No Distance Too Far

by Lauraine Snelling

  Nothing was going the way he’d thought it would after dreaming of Astrid for so long. The dream and the reality seemed to move further apart. Was it supposed to be this hard? Maybe this was God’s way of making sure any relationship would be based on truth and not false perceptions. And he thought the trip to see his family had been hard enough.

  “Mr. Landsverk, are you ready?”

  He looked down to see Johnny Solberg, guitar in hand, shifting from one foot to the other. How easy it would be to say no, but he nodded instead. “Let’s go inside. You been practicing?”

  “Every day. Well, almost every day.” The boy held up his left hand. “See my calluses?”

  “Good for you. That will make holding down the strings much easier.” Together they mounted the steps to the church and went inside. The smell of smoke from the extinguished candles still hung on the air. Their booted feet sounded loud on the wooden floor. “You been working on tuning your guitar?”

  “I have, but when I think it is right, Ma says I’m off key. How come she can hear it better than me?” Johnny sat down on one of the chairs in the front row and held his guitar on his lap. He plucked the low E string, tilting his head to listen better.

  “We’ll tune it to the piano, like I do mine.” Joshua struck the key, and Johnny thumbed his string. Hit the key, thumb the string, hit the key, thumb the string. “Are they the same?”

  “Seems so to me.”

  “This is something we’ll keep working on. Let me tune it for you today.” Joshua took the guitar, adjusted the pegs, and plucked each string, turning pegs as needed and then stroking across all the strings. He handed the guitar back. “There you go. You were really close.” He picked up his own guitar, checked the tuning, adjusted one peg, and then strummed all six strings. “Okay, let’s start with ‘She’ll be Coming ’Round the Mountain.’ Do you have that memorized by now?”

  “Pretty much.” The two played through the tune once, then again with Joshua picking up the beat.

  “Okay, now you play the straight chords like that again, and I’m going to pick the melody. Ready? If you miss one, just keep on going. Don’t stop and start again. Guitar players miss chords all the time.” Joshua tapped out one, two, three, and away they went. When they finished on the last chord together, Johnny’s smile rivaled the sun beaming in through the side windows.

  “You did that real well. See? All your practicing is paying off. Let’s try ‘Red Red Robin.’ ”

  “I need the music for that.”

  They played through five or six review songs before Joshua said, “Okay, time for something new.” He pulled a sheet of paper with the words to a familiar song and the chords printed under the words. “You need to learn to play by ear too, so we’ll sing this one. Here are two new chords. C major and C augmented.” He showed him the fingering and played them a few times, fingers moving back and forth on the strings against the neck of the guitar.

  Johnny got one but kept missing on the other. “I know this is a harder one. You have to reach with that little finger and then make sure you push it tight against the strings.” He helped place Johnny’s fingers at the correct frets. “Now pick them up and do it again—and again—and again. There you go. Good job. Now you know the other chords, so we’ll play it through slow, and I’ll call the chords.” They played slowly, pausing long enough for Johnny to get his fingers in place with each change before continuing.

  “If you don’t look out, you’re going to chew a hole in your lip.” One side of Joshua’s mouth was turned upward.

  “But I want to get it right.”

  “What? Chewing your lip? You got that down pat.”

  Johnny grinned at him. “No, the chords.” He tongued his lower lip.

  “Raw, huh?”

  “Sorta.”

  By the end of the lesson, Johnny had a list of exercises to play through and two more tunes with chords. He folded his papers and stuffed them into his coat pocket. “Thank you. When you are building your house, I could help you. Sorta pay you back, you know.” He studied his boot and then looked at Joshua out of the corner of his eye.

  “I will really appreciate that. I know what a good worker you are.” The grin Johnny sent him was all the reward Joshua needed. They walked out together, guitars slung on their backs with their straps. Johnny made sure the door was closed behind them.

  “See you next week,” Joshua said with a wave. He headed down the plowed road, snowbanks on each side, to the Bjorklunds. His step would have been lighter had he been able to look forward to seeing Astrid there.

