Streams of Mercy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Maybe it’s Linnea!” Melissa looked hopeful.

  Anji swung the door open and gasped. “Freda!”

  The woman marched grimly by her into the house.

  “But . . . but . . . you had to leave Ingeborg’s fifteen minutes ago to get here now, but she just . . .” Anji wagged her head. “She really is desperate. I’ll go to the newspaper office.”

  So Ingeborg was so convinced Anji could do this that she sent Freda even before she picked up the telephone. Poor Ingeborg. She didn’t understand. Oh well. For Thorliff.

  When she arrived at the newspaper office she did not bother to knock; she just stepped inside. Thomas Devlin was already there, putting oil on some mysterious part of the press. Obviously he was doing this for Thorliff also. Very well. Let’s get this over with.

  She pasted on a smile. “Mr. Devlin.”

  “Mrs. Moen.” He seemed to be forcing his smile also. How long did it take to print a newspaper? However long, it would be too long.

  “Are all the articles written?”

  “Not yet.” He set his oil can aside and crossed to the desk. He laid his hand on a stack of notebook pages. “These have not been written up yet, but the facts are there. There be about half a dozen, and none of them need go on the front page. If ye can handle that, I’ll set the second page. We’ll leave the masthead as it is, aye? Thorliff be publisher still, even if he lies abed.”

  “Yes, of course.” She sat down at the desk and leafed through the notes. “Stavenger. I used to know a Walter Stavenger. Why yes. This must be he. A baby boy.” That was nice. Walter was always a good boy and a good playmate. He’d no doubt be a fine father. She would start with that one. She rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter and began. When she finished each one, she handed it to Devlin.

  The final article, for the front page, was the hardest of all. Did she know enough about Elizabeth’s life to write a good article? She would do her best. Halfway through she mopped her eyes. And then again at the end. She pulled the page out of the typewriter and closed her eyes for a moment to settle herself.

  She glanced up at the clock. Two hours had passed! But she had finished her task.

  She stood up, stretched, and walked over to Mr. Devlin with the completed articles. He was putting together the last corner of page three. “Will we have room for all these?”

  “Aye, and to spare. I am making the margins a bit wider, just to take up space. We’ll do fine at four pages. ’Tis what it usually runs anyway.” He handed her some papers. “I printed these off immediately after I set the type. If ye could, go over the first two pages here and circle the errors.”

  “Certainly.” She took the proof sheets over to the desk and reached for a pencil. This job was not going as badly as she had feared. They had their work. They kept their distance. And she was so glad now that she had consented to do this. For Thorliff. The press made very loud sounds, and Mr. Devlin brought the next page over. She tucked it in behind the first two.

  There were not many errors at all. Should she circle double spaces between words? No, that no doubt was to make both margins come out even. “Is boardinghouse capitalized?”

  “Thorliff capitalized it when it mentions Blessing Boardinghouse. Otherwise, no.”

  “Thank you.” She finished the first page. Now what? Ah. She simply carried it over and placed it beside him, glad for the chance to move around a little. She would not do well to just sit all day. How Gerald could work the switchboard for hours at a time amazed her.

  By the time she finished proofing the first three pages, Thomas was running off the last page. He brought it over to her.

  “My, that was fast.”

  “Mostly advertisements, ye’ll notice, and they come as a block. Ye just drop the block in place. Thanks be to God for advertisements. And the only obituary is on the first page.”

  Elizabeth Bjorklund. And she felt sad all over again.

  He made his corrections as she proofed the final page. But now they were going to have to work together more closely because it was time to print. She dreaded it, but she’d see this to the end. For Thorliff.

  He described to her how the press operated, explaining in greater detail than she was interested in. She inserted paper as he had showed her. They cranked the press down. Pages one and four were on top, two and three on the back side. He folded the sheet in half. One newspaper. He unfolded it and laid it out flat again. “Let the ink dry before folding, but ye see how ’tis done. We keep this one and the next two for archives.”

  He looked at the final proof. “Ah, good. All four pages be right side up. Thorliff almost printed a paper once with page three upside down.” He strung a wire across the room and hooked it into an eye in the opposite wall. He hung their brand-new newspaper on the wire. So that was how they dried the ink.

  She put another sheet in the press. As he cranked the press down, she strung a second wire she had seen coiled on the wall. “How many clotheslines will we need?”

  “Those two should do it.” He hung up their newspapers as she slid a sheet into the press.

  They fell quickly into a rhythm, and it went faster than she would have guessed. When they filled one clothesline, they started on the next.

  She ached to ask him why he had run away from her, but she didn’t dare be so bold. She wanted to know why she was rejected. Do people who are rejected ever find out the truth of why they were rejected? Probably not. The second line was filling up.

  “If ye would, remove the pages from that first line, folding them as ye go. Then fold them again, in half, with the masthead up. They be dry enough and then some.”

  She did so. This was actually fun. For one thing, it got her out of the house a while and into adult company. That was a much bigger blessing than she would have guessed. No whining children’s voices, no arguing. Also, it was easier than she had anticipated. She had pictured herself not knowing enough about printing a newspaper to be of much use. With a tiny bit of pride, she noted that she was doing quite well. Too, it was an important job, putting the paper out. This issue especially had news everyone in the area should know. And Elizabeth’s death hit her yet again.

