Streams of Mercy

by Lauraine Snelling

  She blinked back the tears that leaped into her eyes. Haakan had so loved spring planting time. Every day he’d go out and squeeze a handful of dirt from various fields, always anxious for the land to get dry enough to plant again. The cornfield would be the last planted, since sprouting corn was the most vulnerable to frost. Haakan was never happier than when he was harnessing up the horses to the plows. Now they used horses for sowing and both horses and steam donkey engines for reaping. Progress.

  Trygve and Thorliff had teased Haakan about getting one of those fancy new steam tractors to take the place of horses. Haakan, usually fairly progressive, snorted, “Show me a steam tractor that produces a new baby tractor every spring, and I’ll consider it.”

  Anji hustled Gilbert and Joseph out the door. “I’ll be there for the picnic, most likely to help set up. Make sure you have your books to turn in.”

  Lissa stopped on the front porch. “Benny isn’t here yet.” She had taken over helping pull Benny on his wheels to school. While he used the new crutches within the buildings, he needed to build up more strength to navigate the distance to the schoolhouse. Sometimes Gilbert helped her pull, especially if there were mud puddles.

  Anji watched from the screen door that had just been put back up, the storm door retired to the cellar for the summer. She breathed in the cool, fresh air that carried the birdsong straight to her heart. Gratitude welled and made her sniff. She was back home in North Dakota, in Blessing, where she was born and raised. Norway was gloriously beautiful outside of the cities, but the Moen family lived on the fringes of Oslo, far more city than country. Sometimes she missed the mountains and the skiing, but nothing could compete with the heady birthing of spring here at home.

  She waved to the children as they made their way to school, swept the black dirt off the porch steps, and returned to preparing certificates for her students. One for the greatest improvement, another for the best accent, and a third for writing and spelling. She really had enjoyed teaching the Norwegian language. Over the summer she hoped her mother-in-law would send the box of Norwegian books she had requested—most of them Ivar’s books but some with children’s stories, along with some textbooks.

  She hummed a Norwegian folk song as she cleaned up the kitchen, the song that her classes would sing at the program during the picnic. Johnny Solberg would accompany them with his guitar. He and the hostler’s daughter, Leanne, would play a duet and sing, with her on the piano. Both of them were becoming very accomplished.

  Anji put all her things in two baskets and telephoned Rebecca to see how she could help there. Between them, they got the baby ready, dug out the other wagon, and plopped Mark and Agnes in the wagon along with the baskets, and set out for the school. Like most of the other fathers, Gerald would come at noon.

  The older boys had already set up all the tables, so the women spread tablecloths and arranged the dishes as they came in. Since so many of the Blessing families had children at school, most of the businesses had shut their doors with their signs saying Closed noon to three. Everyone brought chairs or quilts to sit on, and a few minutes later, Reverend Solberg raised his hands for quiet.

  He motioned to the schoolchildren gathered together and invited everyone to stand and join in singing a favorite song. After they finished, Reverend Solberg said, “Let us pray. Lord God, we thank you for this beautiful day, for the end of our school year, and for all these families who made sure their children received good educations. Thank you for our teachers, for books, for music, and for these children who have worked hard to learn so much. Thank you for this food and for all those who have prepared it.” A motion with one hand and the pupils harmonized on the amen. All the adults joined too.

  Anji sighed. “That surely is what singing will be like in heaven.”

  Ingeborg squeezed her hand. “You are so very right.”

  For a change, all the students were permitted to go through the lines on each side of the table and fill their plates first, followed by their families, everyone laughing and teasing.

  Anji glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, Thomas Devlin was smiling at her. She felt a tingle in her back and realized she felt like smiling even more now that he was there.

  “And ye have your certificates ready?” he asked, his smile sneaking around her heart.

  “Just finished them. And you?”

  “Last night. There were many. More perfect attendance than I expected. I was hoping for everyone to get one, but apparently life does not work out that way. When is Rebecca planning to open the soda shop?”

  “We got it all cleaned up and ready, so I guess it depends on the weather.”

