. Hamre always said Captain Jorgeson was the best captain around. ‘‘It cannot be. Surely there is some mistake.’’

  ‘‘If only it could be so, but . . .’’

  ‘‘No. I won’t believe it.’’

  Mrs. Jorgeson turned to Mrs. Soderstrum, who took Sophie in her arms and let her cry against her shoulder. ‘‘I’ll let myself out. I have another call to make. I am so sorry for your loss.’’

  ‘‘Wait. How can you know for sure?’’ Sophie wiped her eyes with her fingertips.

  ‘‘They would never bring us news like this unless it was true. They would wait.’’ She turned and headed for the door, her shoulders curved as the weight of her burden wore her down.

  Sophie cried herself to sleep, woke in the night, and cried again, trying to stifle the sound so she wouldn’t wake the other boarders. The next time she woke, she found Mrs. Soderstrum asleep in the chair by her bed. The rustling of the covers as she got up to use the pot woke the older woman.

  ‘‘I’m sorry to wake you.’’

  ‘‘No, I need to go back to my bed. I heard you crying in your sleep.’’

  Sophie’s eyes brimmed again. ‘‘I can’t believe he is really gone.’’

  ‘‘I know. It doesn’t seem possible. But in the fishing trade, these things happen. Must have been a terrible storm.’’

  ‘‘I never said good-bye.’’ Sophie could hardly speak the words.

  ‘‘I know, I know. None do.’’

  Sophie shook her head, the burden of her sorrow slowing the motion. ‘‘The night before he left—’’ she sniffed and wiped her nose— ‘‘I wanted him to stay home. I thought he wouldn’t leave me. . . .’’ A hiccup caught her. ‘‘I was so mad, I just went to bed and fell asleep before he came to bed. I was hateful and . . .’’ Her voice dropped to a whisper, strangled by sobs. ‘‘Hamre, you can’t leave me. You have to come back.’’ So I can tell you how sorry I am. God, why would you do such a thing? You didn’t have to let this happen.

  ‘‘Shh. Hush. He knew that you loved him. All married people have fights at times, but that doesn’t mean we love any the less.’’

  ‘‘But he wasn’t fighting. He just looked at me like I was the greatest disappointment of his life. He didn’t want me to come west with him, but I talked him into it. He wanted to wait like my father said.’’ Hope had tucked tail and run, leaving her voice thready. She sank back against the pillow and turned her face away, letting the persistent tears wet her pillow.

  When she slept, nightmares of towering waves threatened to swamp her, jerking her awake to cough and choke as if she’d inhaled the seas. She fell asleep again and slept round the clock.

  Only in sleep was there surcease from the pain. Often, she woke crying for her mother and Grace.

  This time she awoke to Mrs. Soderstrum shaking her shoulder again. ‘‘Come, Sophie, you must get some nourishment in you, or you’ll be sick. You could even lose the babe.’’

  Sophie stared around the room, as if searching for something she couldn’t see. ‘‘Hamre?’’

  ‘‘Ah, poor child, he—’’ ‘‘He’s gone.’’ She covered her eyes with her hands, letting the tears leak between her fingers. ‘‘I-I’m not hungry.’’

  ‘‘Yes you are. And thirsty. Here, drink this.’’ She handed her a cup. ‘‘It is only warm water. Drink it down.’’

  Sophie took a sip and gagged. ‘‘I can’t.’’

  ‘‘You can or I will call a doctor.’’

  ‘‘No!’’ She shook her head. ‘‘Just let me be.’’

  ‘‘Do you want to let that baby die?’’

  ‘‘No, of course not. I—’’ ‘‘Then drink.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum held the cup to Sophie’s lips. ‘‘And then you will eat this toast, and if that stays down, I will bring up a poached egg. I have a chicken stewing so you can have chicken broth.

  You have to have liquid and nourishment to keep your baby growing.’’

  Sophie drank a couple of swallows and started to push the cup away, but drank again instead.

  ‘‘There’s a girl.’’ The older woman took the cup back and set the plate with toast and honey on the bed. ‘‘If you scoot up, I’ll stack the pillows behind you. Will be more comfortable.’’

