No Distance Too Far

by Lauraine Snelling

  “With cattle in the field?” Joshua swung aboard the horse they used for riding most often. “I’ll stop at the nearest neighbor too.” He set the horse to an easy lope and headed back the way they had come. The last town was maybe five or six miles away.

  About two miles back on the road, he turned off on a lane that led to a rather prosperous looking farm, although anything was prosperous compared to the one he’d left. A dog barked as he neared the house, and a woman came out on the porch to greet him. When he told her his story, she shook her head, murmuring reassurances.

  “No wonder I’ve not seen her in so long. I told my husband I wanted to go over there, but the mister, he didn’t take well to anyone coming by. You said the little boy died too? Oh, this is too sad.”

  “Is there a pastor or anyone around I can tell about this?”

  “You go on into town”—she pointed back the way he’d come— “and tell Hanson at the general store. He is also part-time sheriff and the postmaster. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “How did you happen by there?”

  “We had an agreement with him to drill a new well and erect a windmill. He paid his deposit last fall, but winter came before we could get over here.”

  “You drill wells and put up windmills?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “When you come back, you come by here and talk to my husband.

  He’s out seeding now, but he’ll be up to milk before supper. He’s been talking about doing just that.”

  “I will do that.” Joshua touched the rim of his hat with one finger and turned the horse around to lope back down the lane.

  When he got to town, he slid off the horse and tied him to the hitching rail in front of the silver-sided building with a sign that said General Store, James Hanson, Proprietor. A cheery voice greeted him when he walked through the door.

  “How can I help you, young fella?”

  Joshua smiled back at a middle-aged man whose droopy eyes belied the smile that bracketed his rounded cheeks. He introduced himself and told his story again.

  “And here I thought they just ran out on their bill. How sad. I shoulda gone out there, but . . .” He heaved a sigh and untied his apron. “Let me go get the missus to run things, and I’ll get my son to hitch the team up to the wagon. I imagine we should bury them in the cemetery by the church.”

  “Could we bury them out there on their farm? The grave of their little boy is there.”

  Mr. Hanson nodded and held up one finger. “Wait here.” He pushed through a hanging curtain, leaving Joshua to look around.

  There he was where he could get supplies, and he had no money with him. He checked his pockets. One dollar bill and some change. He’d have to send one of the others back tomorrow. He eyed the rows of canned goods, picked up corn, green beans, and peaches and set them on the counter. The peaches would taste mighty good that night.

  When Hanson pushed aside the curtain, he’d divested himself of his apron and added a hat. He eyed the cans on the counter. “That’ll be forty cents. You need anything else?”

  Joshua dug his change out and counted out the necessary amount. “Do you have a sack I can use? I’m riding bareback.” With the sack slung over his shoulder, he followed Hanson out the door.

  A team pulling a wagon came around the corner as they stepped off the wooden stairs. “You want to ride with us?” Hanson asked.

  Joshua handed back the sack. “If you bring this, I’ll get back more quickly on my horse.” At their nod, he swung aboard his horse and galloped out of town, back the way he had come. On one hand he knew there was no rush. After all, these people had been dead for some time, but on the other, he had a feeling he needed to get back. Besides, he needed to go to that neighbor and see if he meant to do what his wife said. They could do the job immediately since they had several days before they were due at the next farm.

  Back at the farm Gilbert had filled the stock tank. Trygve had rounded up some chickens gone wild, set his snares, and explored the barn. There were oats in the grain bin, a dead calf in the box stall, and some hay left in the haymow. He couldn’t move without the dog following his every step.

  “Did you look more in the house?” Joshua asked.

  “Nope. Don’t plan to. Do you suppose those folks own this property or the bank does?”

  “No idea. But I do think this place was going downhill before they died. The sheriff is on his way out. I think he plans to take the bodies back into town in the wagon.”

  Trygve shook his head. “I wouldn’t want that job.”

  “Me either. Maybe we should kill one of those chickens for supper.”

  “I don’t think so, but I did find one of their nests. Will give us some more fresh eggs.”

  “Not sure we should eat anything here until we know what they died from.” Joshua stared at the house, thinking again on the mystery therein. This place was a ways off the road, but still, how could no one have come by in . . . months perhaps?

  When Hanson and his son drove up to the house, Joshua met them. “The back door isn’t locked. The front is.”

  “What made you go looking?”

  “Well, he hired us to drill him a well and put up a windmill. I was just trying to do my job.”

  Hanson handed him the tow sack. “We’ll be about ours, then. I’ll call you if I need more help.”

  Joshua nodded and headed toward their camp. He turned back and raised his voice. “If you do take them back to town, you might want to dig up the child’s grave and take him too. Bury them all together.” What did it matter to him? They’d be on the road again in the morning in some direction. What would happen to this place? With some work it could become a decent home for a young couple just starting out. Or for a single man. He climbed into the cook wagon and rattled the grates to shake the ashes down into the oblong metal box. That needed to be dumped too. And he wanted to get back to that neighbor.