  “Speaking of which, we could surely use a good soaking shower.” They took their filled plates and sat down on the schoolhouse steps, along with Kaaren and Lars.

  Anji asked, “Did you get the seeding all finished?”

  Lars scowled. “Not yet. Some of the lower fields are still too wet from the last of the snow, so a late start for those. It would be good if the rain held off until the wheat was in.”

  “How does one determine ‘too wet’ anyway?” Thomas wondered aloud. “Obviously there be methods other than simply staring at the ground.” He attacked his beans with gusto.

  Lars chuckled. “Pick up a handful of dirt.” He held out his cupped hand with imaginary dirt. “Squeeze it tight and open your hand. If the soil stays in one thick lump, it’s too wet. If the lump breaks up into two or three pieces, it’s just right. If it crumbles, it’s too dry. If you work the ground when it’s too wet, you destroy its texture and the plants have to struggle to survive.”

  “Ah.” Thomas nodded sagely. “Interesting. In Ireland we have no such thing as too dry, and in Chicago we had scant need of soil. And yet the gardens could use a shower, I understand.”

  “Shower wouldn’t hurt, but heavy rain for a day or two would slow us down again. We just thank the good Lord for seeds to plant and good land to plant them in.” And Lars seemed to enjoy the beans just as much.

  Solberg moved from group to group, welcoming everyone and reminding them that there was plenty of food left. The program would begin at one o’clock sharp and last for an hour, and then the games would begin.

  The program started with the choir singing “Children of Our God and King” followed by “Going to Jerusalem Just Like John.” The little ones sang “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” so that all the smaller children could join in on the animal sounds, then “She’ll be Coming ’Round the Mountain,” with everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, singing the responses. Chuckles and giggles finished off the rendition.

  Next it was time for Anji’s class to sing the Norwegian folk song they had practiced, accompanied by Johnny Solberg on the guitar. And the final musical presentation was the beautiful duet done by Johnny and Leanne. After the applause died down, Reverend Solberg stood behind the music stand with a stack of certificates to hand out, starting with perfect attendance. He signed the names for the four students from the deaf school, and Grace signed the entire program for all those who could not hear.

  “Only in Blessing,” Sophie murmured to Kaaren as they all paid attention.

  “Ja. Here our students are always part of the community, not set apart like at some other schools.” Grace both signed and spoke her comments, as usual. She was always mindful of practicing speaking so that her voice would continue to improve, even though she was totally deaf herself. Her husband, Jonathan Gould, always watched her with such pride that Anji wanted to hug him. Even though she was two years younger than Sophie and Grace, they had all grown up together, more like a group of sisters than merely friends.

  When Reverend Solberg called Manny’s name for the student who had made the greatest progress for the year, Ingeborg clapped till her hands hurt, Benny whooped from his wheels, and someone else whistled.

  “You’ve done well, Manny McCrary,” Reverend Solberg said with his warm smile. “I’m glad you stayed at it.”

  “Me too, sir
.” Manny’s face looked hot enough to start a fire. He looked for Ingeborg and grinned at her before sitting down.

  When all the certificates were handed out, Thomas Devlin raised his arms. “Let the games begin.” There were gunnysack races, three-legged races, spoon and egg races, races for speed, and races for precision. Then there were jump-rope contests and the final event—a tug of war. They divided the teams up as evenly as possible and drew a line in the grass. Whichever team dragged the other across the line would win.

  While the events were happening, some of the men were cranking away at the ice cream makers. The winning team would get to have ice cream first.

  Thomas Devlin coached the blue team and John Solberg the red. All those not making ice cream lined the tug-of-war ground, cheering their team. Back and forth it went, with the bigger boys on the knotted ends of the thick rope. Slowly Devlin’s blue team dragged the little kids over the line, then the larger, with girls and boys pulling for all they were worth, until finally the red team’s end man fell. Benny declared the blue team the winners, but both teams were panting so hard, they could barely stand. Everyone applauded and shouted for their team. One little girl on the red team started crying until her ma wrapped her arms around her and comforted her.

