No Distance Too Far

by Lauraine Snelling

  Pastor Solberg looked up from his desk, where he was writing. “Good to see you, Joshua.” He reached out to shake his hand. “I hear you are all leaving in the morning.”

  “We are. Should be gone a month or less if all goes according to plan.”

  “Sit down, sit down. I’m about due for a break here anyway.”

  “I really can’t stay. I just came to bring you something.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out his money, handing Pastor Solberg a five-dollar bill. “For the reservation fund.”

  “Thank you, son. Do you want change?”

  “No, sir. I thought that should help buy some beans and flour. And maybe . . .” He ducked his head. “Maybe there could be a bag of peppermint candy included?”

  “I’ll see that there is. They’ll be leaving tomorrow, same as you. Got the railroad to donate the use of a boxcar, so things can get there more quickly.”

  “Good.” Joshua clenched the brim of his hat.

  “I’m surprised at this.”

  “Me too. But between you and that nagging voice inside, I decided to give in.”

  “I have a feeling there is a lot more story behind this than you are letting on.”

  Joshua nodded. “Someday I’ll have to tell you.”

  “We’ll miss you, especially on Sunday mornings. Everyone sings out more with you leading.”

  “My ma would like to hear that.” Joshua backed toward the door. “I need to finish getting ready to leave. See you when we get back.”

  “Good night, then. And thanks for listening, both to me and that inner voice. God bless and keep you on this journey.”

  As Joshua walked back to the boardinghouse, he wasn’t sure which journey Pastor Solberg had been referring to: digging wells or life in general. But both his step and his heart suddenly felt a lot lighter.

  TRYGVE HAD THE teams harnessed and hitched to the two wagons by the time the sun rim peeked above the horizon. Joshua tossed a duffel bag into the black wagon with white letters proclaiming the business as Blessing Wells and Windmills.

  Penny brought out a basket of food and handed it to Joshua. “This should help for today.”

  “Ma did the same,” Trygve said. “We won’t have to cook for a day or two.”

  “You have water along?”

  “In the barrel.”

  “God go with you,” Penny said with a smile. Joshua wondered that Hjelmer wasn’t there to see them off too.

  “Ma said the same.” Trygve climbed up on the dray wagon while Joshua did the same with the other. Gilbert climbed up beside him, and they hupped the horses forward.

  “Don’t get stuck!” Penny called as she waved good-bye.

  They’d spent the last two days making sure all their supplies were loaded and machinery was in good form. He had a list of supplies and materials long enough to last the run and a ledger to keep his records in. Hjelmer was particular about record keeping. The way he was growing the businesses, he had to be. He and Thorliff. As they drove down a road that a hundred years earlier the oxcarts had followed between Canada and the land that was now Minneapolis and St. Paul, he listened for the creaks of the wagon. One of the wheels already needed greasing, the meadowlarks were singing in the dawn, and the air was redolent with awakening earth. There was something to be said for spring in North Dakota after a winter that tested a man’s mettle. Spring didn’t tiptoe in here. It burst forth in a rush to remind both land and people they’d not been forgotten.

  He shook his head at the way his thoughts were going. If Astrid were here, would she feel like he did? While he knew he didn’t want to farm, he also knew he wanted to be near the land, not living in some city or even a big town. Far as he could figure, with this job he had the best of all worlds.

  Following Hjelmer’s instructions, they arrived at the farm south of Grafton as the sun was setting. Joshua stepped down from the wagon seat and, after stretching, headed for the farmhouse door. First thing was to make sure they were in the right place. By the time he mounted the steps, the door swung open and a man with a smile of welcome greeted him.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming today. Name’s Hiram Aarsgard.” He stuck out his hand. “Have you had supper yet?”

  “Good to meet you. I’m Joshua Landsverk, and no, we just kept coming so we would get here before dark.”

