Sophie's Dilemma

by Lauraine Snelling

  ‘‘Grace was disappointed that you had gone already.’’ He parked his fists on his hips and looked around. ‘‘Well, at least it’s closer than Seattle.’’

  ‘‘True.’’

  ‘‘Did you like it out there? Hamre sure did.’’

  ‘‘It rained a lot.’’

  ‘‘Instead of snow.’’

  ‘‘It snowed in the mountains. You’ve never seen anything like Mount Rainier. And there were mountains on both sides of Puget Sound. The Cascades to the east and the Olympics across the water.’’

  ‘‘You could see across the water?’’

  ‘‘Oh yes. Islands too, all covered with fir trees. Trees so big you couldn’t believe it and some even with red bark that sheds like birch trees. We went for walks up among the trees. There is a lot of brush that grows. We picked huckleberries, smaller than our blueberries, so blue as to be almost black. Hamre says . . . said,’’ she corrected herself, a pang slicing into her chest. ‘‘He said that bears love the huckleberries. People can live off the land there. And the fishing—oh, you would love it, Trygve, all the different kinds of fish—and huge. My word, at the cannery some came through big as a pig.’’

  Trygve gave her one of his ‘‘Oh sure’’ looks.

  ‘‘I’m not exaggerating. Someday we’ll go there, and I’ll show you.’’

  ‘‘You would go back?’’

  ‘‘If I could. There are so many places I want to see. I’ve even thought of someday going to Norway and taking Mor and Tante Inge-borg along too.’’

  ‘‘Nothing wrong with staying right here.’’

  ‘‘No, not for those who want to. But some of us want to see other things.’’

  ‘‘You went to see other places, yet you came home again.’’

  ‘‘I know.’’ But not because I wanted to—I had no other choice.

  Trygve shook his head. ‘‘I got to go milk the cows.’’ He surprised her with a quick hug, and off he went.

  Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat and returned to the kitchen.

  That night after meeting more of the guests, Sophie studied the list of room rates and wandered the halls, seeing what rooms were different, remembering cleaning and changing beds when she had previously helped Bridget. Not that much had changed, but she’d never paid attention to why Bridget charged the way she did. She put some of her things away, hanging her dresses in her chifforobe. Feeling a chill, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. The bell over the door brought her out to the desk to check in another guest. When it rang again, she looked up to see a man dusted in white walking through the door.

  ‘‘May I help you?’’

  ‘‘No thank you. I’ll be down for supper as soon as I clean up.’’ He paused. ‘‘I’m Garth Wiste. I run the flour mill.’’

  ‘‘I’m glad to meet you. Bestemor said you’d be coming in late. I’ll go heat up your supper.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, Miss . . . ah . . .’’

  ‘‘Mrs. Bjorklund. I am Lars Knutson’s elder daughter.’’

  ‘‘Ah, the one who went to Seattle. I’m sorry to hear about your loss.’’ After looking like he would say more but didn’t, he touched the brim of his hat, sending bits of powder floating down. ‘‘I’ll go shake my coat and hat out the back door. Sometimes the wind blows me clean, but it is calm out there tonight.’’

  So everyone in town knows about me, even strangers. The thought made her uncomfortable. What all had happened in Blessing since she’d left only three months ago? Perhaps more than she’d thought. She walked under the arch to the dining room and through the swinging doors to the kitchen. Mrs. Sam had left soup to heat, and in the icebox, a plate full of the short ribs, potatoes, and string beans with bacon that had been served for supper. Sophie set the plate in the oven, added wood to the firebox, and set the small kettle of soup on the front burner, pulling the coffeepot to the hotter part of the stove also. Half an apple pie sat on the counter. She sliced bread and carried a tray with the bread, butter, jam, and some beet pickles out to a table near the kitchen door.

  ‘‘I usually eat in the kitchen,’’ Mr. Wiste said as he entered the dining room.

  ‘‘Oh. Well, if you would rather.’’

  ‘‘I would. The kitchen is cozier than this big room when I am alone. I do hope you’ll join me for a cup of coffee. Bridget . . . er, Mrs. Aarsgard usually does.’’

  ‘‘I see.’’ Sophie picked up the tray again, but before she could turn, he took the tray from her.

  ‘‘Let me.’’