  The family was about ready to sit down to eat when he knocked on the door and obeyed the “Come on in” call. He hung his coat on the tree with the others and made sure all the snow was off his boots before he left the rug. Propping his guitar against the corner of the wall, Joshua crossed to the chair left for him.

  “We about figured you forgot,” Thorliff said.

  “No, but we got to playing and kind of lost track of time. Johnny’s going to be a right good guitar player.”

  “According to him, it sounds like you are a right good teacher,” Dr. Elizabeth said, leaning around her husband. “Will he be ready to play with us pretty soon?” Besides being a physician, Elizabeth was an excellent piano player, now joined by Joshua on the guitar in church on Sunday mornings.

  “At the rate he’s going, he will be. His ma says he’s practicing all the time. She has to drag him away for his chores and lessons. He’d take it to school, but his pa won’t let him.”

  “Let’s say grace before the food gets cold,” Haakan said from the end of the table. As they all bowed their heads, he paused. Then with a sigh began, “Heavenly Father, we thank you this day for the food you have provided for us and for those hands that have prepared it. Thank you that we can be gathered together, a family, both ours and yours. I ask your special blessing today and every day upon our Astrid. Lord God, if she is indeed obeying your call to the mission field, we ask that you give her strength and courage, that you give us accepting hearts so we can support her. We all want to be your obedient servants, but so often we are just not sure how. What we do know is that you cover and surround us with your mighty love and with the assurance that you have a plan for each of us, which is always for our good. In Jesus’ precious name, amen.”

  Joshua felt his throat closing. Haakan talked to God like they were the best of friends. He knew God in a deeper way than he’d heard before. Lord, I want that closeness with you. I want that sureness. Show me. Teach me. He passed the bowl of potatoes with those thoughts still in his mind and settling into his heart. As the food went around the table, the conversations picked up.

  He thought to the table that had been at his father’s house. In spite of his visit, which had brought a return of communication, he could no longer call it home. Silence reigned there but for the clink of utensils on the dishes. His mother had served them and waited to eat until they all left the table. If there was anything left. His father gave the instructions for the day’s work, and they left to do his bidding. Joshua looked up with a sense someone had said something to him.

  “Pardon me. I guess I was woolgathering.”

  “Gamma, what wool is he talking about?” Inga sat between her mother and father.

  “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  “What’s a—”

  Her father tapped her shoulder. “Later. Right now you eat and listen.”

  “I was saying that you did a fine job on the work on our house.” Hjelmer Bjorklund looked to his wife, Penny, who nodded and smiled.

  “Thank you. I never realized how much I enjoyed building things until we started on the windmills. Your house was a real learning time for me. I had good teachers too. That Toby is a fine carpenter.”

  “That he is.”

  “And we were able to move in before Christmas, just like Hjelmer promised,” Penny said, nudging her husband with an elbow.

  “Took us a while to finish it, though.”
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  Hjelmer leaned forward to look down the table at Joshua. “She hasn’t been able to add anything to the to-be-finished list for three whole days.”

  Joshua chuckled along with the rest of them. The List had become a thing of dread in the last couple of weeks. Penny had a knack for finding things not quite finished, like a missing screw in a stair tread or a window that wasn’t caulked sufficiently. It took them some time to figure out a problem with the plumbing, but they did.

  “Sophie talked to me about some remodel work on the boardinghouse. That should keep us going through the middle of April. Then as soon as we can pour the concrete, we can start on your house, Joshua. That and a couple of small houses I’d like to build for sale.”

  “And mine?” Freda, a cousin of Ingeborg’s who recently moved to Blessing from Norway, asked as she poured more coffee.

  “Oh, that’s right. Well, looks like we have plenty of work.”

  “You better hurry on all that, because we have a hospital that needs to be built too.” Elizabeth glanced at Ingeborg. “By the way, Dr. Morganstein wondered if you would be willing to show and discuss more of your simples when the group from Chicago comes to visit.”