  She stacked the papers twenty to a pile. When she ran out of room on the folding table she doubled up the stacks. Now they were forty to a pile. It gave her a very good feeling to be this productive. Look at the stacks! She went back to feeding paper into the press.

  Lemuel, who always picked up the finished papers to deliver, showed up at three. He broke into a grin. “I heard Thorliff was sick, and I figgered there wouldn’t be no paper today. But you did it.”

  Devlin pulled the last of them down from the line. “There’s a fine reason they be ready. Mrs. Moen here went to it with a will, caught on instantly to all the jobs I asked of her, and was a splendid helpmeet. I could not have done it without her.”

  Her mouth fell open. This is the man who had rejected her! And listen to him. Her mind was completely confused now. She helped them bundle and carry out the papers with her thoughts still in a muddle. Talk about mixed messages. She could not read this fellow to save her life. What was going on in his head? What was going on in hers? The fruit of hard work rolled away.

  Thomas clapped his hands together. “Finished. Now we celebrate, aye? I shall proceed forthwith to Rebecca’s for ice cream. Mrs. Moen, would ye please join me?”

  Anji had been trying to figure out an appropriate way to say good-bye and go home. This caught her completely off guard. “Why, I suppose . . . uh . . . yes. Thank you.”

  They strolled off to Rebecca’s.

  “And how be yer wee ones faring?”

  She might as well be honest, so she told him. The two little ones squabbled a lot—he chuckled knowingly—and Melissa really missed her best friend, Linnea Bjorklund. Even with five in the house, there was only so much cooking and sewing you could do, and even Melissa, who would rather read than anything, was starting to get bored.

  “Take heart, milady. This qu
arantine should be lifted shortly.”

  “But I am so glad the doctors were wise enough to impose it. No one from town has fallen ill, except, of course, those who worked directly with the circus people. Imagine if any of our children got sick.”

  “Aye, we be blessed. And see, we also be at Rebecca’s front door.” He opened it for her and entered behind her.

  Anji stood a moment at the counter, undecided. What flavor? She loved them all. Finally she picked chocolate.

  Mr. Devlin bobbed his head. “A fine choice. I shall have the same, please.” He ushered her to a table and held her chair. It had been a long time since she had been treated so royally.

  He sat down across from her. “Thank ye from the bottom of me heart for yer help this day. Thorliff was so certain the paper could not be put to bed without him. Dr. Astrid assures me that when the papers arrive at the hospital, she will straightway take one to him. Reassuring him thus should help him greatly as he battles this disease. Ease his mind.”

  Anji’s mind needed easing too. What was going on between them? And what was going to go on between them, if anything? “I can see how important it is to ease his mind. Yes.”

  The ice cream arrived. Anji skimmed half a spoonful off the top. That first taste was always the most delicious of all. “I feel just a little bit guilty, enjoying this while my children cannot. I will take a container home to them.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes.

  Then Mr. Devlin cleared his throat. “I must apologize, Mrs. Moen. Ye may recall the time that ye approached me and I hastened away. I ask yer forgiveness for being so abrupt.”

  Now her brain really was in a muddle. What could she say? She couldn’t even think! “Uh, er, of course I accept your apology. Uh . . .” How lame! Say something intelligent, Anji Baard Moen! Instead, “Why did you, may I ask?” sort of burst out of her.

  He wagged his head. “A fine mixup. One of the first symptoms of diphtheria is usually a headache, and I was suffering a bad one. I feared greatly that I had contracted diphtheria from the patients around me, for I was living aboard the train as a nurse. I had the disease as a tad, but I thought the doctors must be wrong and ye can indeed suffer the ailment twice in yer life. Later I learned that the headache was caused by fumes from the kitchen car. So I was not contagious after all.”

  A most happy tidal wave of relief washed over her. She was not rejected! All those miserable, sad, and sorry thoughts had been for nothing. “Mr. Devlin, I am so very pleased that you do not dislike me, and of course, that you are not ill. Everyone associated with the hospital has been so careful to not bring it into the community. I’m grateful for that too.”

  A real smile, not just a polite one, broke on his face too. “About this Mr. Devlin ye use so freely. Might we address each other by the first name again? I suggest we’ve earned the privilege, having put a newspaper to bed all by ourselves and doing it without one of those splendid new linotype machines. I’ve counseled Thorliff frequently on the wisdom of buying that labor-saving device.”

  “Oh, I agree. Yes.” She smiled and nodded. “I believe he feels the machine would be too costly. I’ve known Thorliff a long, long time. He is entirely too practical.” Yes, she knew him well. She would not mention to Mr. Devlin—that is, to Thomas—that once upon a time they had almost married.

  “The very thing.” He glanced out the window. “’Tis getting late, and I shall be helping me patients with their dinner.”

  “I must get back as well.” She stood up. Her heart was singing happy songs.

  He insisted on buying the container of ice cream for her children. “Tell them Mr. Devlin is proud that they be obeying so well.” And they left. They shook hands as they parted on her doorstep. She was a happy, happy, happy woman.