  “You can unharness your teams and let them loose in the small pasture by the barn, and when you’re finished, you come on up here and the missus will have a meal on the table for you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Hiram.”

  “Yes, Hiram. Do you have a special place you’d like us to park our wagons?”

  “Wherever you like. The dowser said we should have easy water over there where that post is hammered into the ground.”

  “How far down is the well you have now?”

  “Me’n my sons dug that well down about ten feet. Never run dry, but I figured we’d keep that one, drill a new one, and put up the windmill. My missus is looking forward to water piped to the house, and I’m looking forward to the wind pumping water for the livestock.

  I saw that one over west of town that Bjorklund drilled last year. That windmill pumped out water for the garden even.”

  As they talked, the two men reached the wagons, and Hiram showed Trygve and Gilbert where to park them. He extended his invitation to supper once again and wandered back to the house.

  After supper Joshua sat at the fold-out table and made notes on the day’s events before starting a letter to Astrid.

  Dear Astrid,

  We’ve just completed our first trip out with the new well-drilling wagon we built this winter. This farmer is so glad to see us, and his wife made sure we would not go to bed hungry. That saved us from cooking, not that we’d have needed to with the baskets of food sent with us from Mrs. Knutson and Penny.

  Even covered with dust our new wagon looks pretty striking. We painted it black because that’s the paint Penny had available. I painted the trim in red. I know the dust will fade it all soon, but at least there is a good coat of paint to protect the wood.

  Gilbert has joined Trygve and me, so the three of us should be able to accomplish much more. With one man overseeing the well drilling, the other two can be building the windmill.

  Sunday was the church meeting regarding providing the help that you asked for. You will be proud of your people here. Pastor Solberg referred to them, or rather to us, as the family of Blessing. That man certainly is the shepherd of this flock, as he has so often said. When I think of the church I grew up in where brimstone flowed from beneath the altar, I cannot begin to compare the two. I wish my mother could have come to Blessing.

  And my father, he thought. Perhaps he’d not have been so bitter if he’d heard preaching like Rev. Solberg’s. The memory of the old man he’d not have recognized had he not known who he was rose up to choke him up every once in a while. He’d start a letter to them also.

  He described the wagon and signed off with More later. Your friend, Joshua.

  Trygve had already decided to take his bedroll outside and sleep under the wagon like they had to the last season, but Joshua opted for one of the hammocks strung between two hooks they had drilled into the two-by-four frame. Gilbert took the other hammock, and with the door and window open, a comfortable breeze blew through the wagon. Screens kept the insects at bay, other than a moth that got in to flutter around the kerosene lantern.

  THE NEXT MORNING they started work as soon as the sun lightened the earth enough so they could see to harness the horse that would walk the circle to drill the pipe down into the ground. Since they were still in the Red River Valley, they didn’t anticipate any rocks. After dinner they traded off the horses, and at about three o’clock they got a gusher.

  “Will you look at that,” Hiram said and shouted for his wife to come look.

  Trygve wrestled the cap in place, and Gilbert and Joshua with a team dragged over the frame they’d been working
on for the windmill. Three days later they released the tie-down on the tail, and the windmill turned to face the wind. While they’d been building the windmill, Hiram and one of his sons had been helping and running pipe to the cattle tank and to the house.

  “You have to keep those gears greased,” Joshua cautioned them. “And tie down that tail every time you go up there to work so you don’t get knocked off the platform if the wind suddenly comes up.”

  Supper that night was more like a party as they celebrated the new rig.

  “I love to hear it creaking,” the missus said, “and the sound of the wind against the blades. Has its own song, don’t it?”

  “I hadn’t thought that way, ma’am, but you are right. Once you get that hand pump in the sink, you can have water any time you want.”

  “You brought me your bill?” Hiram asked after supper.

  Joshua handed him the totaled statement, including subtracting the deposit the man had made.