  “You know, Mor,” Thorliff said, “you ought to write all that up, and we could publish a small home-companion-type book so people could use what they have on hand to help themselves.”

  Ingeborg stared at her son. “Why, I . . . I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “Begin with A. Alphabetized is always the best. That cough syrup you make works better than anything else.”

  “You know . . .” Hjelmer nodded slowly, as if waiting for his thoughts to catch up.

  “Now we’re in trouble.” Andrew, Ingeborg’s younger son, raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, and looked at Haakan.

  His wife, Ellie, poked him in the side. “You be polite.”

  Eyes narrowed now, Hjelmer tapped a finger on the table. “What if you were to make up some of your simples, package them, and sell them at Penny’s store?”

  “We’ll sell the booklet to go along with them. Although we need a better title than Simples.” Thorliff nodded as he thought. “Rem-edies. Ingeborg’s Remedies.” He continued. “I could print the labels like I do for the cheese house. This could even become a mail-order business.”

  “One of the things I dream of for our hospital is a pharmacy,” Elizabeth said. “I guess I have a lot of dreams.”

  “We could sell the remedies there also.”

  “I s’pose you want to take a wagon out and sell like the traveling medicine men,” Haakan said with a grin at his wife. “Though their stuff is mostly alcohol.”

  “Uff da,” Ingeborg muttered. “The ideas you come up with.”

  “Ah, but you see, Mor, your receipts work. We could make another wagon like the one we’re doing for the windmill construction, and—”

  “Thorliff, don’t tease your mor.” Haakan was having a hard time keeping from laughing, so Ingeborg pushed back her chair and stood. “The polite children in this family and those who are kind to others will now have pie for dessert. The rest of you can continue your harebrained schemes in the parlor. Uff da! The things you come up with.”

  For a moment Joshua thought she was truly upset, but when she glanced at him, he caught the glint in her eyes.

  Inga leaned over from her father’s lap and whispered in her carry-across-the-pasture voice, “You can have pie. You are comp’ny.”

  Thorliff burst out laughing first, and the others followed.

  While the women rose to clear the table and set out the pie, the men watched as Haakan fetched his pipe from the shelf behind the stove and proceeded to clean it, fill it, tamp it, light it, and lean back in contentment.

  “Smoke rings, Grampa?” Inga insisted, standing next to him. Carl and a little dark-haired girl someone called Emmy, along with Hjelmer’s children, stood in a half circle around them.

  Haakan blew one smoke ring, then another. The children laughed and clapped.

  Who did the new little girl belong to? Joshua wondered. She’d not been there the last time he’d been invited. With that dark hair and brown skin, she looked like an Indian. Why would they have an Indian in their home? Why would anyone want one of those thieving animals in their house? Why, if Pa were there, he’d—

  Joshua forced his attention away from the girl and back to the conversations flowing around him. What a family. How could Astrid bear to leave this? If only he could have talked with her before she made her decision. Would she listen to what he had to say?

  THAT NIGHT BACK in his room at the boardinghouse, he lay on his bed, hands locked behind his head, and thought back to his trip to Iowa. He’d gone with such high hopes, but perhaps now that he’d had time to think about it, he’d only done it because of what Pastor Solberg had been hammering them about. Forgiveness. He had needed to forgive them and ask for their forgiveness. He’d come to realize that not accepting it or giving it was, as Pastor Solberg said, destroying him.

  All during the train ride, he’d stewed about how to do this. What to say, what not to say. He’d not let them know he was coming, just showed up at his sister’s door. She was so shocked, she nearly collapsed.

  Her arms around his neck felt almost like their mother’s. Even their voices would be hard to tell apart.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?” Avis asked.

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Well, that you did. Are you moving back here?” She hung his coat on the peg, along with his hat and scarf. “Come over here by the fire and get yourself warmed up. Did you walk from town?”

  “Got a ride with old Buck. Made him promise he wouldn’t blab all over the county.”