  ‘‘But you’re a guest.’’ She let him take the tray and followed him into the kitchen. ‘‘If my grandmother sees this, she might fire me.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I doubt that. She was so hoping you would come and help.’’

  Does Bestemor talk everything over with this man? Since when? I’ve just been home a few days.

  ‘‘She’s gotten older while I was gone.’’ Sophie fetched the kettle of soup and dished up a bowl for him.

  ‘‘You just notice it more. Thank you.’’

  ‘‘Would you like coffee now or later?’’

  ‘‘Now would be fine.’’

  She filled his cup and set the pot back on the stove.

  ‘‘Aren’t you going to have any?’’

  ‘‘Oh, I guess.’’ Sophie got another cup and saucer and poured some for herself. ‘‘Do you take cream or sugar?’’

  ‘‘No thanks. Black is fine.’’

  While he ate his soup, she checked on the plate in the oven and cut him a large piece of pie. Sitting down, a wave of weariness rolled over her, threatening to drag her under. She trapped a yawn before it stretched her jaw. Perhaps working in the boardinghouse wouldn’t be as easy as she remembered. Or was it the baby? Hadn’t Elizabeth mentioned she would be feeling tired? As if being unable to keep much food down wasn’t bad enough.

  Later in bed, she thought about the day. So many changes in one day.No wonder I’m tired.

  22

  January 1902

  ‘‘I HAVEN’T THROWN UP IN four days.’’

  Sophie stared at the face in the mirror. Gone were the black shadows under her eyes, the gray cast around her mouth. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Although the waistband of her skirt was too tight to take a deep breath, she almost smiled. She felt good, really good, for the first time in . . . she couldn’t think how long.

  Here I am, a grieving pregnant widow in the middle of the winter in North Dakota, and I’m only seventeen years old. She straightened her arms, hands on the dressing-table surface, and let her head fall forward. What was there to rejoice about in all that?

  At least I am not losing my breakfast over the chamber pot. That is something to be thankful for. And the sun is shining on new snow. She crossed to the window and scraped enough frost off the pane to be able to see across the flat land dotted by chimneys with smoke trailing straight up. No wind. Something else to be thankful for.

  She thought back to Christmas, the worst one of her entire life. She’d chosen to stay at the boardinghouse so that Bridget and Henry could enjoy Christmas with the entire Bjorklund family. And because she was tired of everyone seeing her crying. No Hamre, not that he’d have been home anyway, but all she could think was that he was never coming home, that there would never be a home of their own for them. Sophie had given the socks she’d knitted for Hamre to Trygve and the hat to Samuel. Had Hamre worn the scarf?

  Everyone else went to church, to the program at the school, to family gatherings. Sophie had been invited to everything but turned the invitations down. Especially anything her father would go to. He’d still not spoken to her—not that he’d had many chances.

  She heard footsteps and then a knock at her door.

  ‘‘Sophie, we need a hand in the dining room,’’ Lemuel said as she opened the door. ‘‘Lily Mae just slipped and dropped a tray. It’s a mess.’’

  Lemuel and his sister, Lily Mae, both worked at the boardinghouse, along with their
mother, the cook who everyone called Mrs. Sam.

  Lemuel had come back to work there after all the fieldwork was finished for the year and hoped to get hired at the flour mill.

  ‘‘Coming.’’ She stuck one more hairpin in her upsweep and headed out the door. Another thing to be thankful for—life was never dull at the boardinghouse.

  She’d just closed the door behind her when she heard what sounded like a sob from the next room.

  Henry staggered out the door, tears streaming down his face.

  ‘‘H-help. It’s Bridget.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ Her heart in her throat, she strode past him.

  Bridget lay in the bed, a smile on her face. But when Sophie touched her, she knew. Bridget had gone home.

  ‘‘Oh, Henry, I’m so sorry.’’ She tried to say more but couldn’t speak around the sobs of her own. She turned and stepped into his arms, and the two cried together.

  ‘‘I woke up and she was gone. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.’’ Henry pulled a white handkerchief from his pants pocket and mopped his face, then sank down on the bed and took Bridget’s hand in his.

  Lily Mae skidded to a stop in the doorway.