  “This might be the best money I’ve ever spent,” he said as he brought a metal box out of the bedroom and counted out the cash. “There you go, and don’t you forget to stop in and talk with Hen-derson at the next farm over. He’s kinda tight, but he sure needs one of these.”

  “You invite him over to see yours, and we’ll leave you an address to contact Mr. Bjorklund to see when we can fit another one in. Right now we are doing a place about three miles from here. You know the Bensons?”

  “Of course. They go to our same church. I’m the first one there to get a drilled well and a windmill. But I know for certain we won’t be the last.”

  As he put the ledger away later, Joshua smiled. It sure would be nice if all the new jobs were this easy. And if all the women fed them as well as Mrs. Aarsgard, they’d never have to do their own cooking. Joshua leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, locking his hands. The last bit of anxiety over his new responsibilities dissolved before him. He liked this new job. Now if only Astrid would come home and forget about Africa.

  14

  ATHENS, GEORGIA

  Astrid was sitting in the rear of the classroom today, hoping Rev. Thompkins would forget she was there and not ask her any questions. Her mind was whirling with all the possibilities for her future.

  “As you all have prepared, you know we are studying Paul’s letter to Timothy. You’ve all read it, I’m sure.” At their nods he continued. “I thought this appropriate since so many of you are indeed young.” He stopped and glanced at Dr. Gansberg and his wife. “Some are just young at heart but with a deep knowledge of the Word of God.”

  At least he did not say you are indeed young men, Astrid thought, still feeling disgruntled after the discussion with Rev. Arbuckle and his questions. While Paul had said that women should not pastor a church, he never mentioned being a doctor was not a good thing for those of the female persuasion. If I ever teach, it will not be on spiritual matters but on medical matters, she promised herself. But she knew that many medical men would still take affront at a young woman teaching them the latest in medical procedures and studies. No matter how qualified she was.

  The thoughts did not make her happy.

  “Dr. Bjorklund?”

  She jerked her attention back to where it belonged, in the classroom, studying Timothy. What had he asked her? “I . . . I’m sorry. I guess my mind took off on its own. Would you please repeat your question?” She could feel embarrassment flaming her cheeks and up her neck.

  “I asked what stood out to you in this letter.”

  Astrid made her mind return to last night’s reading and the second time through early this morning. “I think Paul gave good advice for each of us, to do our best, to remember what we learned in our youth, to not feel . . .” She paused, squinting her eyes to remember what she had thought. “To not feel intimidated because we are young, that we have gifts to use for the body of Christ, and we must not shirk using them.” She heaved a sigh of relief at his nodding.

  “Very good.”

  “Someone else? What did you learn from the text?”

  Dr. Gansberg raised his hand. “I think the advice is good for all ages, even though it’s especially aimed at a young man. I feel I am being called to a new phase of my life, and I am very young in experience to this new calling.” He smiled at his wife. “We were talking about that this morning.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “I think Paul should not have told Timothy to drink a glass of red wine every day to aid his stomach.” The young man shook his head. “Spirits never solved anything.”

  Astrid felt her eyes roll. Should she take him on or let him be? He always found something negative to say.

  Rev. Thompkins looked to Dr. Gansberg. “Would you like to comment on that from a medical point of view, Dr. Gansberg?”

  “How about history first?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “First of all, you have to remember that wine was very important in those days. Much of the water was contaminated by animal and human waste leaking into the water sources. People could get very ill drinking the water. Wine is also an antiseptic and can calm a contrary stomach. It has a good many uses. Jesus thought it so important that at the wedding in Cana, He changed the water in the big casks to wine. It was so much better than the wine served at first that people commented on it. The Bible doesn’t say to not drink wine. It says to not become drunk with it. As in everything, moderation.”

  Astrid watched her friend speaking so rationally and calmly. How could anyone dispute him without sounding like a petulant child? Even his gentle voice helped carry the lesson along. She caught a glance from Mrs. Gansberg, and it was all she could do not to wink. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, which brought a slight nod in return.