  “Sit, and I’ll get the coffee.”

  “Where’s Albert and the children?”

  “Gone to town. You know it’s almost Christmas.” She refilled the firebox on the kitchen stove. “Surprises and all that.”

  “I didn’t bring anything.” He felt about three inches high. Didn’t even think of it. What kind of uncle are you?

  “Before they get back, I have to say something. Come, sit here a moment.” He patted the chair beside him.

  She sat down, never taking her eyes from his face. “You aren’t dying, are you?”

  “Well, not that I know of. I need to ask your forgiveness.”

  “For what?”

  “For leaving in such a huff and not keeping in contact. You’re the only sister I have, and I . . . I needed to tell you this.”

  “Oh, Joshua, little brother, of course I forgive you. I don’t blame you one bit for leaving. Pa gets worse by the day. I don’t know how Frank puts up with him. ’Course, they are a lot alike. I always tried to do all I could to help Ma, but she was stubborn as all get-out.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “She taught me a lot about loving someone not very lovable.”

  “Our mother—” His voice cracked. “I think of her every time I take out my guitar. Always thanking her for insisting I learn to play it. I play for church now and whenever there is a dance anywhere around. I’m even teaching our preacher’s oldest son.”

  “You go to church, then?”

  “I do. The people in Blessing make strangers feel welcome from the moment you step off the train. Not that I was completely a stranger. The Bjorklunds turned that half section they bought from me into clean and beautiful wheat fields.”

  “You’re farming again?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “I drill wells and build windmills. This winter I worked on the inside of a big house. Become a fair carpenter. Bought me a lot in town, and my house will go up come spring.” He took her hand. “Why don’t you and Albert leave this part of the country and come on out to Blessing?”

  Avis stared deep into his eyes. She nodded slowly. “We might just do that, but don’t go holding your breath.” She got up to pour his coffee. “You will stay here with us through Christmas, won’t you?”

  “Most likely, since
it is only two days away.” He covered her hand with his. “But tomorrow I’m going to see Pa and Frank. You planning on spending Christmas back at the house?” He almost said home but then changed his mind. It wasn’t home to him any longer, if it ever had been.

  The next day he’d borrowed a horse and rode over to the place where he grew up. He stopped at the end of the lane and stared ahead at the two-story house, the big red barn, and the outbuildings. There was the machine shed he’d helped build, a shed-roofed addition to the barn. He rode on up, knowing it was near noon and most likely everyone would be at the house for dinner. A dog he didn’t recognize announced his arrival.

  He dismounted, tied the horse to the gatepost, and overcoming every sense he had that said run, mounted the steps to the back porch and knocked on the door. Nothing out of place. Even the woodchips swept up. Nothing had changed here.

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Frank stepped back. “Come on in. What a sight for sore eyes.” He raised his voice. “Pa, Joshua’s come home.”

  The welcome caught Joshua by surprise. “Hello, Frank.” He shook his brother’s proffered hand.

  “Susan, set another plate. Here, let me take your coat.”

  Joshua stared around the kitchen. Nothing had changed. Except for the man limping through the door to the parlor. His dark hair had gone nearly white, lines were cut in his face, and his jowls sagged. Who was this old man, and where had his father gone?

  “Where is Aaron?”

  “He’s over helping a friend for a few days. We got rid of the cattle and hogs, so winter is kind of slack now.” He pointed to the chair. “Sit, sit.”

  “I see.” Joshua sat in the same chair he’d always sat in. Susan set the serving bowls and meat platter on the table, and they each helped themselves. Except for his father. Frank dished up his plate, as he did his own.

  What was going on here? He stared at his brother, willing him to make some kind of comment, but the meal was finished in silence, just like all the meals he’d eaten at this table all of his life. Some of the characters had changed, but the meal was still the same.

  When Susan refilled his coffee cup, he said, “Thank you.” The words dropped like pebbles in a still pond, but the ripples hit the shore, and still nothing happened. Other than she shot him a look accompanied by a small smile.