  “Ice cream is ready,” Thorliff shouted. “Blue line comes in first, then the red, and then everyone else. We have plenty for all.”

  When the picnic had finally come to an end, Emmy, Manny, and Inga climbed into the wagon with Ingeborg, with Manny driving and waving as they left.

  Anji and her four took one wagon, while Rebecca and Gerald pulled Benny’s wagon with him holding his little brother, Mark. Swen rode on Gerald’s shoulders, and Rebecca carried the sleeping baby Agnes in a sling. Thomas Devlin walked with them. “So, Benny, what was the best part of the day?”

  “No more school till September. Now we can go fishing and I get to ride Joker again and . . .” He paused for dramatic effect. “I get to stay out at the farm sometimes.” He looked to Rebecca. “And Ma said I can help in the soda shop. Pa built me a stool so I can make sodas too.”

  “I shall be yer first customer. Strawberry be me favorite.”

  “Ma has been making new flavors. Pa said coffee is the best of all.”

  “Coffee-flavored sodas?” He looked to Anji, who nodded.

  “They are very good. Rebecca made some coffee-flavored ice cream too, sometimes with chocolate sauce in it.”

  “It’s best with cookies. Ma breaks cookies up and mixes them with ice cream.”

  “Come now, Benny, ye must be teasing me.”

  “No, really, Mr. Devlin. We’ve got the best ice cream and soda shop anywhere.”

  “Well, let’s see . . . we have the best cheese anywhere, Ingeborg makes the best bread, and Amelia Jeffers grows the most beautiful roses . . .”

  “Our flour mill makes the best flour.”

  “And our deaf school gives the best training anywhere. Grace said so.”

  “A lot of bests for such a small town.” Devlin glanced to Anji. “Wouldn’t ye say?”

  “Yes, I would. Would you like to join us for supper? It won’t be the best anywhere, but you won’t go home hungry.” Anji glanced at her daughter, who was nodding vigorously. “And there is the possibility of a checkers tournament afterward.”

  Benny bounced in his wagon. “I’m the champion so far.”

  Gerald shook his head. “As one who was trounced repeatedly, you might not want to challenge him.”

  “Really!” Devlin slanted his eyes to Benny. “Ye think ye can beat me?”

  “I can try real hard.” Benny stared right back at him.

  “Maybe the tournament will have to start while supper is getting ready,” Rebecca said with a smile for her husband. “You can help us so you needn’t feel so bad.”

  They all trooped into Rebecca’s house and within minutes, two checkers boards were set up. Melissa sat at one with her onkel Gerald and Benny sat at the other with Thomas Devlin. Two of the little ones fell asleep on a folded blanket behind the stove. As soon as the stove heated, Rebecca brought a kettle of soup from the icebox and set it to heat while Anji got out the flour and other ingredients for biscuits.

  “King me.” They heard Benny’s voice from the parlor and swapped looks, along with the shaking of heads.

  “Do they ever play checkers at school?”

  “Sometimes, when the weather is really bad. I know Thomas was teaching the older students to play chess. But near as I can tell, there is a big difference between the two games. Ivar used to play chess.”

  “I like dominoes better. Remember when we used to play dominoes? You taught me how, and Sophie and that Ecklund girl from down by the river did not like to lose so they wouldn’t play with us anymore?”

  Anji nodded. “That seems a lifetime ago.”

  “It was. I remember the year we got the dominoes game. Far made it for us all. I wish I had that set, but it is out at the farm. That’s where Benny learned to play so well.”

  Anji grinned at Rebecca when they heard “King me” again.

  That night, after supper and after Benny had won one game and Thomas had won one, with Gerald and Lissa splitting the other board, Anji took her children back to their new house, Thomas walking with them.

  “Ah, Benny. That lad has a mind like a bear trap. He never forgets anything.”

  “Amazing, isn’t it? And to think when he came here, he could barely read or do numbers. John Solberg recognized it before anyone else did. Benny has a problem with his legs, but he can outthink anyone in our school. He wins spelling contests, geography contests, and as you know, John is coaching him in higher math.”