  Sophie did as told, as anything else took far more effort than she could find. Hamre, oh, Hamre. She gagged on the first bite of toast but chewed anyway, taking small bites and chewing them to a mush that slid down easily. When she’d finished half a slice, her head fell back against the pillows. ‘‘I can’t eat any more.’’

  ‘‘That was good for now. Can I get you anything else?’’

  ‘‘No thank you.’’ Unless you could work a miracle and bring my mor here. Her eyes drifted closed before Mrs. Soderstrum made it to the door.

  Go away! She kept from screaming the words, or even whispering them, with the greatest effort.

  Later, opening her eyes, she saw afternoon sun on the floor.

  ‘‘They say I make the best chicken soup, so I brought more than just the broth. You got to feed that baby. Remember?’’ Mrs. Soderstrum set her tray down. ‘‘You sit up and I’ll put this across your lap. I’ll take out the pot and bring you back some warm water. Washing will help you feel a hundred percent better, and then I’ll brush your hair. My sisters and I used to brush each other’s hair, and it always felt so nice. There’s nothing like having someone else do it for you.’’

  Gritting her teeth against the onslaught of words, Sophie did as she was told and realized her landlady was right. She did make good chicken soup. Sophie had cleaned the bowl before Mrs. Soderstrum returned with a clean pot and a pitcher of hot water.

  ‘‘There you go.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum stuck the chamber pot in the cabinet and poured the water into the bowl on top of the stand. ‘‘Will you wash? Or I can help you.’’

  ‘‘I’ll do it.’’

  ‘‘Good. Then I’ll be back to brush your hair. If you feel faint, sit down quick.’’

  ‘‘I will.’’ Sophie sighed. While her stomach felt better, the thought of getting out of bed made her sigh again. She watched as Mrs. Soderstrum picked up the tray and left the room. She didn’t deserve anyone being so good to her. When she stood and looked in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself. Her hair was knotted and flying every which way, her face gaunt with black half-moons under listless eyes. Her skin looked nearly as white as the sheets she’d climbed from, except for the bruise around the bandage on her forehead. But what did it matter? Hamre would never come up behind her, never slide his hands around her waist and draw her back into the safe haven of his solid chest. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she dipped the washcloth in the cooling water and buried her face in the wet warmth. Oh, God, I cannot bear this.

  I will never leave thee nor forsake thee. She turned around, searching for the voice that spoke those words. No one else was in the room. That’s all her baby needed—a crazy mother. Already it had no father. It. Her baby was not an it. He or she. She needed to choose two names, one of each kind. Now that was something that bore thinking on.

  She finished washing and drew clean underclothes from her drawer. Was she planning on getting dressed? No. But a clean nightdress would feel wonderful. She slid the flannel gown over her head and settled the bands around her wrists. Her hair, now that was another matter.

  Mrs. Soderstrum bustled back in. ‘‘I brought clean sheets. I thought we might as well remake your bed while you are out of it. My, don’t you look better. Even a bit of color back in your cheeks.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry to be such trouble.’’

  ‘‘No trouble. You’d do the same, I’m sure.’’ She pulled the b
lanket and quilt off the bed, then the sheets. Together they tucked the clean sheets under the mattress and finished making the bed, Mrs. Soderstrum plumping the pillows after donning clean cases and stepping back with her hands on her ample hips. ‘‘Now you sit down on that bench, and while I brush your hair, you tell me about what life was like growing up a twin.’’

  The more she told, the more she wanted to go home. ‘‘Sometimes I miss Grace so much. . . .’’ The thought of missing Grace brought on the tears of missing Hamre. Ignoring the tugs as Mrs. Soderstrum worked the tangles out of her hair, she closed her eyes and pictured Grace doing the job instead, tsking at the rats’ nests, as she called them, scolding Sophie for not taking better care of herself. She saw Grace signing to the deaf students, her hands patiently forming the symbols so they could learn to talk. Grace was already a fine teacher, so full of love for her pupils that they strove hard to please her.

  ‘‘There you go. Do you have a ribbon to tie off the end of this braid?’’