  Astrid glanced across the room at the naysayer, observing his expanding girth. Jesus also never said not to eat the food around them, but He did mention gluttony. A comment like that would most likely be the kind that would make her mother shake her head and look sad, as if to say, “How could my daughter say such a cruel thing?” So Astrid said nothing. You’re letting your own hurt become an attack against others. The internal voice gave her a jab.

  Rev. Thompkins appeared to be having a difficult time with his throat. Maybe he should cover his eyes too, so the laughter did not leak out.

  Someone else coughed discreetly and raised his hand. “I liked the way Paul told Timothy to remember what he’d learned at his mother’s knee and went on to praise her and the grandmother too. My grandmother is the one who encouraged me the most. From the time I was little, she said that God had a special calling for me. I tried to run away from it for a while, but God would not let me go. So here I am, and though my grandmother has gone home to be with our Lord, I think she is watching over me and praying for me still.”

  Astrid caught the thought that tried to whip through her mind— the comment Rev. Arbuckle had made that she should get married and come back with her husband. Peter, the young man who had just spoken and whose name she was always forgetting, could become such a man, she was sure. He worked hard at his lessons, spoke wisely in class, and yet had a delightful sense of humor. He was pretty good-looking too. Not Nordic like the men in her family, he had wavy brown hair, which she’d call the brown of oak leaves as their color fades in the fall, and hazel eyes that crinkled at the corners. He had a deep voice, mid-baritone, that soared when they sang hymns, pulling the rest along with him. He had been polite to her from the beginning while not trying to force his ideas on her. Maybe if she didn’t have Joshua Landsverk on her mind— She jerked, startled at the trail her mind was taking. Astrid Bjorklund, whatever are you thinking? If Maydell were privy to your thoughts, she would burst her corset laughing.

  But what about Joshua? If she were truly bound to him, would her thoughts even consider another? She was certain no one could have pulled Jonathan from Grace’s thoughts. Maybe this separation was a good test for both of them. Could it endure two years while she went to Africa
? If she went? How many of the board agreed with Rev. Arbuckle’s position?

  She ordered her attention back to the discussion going on around her. Wouldn’t Pastor Solberg like to be in the middle of this one? There she went again, off on a memory. What she needed was a good brisk walk to dispel all the thoughts of the ordeal of her interview with the mission board and then the dinner she’d been required to share with a man who really did not seem to like her at all. Was that what bothered her about him? That he didn’t like her? She’d met other people who didn’t like her. Red Hawk, for one, didn’t like her at first. But given time and working together, they became friends. How could one person have two different callings? Surely God wasn’t confused, so it must be her.

  “Your lesson for tomorrow is to read Second Timothy and come prepared to discuss that too. I hope you are continuing in your memory work. Always remember, some of your greatest challenges may come when you do not have a Bible at hand. But if the Word is in your mind and heart, the Holy Spirit can bring it back to you at that moment in time when you need it the most.” Rev. Thompkins paused, catching each one’s attention deliberately. “Class dismissed.” As everyone stood to leave, he beckoned to Astrid.

  So much for my long walk. She made her way to his desk in the front of the room. “Yes, sir?”

  “I thought perhaps you and I and the doctor and his wife could go to the dining room for a cup of coffee, or lemonade if you prefer.”

  Astrid nodded, studying his face and hands while he talked with Dr. Gansberg. Something was wrong, but she had no idea what. Was her teacher pale? His hands shaking? Sure it was warm, but he seemed both pale and ruddy. Silly. One cannot be both. The argument going on in her head nearly drowned out the conversation between the other three as they guided her with them to the dining room. Did Dr. Gansberg notice anything? She couldn’t just out and out ask— could she? What she wouldn’t give for her stethoscope right now. Or at least the chance to check his pulse. Your imagination is taking over, she remonstrated herself. Or maybe you just miss practicing medicine.