  “And to think he was an urchin off the streets of Chicago.” Devlin smiled at Anji. “I best be getting on home. Thank ye for the evening.” He held the door open for her and the children. “See ye in church on Sunday?”

  “Unless you are brave enough to come for supper tomorrow night?”

  “’Twould be me pleasure. I never look a gift meal in the mouth. I might have a surprise for ye as well.”

  “Ma-a-a!”

  “Coming.” She smiled at him over her shoulder.

  “Ma, Gilbert won’t do what I tell him.”

  Thomas tipped his cap. “’Night.”

  Rebecca had hinted that Thomas wanted to court Anji. Perhaps she was right. But wasn’t it too soon to be thinking of another man? There was a slight war going on between her mind and her feelings.

  CHAPTER 15

  What is so rare as a day in June?

  Ingeborg had read that line in a book about the Fireside Poets long years ago—some of the first literature in English she’d ever read. And it was so true! There was nothing as charming and invigorating as a fair day in June. She walked from her stove to the kitchen window to look out at pure delight: June! The fresh grass, the trees newly leafed out and their treetops dancing in a light breeze, the baby elephant pulling on the lowest cottonwood limbs with its trunk, the spring flowers, the lambs gamboling out in the—

  Her brain stopped thinking. Stopped completely. She gaped. An elephant. Her cottonwoods. Elephant. In her yard. The baby turned its back on the cottonwoods and walked over to the flowers. Its trunk reached out—

  Ingeborg dashed to the door and ran outside waving her arms. “No! No! You must not eat my flowers! Go back to . . .” To where? An elephant! “To somewhere! Go!”

  The baby looked at her for a moment, not fearfully, just cautiously, then ambled off toward the garden out back.

  Ingeborg seized up her skirts and ran faster than she had run in years. “No! You must not eat the lettuce! No!”

  As Ingeborg rounded the corner of the house, Freda came running out the back door with a broom. “Go away, you little beast! Eat someone else’s garden!” She swung her broom as she approached the elephant, and it got the message. It flung its trunk up, flicked its ridiculous little rope tail, and shuffled off toward the front yard. Were it a horse, you would ca
ll its gait a flatfooted walk, always with two feet on the ground. It actually traveled mighty fast.

  My flowers! Ingeborg reversed direction and ran around to the front.

  But the baby elephant had apparently forgotten about flowers. Its wallowing shuffle carried it out the lane and off toward town, those silly ears flapping, its trunk waving from side to side. Freda had stopped, but Ingeborg kept running. She had to know what was going on. An elephant!

  The elephant did not seem to get winded at all, but Ingeborg was huffing and gasping. She slowed to a fast walk. The little elephant was headed toward the mill. Good! Let it eat grain, not Ingeborg’s new garden.

  What was this? A train was parked behind the mill. She could not see the locomotive and tender, but she could see the caboose and seven or eight of the cars. The cars were painted bright red with yellow trim. As she got closer, she could read the ornate lettering on their sides: Stetler and Sons Traveling Circus.

  A circus! In Blessing! Well, that would explain the elephant.

  A man standing near the caboose cried out, “Look! Here she comes! She’s back!” He was waving toward either the elephant or Ingeborg.

  “Get Violet!” someone else shouted.

  Ingeborg was so winded now she staggered. She stumbled to a hasty walk to the mill and out behind it. She was sweating and her lungs hurt.

  Thorliff laughed. Thorliff! He was behind the mill talking to a dapper gentleman in a bowler hat and lace ascot tie. “Mor, did you just chase that elephant back here?”

  She was too breathless to answer.

  He turned, still chuckling, to the man. “Mr. Stetler, I probably owe you an apology. When you sent your people off looking for the elephant, I should have simply told you to go straight to my mother’s house. Every hungry stray in the state ends up on my mother’s doorstep.” He held out a hand to Ingeborg. “Mother, I present Owen Stetler, the owner and manager of this circus. Mr. Stetler, my mother, Ingeborg Bjorklund.”