  ‘‘Go get Pastor Solberg please,’’ Sophie said, ‘‘but don’t tell everyone here yet. Let people finish their breakfast and go on their way. No, wait.’’ She wiped her eyes and sniffed. ‘‘Go get Dr. Elizabeth first.’’

  ‘‘No need of that.’’ Henry looked up at her. ‘‘Nothing Elizabeth can do.’’

  ‘‘I know.’’ Sophie rolled her lips together, trying to stem the tears. Like Henry, she didn’t get to say good-bye to Hamre and now not to Bridget either. ‘‘Pastor Solberg first and then Thorliff, all right?’’

  Henry nodded, curved over as if the whole world had just landed on his shoulders. ‘‘She wasn’t even sick. Tired some but not sick.’’

  ‘‘She looks so peaceful. You think that smile means she saw Jesus?’’ Sophie whispered the words. ‘‘Mor always says we’ll see Jesus coming to meet us.’’ She wrapped an arm around Henry’s shoulders as if he were one of the children. ‘‘Can I do anything for you? Coffee?’’

  He shook his head. ‘‘You done all you can. Thank you for coming to help us here. That made her so pleased.’’

  ‘‘I-I better go check on things. I’ll be right back.’’ Sophie pressed her handkerchief to her eyes again and blew her nose. I must look a sight. She straightened her shoulders and, blinking again, headed for the dining room. Empty for all but Lily Mae clearing the tables amid her tears. Mrs. Sam looked up from kneading bread dough, rivulets of tears on her cheeks.

  ‘‘That de best way to pass—go to sleep in your bed and wake up in heaven.’’ She sniffed and used her apron to dry her eyes. ‘‘But, Lawd above, I’m goin’ to miss that woman.’’

  ‘‘Me too. Henry’s heart is broken.’’

  ‘‘I do believe that. He loved his Bridget something fierce. Such a shock.’’ She flipped the bread over and gave it a couple of good thumps before forming it back into a round, settling it in the huge crockery bowl, and then placing it on the wide shelf behind the stove to rise. ‘‘I knows de angels are rejoicin’. Bridget done gone home.’’

  Sophie sighed again, the tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘‘I’m glad I got to be with her for these weeks.’’

  ‘‘She was gladder I think. Right hard on her when you left las’ fall without saying good-bye.’’

  Sophie nodded. So many sorrys and if onlys, and yet if she hadn’t gone, she’d never have known what loving Hamre could be like. Or being loved by him. Or having his baby. Today she could rejoice for that. Funny how much easier it was to rejoice when she wasn’t throwing up. She poured a cup of coffee and carried it back to the room where Henry sat, still holding Bridget’s hand. She paused, not wanting to intrude, for she could hear him talking to her softly.

  He looked up as if sensing her presence.

  ‘‘I brought you a cup of coffee.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’ He waved his hand toward the bedside table. ‘‘Just set it there.’’

  Sophie heard someone behind her and turned. ‘‘Pastor Solberg, thank you for coming so quickly.’’ She started to say something else and stopped. An apology didn’t seem appropriate at the moment, and when he squeezed her hand, she nodded.

  ‘‘I left Astrid in charge at the school.’’ He passed Sophie and strode to Henry. ‘‘Ah, dear friend, she’s gone home.’’

  ‘‘And left me behind.’’ Tears flowed again. ‘‘I always thought it would be me to go first.’’

  ‘‘Just went in her sleep, did she?’’ Pastor Solberg laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder. ‘‘She looks so happy.’’

  ‘‘I know. I know she is. It just seems I should have sensed her going or something. I didn’t know it until I woke up this morning surprised to find her still in bed. She always got up so early, even when Mrs. Sam kept telling her she didn’t have to.’’

  ‘‘I sent Trygve to tell Ingeborg and Kaaren. They’ll all be here soon.’’

  Thorliff arrived at the doorway, then crossed to Henry’s side. ‘‘I’m sorry, Henry.’’

  Sophie set the cup down and returned to the kitchen to find Mrs.

  Sam refilling the coffeepot.

  ‘‘They all be coming, so I fixing cake to serve. I set up in the dining room.’’

  ‘‘Thank you. I don’t know what to do or say or anything. All I can do is cry.’’ Sophie heard someone behind her and turned to step into her mother’s arms, her father right behind her.

  ‘‘Mor.’’ Together they cried, Lars patting shoulders and sniffing himself.