  He heard the jingling of harnesses and the clopping of trotting hooves. Peering out the screened door, he watched as a different wagon bypassed the house and came toward the barn. He went about laying a fire, lit a match, and watched the paper and shavings catch, sending a fine tendril of smoke straight upward. He added some small pieces, turned the damper wide open and, as the flames grew, added larger wood and set the lids back in place.

  “Man here to see about drilling his well,” Trygve announced from the doorway.

  “Be right there. You want to get the rice started? Chop up the rest of that ham and throw it in.” Joshua pointed to the cans on the table. “We’ll have those too.” He stepped outside. “Good day.”

  The man spoke from his seat on the wagon. “My wife said you came by. You want to come drill my well say, tomorrow, I’d be right pleased. Sorry, Calhoun’s the name.”

  Joshua named the price, and they shook hands. “We’ll be there soon after sunrise tomorrow.”

  He watched the man stop to talk to Hanson and then trot on out the lane. Now maybe he could get answers to some of his questions. If they had any.

  19

  ATHENS, GEORGIA

  Please, God, don’t let Elizabeth die. Please.

  “We need to hurry, Dr. Bjorklund. The train is coming into the station.” The driver looked at her over his shoulder.

  “Thank you. Can I buy my ticket on the train?”

  “I think so. But in case not, I’ll let you out right at the station door. You go buy your ticket, and I’ll get your bags to you.”

  Grateful for the man who’d been thinking further ahead than she had, she nodded and thanked him. Elizabeth was all she could think of. If only she had telephoned Dr. Morganstein requesting advice, perhaps she could have met with her in Chicago if she had much of a layover. Maybe she could still telephone from the train station.

  She stepped down from the buggy as soon as it stopped, not waiting for the driver to assist her, and headed for the ticket window. She could hear the screeching wh
eels of a train stopping on the other side of the building. Surely they’d make it wait long enough for her to get on.

  “I need a one-way ticket to Chicago please.”

  “You’d best hurry, miss. This engineer will do anything to stay on time.”

  “Thank you.” Astrid knew running was not ladylike, but she picked up her skirts with one hand, held her hat on with the other, and ran around the building. The conductor saw her coming and motioned her to slow down. All was well. Astrid fought to catch her breath. All these weeks of sitting around had certainly weakened her body even while the lessons had built up her mind and spirit. “Thank you.” She let him guide her up the steps. “My bags aren’t here yet.”

  “Yes they are, if that man flying around the corner is for you.”

  Astrid glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, that’s my driver.”

  She’d just settled herself in her seat, the driver having stuffed her bags in the overhead shelf and wished her a good trip, when the conductor called, “All aboard.” The driver jumped to the ground as the conductor swung aboard and the train began moving. Thank you, Father, circled through her mind, being chased by In all things give thanks.

  Thoughts of Africa evaporated as her mind clacked Save Elizabeth along with the train wheels speeding north. Keeping her thoughts on praising God instead of worrying over her friend and mentor took severe concentration. At the least slip, fear snaked in and tied itself in knots around her heart. Bring into captivity every thought. Pastor Solberg had reminded them of that verse over and over. He said that was the only way to conquer fear and worry. He’d also said they had to prepare for the difficult times in advance. Like runners practice for a race, as the apostle Paul had said.

  In an effort to conquer the fear, she started with the second verse in James. My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations . . . and continued to the end of the chapter and on to the next. She had memorized all of James and right now was grateful for that. As the miles passed, she moved into First John to be reminded how much God loves His children.

  When the steward came through announcing the meal was ready in the dining car, she shook her head. The thought of eating made her stomach roil, let alone the actual doing. But she knew she needed strength, so she nibbled on an apple Mrs. Abercrombie had thoughtfully included in a small basket for her.

  Reaching Chicago, she made her way to the ticket counter and purchased her ticket to Blessing, then crossed the black-and-white diamond marble floor to the telephones. Who would have believed there would be public telephones in a train station? Now just to figure out how to use one. She read the instructions, placed her nickel in the slot, and asked for the Alfred Morganstein Hospital for Women and Children. When a voice answered, she identified herself and asked to speak to Dr. Morganstein.

  “Oh yes, Dr. Bjorklund, I’ll get her. Where are you?”

  “At the train station. I have a couple of hours until my train leaves for Blessing.”

  In a few moments Dr. Morganstein came on the line. “Astrid, dear girl, what is happening?”

  “Thorliff telephoned me and said to come home because Elizabeth might be losing her baby, and all the doctoring needed is too much for my mother. The dean gave me permission to go home.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry to hear all this. What can I do for you?”

  “Do you have any knowledge of what I can do for her?”

  “This is an area we know so little about yet. Bed rest, eating beef, drinking milk with an egg mixed up in it, anything to get enough blood builders in her. She will get weak lying in bed, so make sure she moves her arms and legs while she is lying down. Deep breathing is also important. If she can get out in the sun, that can help make her stronger too. Perhaps Mr. Bjorklund can carry her outside. I know she wanted another child so badly, but I thought she understood how dangerous this was for her.”

  “She has lost two since Inga was born.”