  Sophie dug in the carved wooden box that had been in the trunk her mother sent. Onkel Olaf had made it, and Ellie gave it to her for Christmas one year. ‘‘Here.’’ She handed over a white ribbon.

  Mrs. Soderstrum hummed a tune as she finished the loose braid, weaving the ribbon in with the sections of hair. ‘‘You have such lovely hair. Does Grace look just like you?’’

  ‘‘No, her hair is as fair as mine is dark. She’s more slender, like a reed that bends in the wind. Our faces are similar, but her eyes are gray and more dreamy. Grace was born deaf, yet she learned sign language, which we all learned, and she also learned to speak. She worked so hard to be like everyone else. My sister is the bravest and kindest person I know.’’

  Mrs. Soderstrum stepped back. ‘‘There now. Why, I do see a trace of that spunky Sophie I met a few months ago.’’

  Sophie nodded and sighed again. Exhaustion settled on her like a Seattle fog, so thick she almost felt she was breathing in the dense mist.

  ‘‘I think I need to go back to bed.’’ Her stomach was picking up the morning nasties again. As she settled in, she thought, I wonder if Tante Ingeborg has something to help me feel better? Or Dr. Elizabeth?

  What would happen if I went home? The thought jarred her awake for the second time the next morning. The first she’d spent with her head over the basin again in spite of the dried bread Mrs. Soderstrum had left for her on the nightstand.

  Mor had already written and said she could come home for the winter until Hamre came back from fishing. Surely Grace would want her home; she had written at least, even though the letter was so stilted. But Far? He had not written her a line nor sent a message by either of the other two. Somehow she knew that was where the trouble lay. But they didn’t know that Hamre had died. First things first. She took out paper and pen and wrote the briefest of notes, her tears splashing blots on the ink.

  ‘‘I’m going to the store. Do you need anything?’’ Mrs. Soderstrom asked from the doorway.

  ‘‘Just mail this for me, please.’’ She handed off the envelope. ‘‘Thank you.’’

  When she heard the front door close, she went back to contemplating what to do. ‘‘So I won’t go home, er . . . back to Blessing. My room here is paid until Hamre returns or would have been returning.’’ Her voice caught. Spring would come, but Hamre would not return. She stared at the ceiling. If I stay here, I need to find work of some kind for as long as I am able. I can sew, though I’m not the best at it, or teach or clean houses. The last I can do just fine but don’t much like it. I could care for someone’s children, but how would I explain that I was getting fatter because of the babe I carry? I enjoyed working in Tante Penny’s store. I can read well and do sums. Surely there must be a store that needs a good worker.

  After two days of visiting every store of every ilk, even a ship’s chandler, where they sold shipping goods, all she had was aching feet and a runny nose. No one required a young woman who, while she claimed to have worked in a cheese house, a general store, and a boardinghouse, had no proof and who, in one case, had to run to vomit before she could talk again. She forced herself to hike up the hill to the boardinghouse, stopping to lean against light posts and trees ever more frequently. After three stops on the stairs to her room, she flung herself across the bed and slept until the supper bell.

  The next day she packed all of her belongings into a trunk, drew the pouch of money from the back of the chifforobe, and announced she was going back to Blessing on the morning train.

  ‘‘Much as I’m going to miss you, I do believe you are making a good choice.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum dabbed at a tear. ‘‘Having you here has been such a blessing for me. You are almost the daughter I never had.’’

  She hugged Sophie close. ‘‘Will you telegraph your folks?’’

  ‘‘No. Someone there will take me in.’’

  ‘‘I’ll pack a basket of food for you.’’

  But the rocking of the train forbade her to eat any of the things packed, and Sophie made visit after visit to the necessary, where the stench made her even sicker. The wheels clacked off the minutes, and the piston drove past the hours as the train headed east, each turn taking her closer to Blessing and home . . . if Far would let her come home.

  As she drifted in and out of consciousness, she vaguely remembered a woman with a black hat and feather encouraging her to drink water and a woman wearing purple who fed her crackers and held her head when she lost them—at least she thought the two women were real. Perhaps not.