  ‘‘She lived a long and good life, blessing so many people.’’ Kaaren leaned back against her husband. ‘‘Including us.’’ She kept hold of Sophie’s hand.

  ‘‘Ja, she did.’’ Lars stepped back. ‘‘I’m going to Henry. Haakan and I will build the box this afternoon.’’

  ‘‘You go on, Mor. I’ll be fine.’’ Sophie dabbed at her eyes again and thought to what needed doing. Most likely Mor and Tante Ingeborg would take care of the body and dress Bridget in her Sunday dress. They wouldn’t be able to bury her until spring came and the ground thawed enough to dig the grave. At least they have a body to bury.

  Her father had patted her shoulder. Had he forgiven her? You haven’t talked to him like your mother told you to do. She headed back to the kitchen. Keeping busy was always the best remedy.

  By the end of the day all the people of Blessing and the surrounding area had come to pay their respects. The engineer and train crew even left the westbound train and stopped by to tell Henry how sorry they were. The women had lined the box with a quilt, and Bridget did indeed look like she was sleeping.

  That evening the family gathered in the dining room after the guests had been served. They shared stories of Bridget’s coming to America and starting the boardinghouse, all the while wondering if it could be kept operating.

  ‘‘When all is said and done,’’ Henry said, ‘‘this place can go on as it is. Mrs. Sam and her family do the heavy work, and Sophie is doing a fine job at the front desk. What it really comes down to is that Bridget and me, well, we’ve not been as helpful as we used to be. We been talking, and Bridget wanted to train Sophie to run this place so she could own it after we are gone. Bridget didn’t sign a will or anything, but that is what she wanted. I do too.’’

  Sophie nearly choked on her breathing. Own the boardinghouse? At her age? What had Bridget been thinking? Surely this was a joke. She could hear the others murmuring. They were as shocked as she was.

  ‘‘What would you like to do, Henry?’’ Haakan asked.

  ‘‘Stay right here if it is all right with the rest of you. This been my home since Bridget and me . . .’’ He heaved a sigh and dried his eyes again. ‘‘I’ll help Sophie as much as I can.’’

  ‘‘Of course it is all right.’’ Haakan turned to Sophie, staring into her eyes as if searching her soul. ‘‘A
nd you are agreeable with this?’’

  Sophie nodded. ‘‘Yes. If you want me to stay, I mean. I have a lot to learn.’’ Surely that wasn’t her own voice she heard. No, I don’t want— yes, I do— She clamped her hands together in her lap to keep them from shaking.

  ‘‘So true, but Mrs. Sam will gladly teach you. And if you need more help, we’ll find it.’’

  After they all left, Sophie stopped by the coffin. ‘‘I’ll try to make you proud of me,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I never told you how much I loved you and admired you.’’ Why do I always think of such things too late? She blew her nose again, being careful of how tender it had become. Bridget, you don’t go giving away a boardinghouse like you would a tablecloth and napkins. Sensing someone behind her, she turned to find Mr. Wiste standing in the doorway.

  ‘‘I didn’t mean to intrude.’’

  ‘‘No, it’s all right. Come in.’’

  ‘‘She was a mighty fine woman. She made everyone feel welcome here. That’s a real gift.’’

  ‘‘And most likely why the boardinghouse is so popular.’’ Sophie looked back down at Bridget. ‘‘I remember coming by here with Grace when we were little, and she always took time for us. We’d sit out on the back porch and snap beans, and she’d tell us stories of life in Norway before she emigrated. Her stories always made me want to go to Norway and see for myself.’’ She dabbed at her nose this time. ‘‘Pardon me. Here I am running on, when you—’’

  ‘‘No, please. I like hearing about her. She’d become my friend.’’

  ‘‘Mor and Tante Ingeborg have told me about New York City when they came off the ship. I want to go there too.’’ Sophie leaned over the side of the box and straightened the front of Bridget’s dress. ‘‘What a day this has been.’’

  ‘‘Thank you for remembering to save supper for me.’’

  ‘‘You are welcome, but thank Mrs. Sam. She remembers everything.’’ She gave Bridget one last look and turned to leave, weariness dragging her footsteps.

  ‘‘How is Henry?’’

  ‘‘He’s so terribly sad. I think he’s already gone to bed.’’