  “There are some studies being done in New York. I will look into those and see if there is anything to help us. The main thing is to build up her strength and yet keep her down. Do you know how far along she is?”

  “No. I wasn’t even aware she was with child until this morning,” Astrid answered with some degree of frustration. How many other things have gone on in Blessing that I’ve not been told? The thought clamped on her chest. And how many other things will be happening while I am in Africa that I won’t know anything about until a letter reaches me weeks, no, probably months, later?

  “Please insert another nickel,” said the operator’s voice, breaking into the conversation.

  Astrid did as instructed, hearing the clinking of the coin as it fell into the slot.

  “Sorry.”

  “That is all right. I will find out whatever I can. Now, about you. What has happened?”

  “I have been accepted for a two-year mission term. The first part will be at a major hospital and the latter with Rev. Schuman in the bush, if the powers that be deem this possible. They are terribly concerned about my age, my gender, and my lack of a husband.”

  Dr. Morganstein chuckled softly. “It must be hard for them to accept you.”

  “They have struggled, but I have dug in my heels. God has done whatever needed doing, as I have been approved. But now this. The hardest part has been no medical work for me these months until the other day when Rev. Thompkins collapsed in class. They say I saved his life by getting him to the hospital so quickly.”

  “His heart?”

  “Yes. But he is getting stronger again. I doubt they will let him return to Africa now. He is a wonderful teacher, knows his Bible so well. I feel privileged that I could be in his classes.”

  “Well, I’d like to chat longer, but the operator is going to ask you for more money. I will telephone you in Blessing if I can find out more. Keep me apprised, please.”

  “I will, and thank you.” Astrid hung up the receiver and leaned her head against the walnut paneling. How did one go about studying and researching women and pregnancies? Why did some women have trouble carrying a baby to term and others sailed right through?

  She sent a telegram to Thorliff, giving her arrival time, and then wandered over to the counter, where she bought a sandwich and cookies and then found a bench where she could sit and eat. When she checked the tiny clock she had pinned to her traveling suit, she still had an hour to wait. Only by repeating the Scriptures she’d committed to memory could she keep the worry and fear at bay. One didn’t have to be in Africa to need strength to control one’s thoughts.

  When she boarded the train for St. Paul, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least now she was heading in the right direction—north and west toward Blessing.

  Due to an emergency at one station, the train was delayed an hour, and no matter how hard he tried, the engineer could not make it up. The train from St. Paul to Fargo and then on to Grand Forks and Blessing had already departed by the time they arrived.

  “So now what do I do?” she asked the ticket agent.

  “Sorry, miss, but you have to wait for the next train, like everyone else.”

  “And when will that be? Can I send a telegram?”

  “Tomorrow morning and no need to telegraph. All the stations along the way know.” The agent fought to cover a yawn. “I’m sorry, but it is time to close this window.”

  “Where will I stay?”

  “Most people sleep on the benches. You are relatively safe here. There are guards walking the premises all night long.”

  Astrid heaved a sigh. “Thank you.” “For nothing,” she wanted to say, but it wasn’t the man’s fault. At least she had a warm coat along so she wouldn’t get cold. She finally found an empty bench near a family with three children, one of which was whimpering. She felt safe near them and knew she could sleep through about anything now, since her residency. Lord, please keep Elizabeth safe. I have to keep reminding myself that you know all that is happening. While it is a surprise to me, it is not to you. And yo
u have promised to keep me safe. She mentally snorted. Here she was supposed to be going to the wilds of Africa, and she was worried about sleeping in a train station in a city. She glanced up to see one of the guards talking with the father of the family. The men nodded and talked a bit before the guard moved on.

  The man walked over to where she sat and touched his hat. “I’m sorry to bother you, miss, but the guard suggested that you move a bit closer to us. There is safety in numbers.”

  “Thank you very much. I will do that.”

  “Here, let me help you.” He picked up her two bags and set them under the long seat where the smaller of the children already lay sleeping. “If you take that end, we will look more like a family.”

  “Thank you.” Astrid put out her hand. “I am Dr. Bjorklund and on my way home to Blessing, North Dakota.”

  “We are the Sommerseths, on our way to Grand Forks.”

  “Are you moving there or visiting?”

  “Visiting to see if we do want to move there. Let me introduce my wife, Maureen.”

  “Did you really say Blessing?” the woman asked, her smile on the shy side.

  “That is the name of the town where I have lived all of my life. We are northwest of Grand Forks. This train will continue on through the Red River Valley.”

  “And you did say doctor?” Mr. Sommerseth asked.

  “Yes.” Astrid thought about explaining, but a wave of weariness washed away the thought before it could take root.

  “Is Blessing a big town?”

  “No, but it really is growing. We are hoping to build a hospital there soon, and last I heard, there were not enough people there to fill all the jobs that need help.”

  “Really?” The husband and wife exchanged glances.

  “Are you looking for work?”

  “I am at that. My brother invited us to come out and look for work in Grand Forks.”

  “If you decide to take a look at Blessing, my brother Thorliff Bjorklund—he owns the local newspaper—is the one to talk to. Just tell him his sister talked with you. I’ll tell him the same if you’d like.”