  ‘‘I’ve telegraphed ahead to the doctor in Blessing, miss.’’

  Had the conductor said that, or did her mind make it up? She had made herself a nuisance to everyone on the train. It seemed something she was good at. She’d been a nuisance to Hamre the night before he left. . . .

  ‘‘Can you stand, miss?’’ A man in uniform, but not the same man as before.

  ‘‘I-I don’t know.’’ Sophie opened her eyes enough to realize the train was no longer rocking. ‘‘Where . . . ?’’

  ‘‘We are at the Blessing station. Let me help you off.’’

  ‘‘Ja, help me off.’’ But when he helped pull her to her feet, she swayed, and he caught her before she fell. ‘‘Sorry.’’

  ‘‘That’s all right. We get you the help you need.’’

  Sophie clung to his neck as he picked her up and descended the steps to the platform. Had he said Blessing? How would she make it home from the train station?

  She felt strong arms reach for her, saw the Bjorklund blue eyes above her. Hamre? Hamre with such beautiful blue eyes. Everything would be all right now. ‘‘Hamre.’’

  20

  ‘‘MOR, YOU CAME FOR ME.’’ Sophie tried to sit up. Relief made her dizzy. Mor is here. All will be well.

  ‘‘No, dear child, you came home on the train. Don’t you remember?’’ Kaaren smoothed her daughter’s hair back. ‘‘You’ve been here at Elizabeth’s for two days.’’

  ‘‘Hamre—he carried me here.’’ Sophie’s heart leaped. ‘‘Tell him I’m here. I must see him . . . tell him I didn’t mean . . .’’ She clutched her mother’s hand.

  ‘‘No, Sophie, Thorliff carried you here. The conductor carried you off the train.’’ Kaaren held a cup to her mouth. ‘‘Drink this.’’

  Sophie did as her mother ordered. Hamre won’t be here. He’s gone. Reality stabbed her with deadly accuracy. She had no strength to fight the tears. When she could speak again, she asked, ‘‘Where’s Grace?’’

  ‘‘She has been here off and on. She’s at school now.’’

  Sophie lay back in the bed. ‘‘I was really sick on the train. Some women took care of me, I think. It is all so confusing.’’

  ‘‘We got the letter two days ago, Sophie. I am so sorry. Hamre was a fine man.’’ Kaaren took her daughter in her arms as the tears flowed again. ‘‘You wrote the date in the letter. Grace knew. That day she wanted to get on the train and go to you. She said something terrible had happened.�
�’

  Sophie mopped her eyes. ‘‘The captain’s wife came to tell me. There were no survivors.’’ The bleak words lay where they fell. ‘‘I thought my world had ended. Hamre gone. Fired from my job. Pregnant.’’

  ‘‘Pregnant? You are with child?’’ Kaaren’s face bloomed with joy.

  ‘‘You did not get my letter? I wrote and told you, before the letter about Hamre.’’

  ‘‘No, that one did not come. Oh, Sophie, no wonder you were so sick on the train. Did you have much morning sickness?’’

  ‘‘Morning sickness? I get sick any time of day or night.’’ Sophie lay back against the pillows, her eyes closing, too weary to keep awake. ‘‘I don’t remember you being so sick with either of the boys.’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t, for which I have always been grateful. The two of you were another matter.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’

  ‘‘This will pass.’’

  ‘‘I hope so. The thought of months of this makes me want to run screaming.’’ Or throw myself under the wheels of the train. Down in her middle, it started again, the roiling that worked its way up to her throat. She swallowed, hoping she could calm down before erupting again. Sometimes she succeeded but not this time. ‘‘Excuse me.’’ She pushed to the side of the bed and reached for the basin Elizabeth had placed there for her.

  Kaaren held the pan with one hand and smoothed her daughter’s hair back with the other. When the spasms passed, she handed Sophie a warm, wrung-out cloth to wipe her face. ‘‘Have you kept anything down since you got here?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. But there was nothing in my stomach to heave out.’’

  ‘‘I’ll bring some tea and toast. That sits better than most anything else.’’