  Devlin was a happy, happy, happy man. She had accepted his apology! His social clumsiness was not a relationship destroyer after all, though he was certain it was a relationship strainer and she was just too polite to say so. As he approached the train, he saw them starting to load the goats, so he walked down to the animal cars.

  Manny was there, expertly herding the critters. The lad was certainly good with animals.

  And it startled him that Johnny Solberg was there as well. Had the quarantine been lifted? Despite that Johnny had two good legs and Manny only one, he was not doing the job half as well as Manny. The last of the goats clambered up the ramp, and Manny disappeared inside.

  He came back out and grinned. “Evening, Mr. Devlin! Johnny, the camel is next.”

  The cat handler called from the next car back. “Can somebody help me here a few minutes?”

  “I’ll do it.” Johnny slogged off. The lad appeared quite tired.

  Devlin pointed. “Manny, lad, ye best get yer horse, Joker, out of the corral there before they accidentally load him too.”

  “He’s going too, Mr. Devlin. Mr. Stetler says I can take him even if he can’t do tricks.”

  “Going too.” Alarms went off in Devlin’s head. He kept them from reaching his face.

  “Yes, sir. I’m joining the circus.”

  “I see.” In fact, Devlin saw quite a lot. He well knew that if you oppose a boy’s dreams, he locks on to those dreams more solidly. This would require extreme diplomacy. “Well, then, I want to toast yer new life. Let us do so with some ice cream.”

  Ice cream? Or more smelly work? You could see the tussle, the choice to be made, but only for a moment. “Yes, sir, I’d like that. Do they happen to have chocolate?”

  “They do indeed.” Devlin led the way toward Rebecca’s shop. He should be helping to serve dinners, but this was far more important. “When be ye leaving? Do ye know yet?”

  “Tomorrow, Mr. Stetler says, or the day after. The engineer has to get the locomotive to run. So far it ain’t.”

  “I’ve heard from Mr. Ranson himself that the engine be a persnickety beast.”

  Manny cackled. “Sure ’nuff. And pulling all them cars takes a lot of power. Why, just the elephants have to be ten tons at least. One of the clowns was telling me that if they have to go up a steep hill, they leave half the train behind and pull the front half up. Then they go till they find a siding—a town or a water stop—to put the first half while they go back and pull the other half up. Takes a long time. And it gobbles a lot of wood. You can’t imagine how much wood it eats.”

  “I should think. Too bad Mr. Stetler will not spend some money on a decent engine.”

  “Yeah. Coal fired. Mr. Ranson says coal takes up a lot less space in the tender than wood, and they could go lots farther on a tender load of coal. And out here on the prairies coal is sometimes cheaper.”

  They arrived at Rebecca’s and went inside. She looked surprised to see him again so soon, but she didn’t say anything.

  Manny chose chocolate, Devlin ordered the same, and they each took a chair.

  Devlin grinned. “I be muckle happy ye’ve found yerself a paying job!”

  Manny licked his lips. “Well, it ain’t paying, at least not yet. Mr. Stetler says if I do good and prove my worth, then he’ll pay me. Maybe the end of the season or next spring. They go south to winter over, so’s it’s warmer, then come north.”

  “Well, sure, and he’ll pay ye sometime. After he pays the rest of his crew. They’ve not seen any money lately either.”

  “That’s what Mr. Ranson says.”

  Devlin wagged his head. “Mr. Ranson ought to be paid the very most, for the whole train depends upon him.”

  “Ain’t that the truth!”

  Rebecca set their ice cream in front of them. Manny dug right in.

  Devlin had just eaten a serving of ice cream, but there was always room for a little more. “I be glad the horses and cows be fattened up again. They were looking so poorly when they arrived.”

  Manny nodded. “Yeah, they was clear out of feed when they got here. Nothing left at all. That’s why they wanted to put them out to graze right away. Out of water too.”

  “I h
ope things get better for them quickly. I wouldn’t want to see Joker suffer like that. He’s a beautiful horse.”

  Manny was obviously going to say something, but he stopped. He ate in silence.

  Perhaps Devlin was getting through to him. “Ye were doing so splendidly with school. I assume they have some sort of school aboard the train—so many tykes of various ages.”

  “Some circuses do. Don’t know if this one does.”

  “I hope so. A good education is the only defense a man has that he won’t be fleeced by some shyster. To be able to read and understand contracts, for example.”

  “Johnny heard some of the folks on board had contracts, but it don’t do any good. They still ain’t getting paid. So why bother? Johnny works with the other animals too. He don’t like the camel. But we like Mr. Mason a lot. He never beat his boy. Not like my pa.”

  Ingeborg said Manny had come a long way. How true. “If you have a contract, you can take the person to court, and the judge will make him pay what he owes. That’s about the only advantage I see, but ’tis a beauty.”

  “Sure would be.” Manny stared at his empty dish. “Dr. Elizabeth was such a great lady.”

  “She was that. We all be grieving.”

  “And crazy little Inga. She’s been such a good friend.” He looked across the table to Devlin. “Her and Benny, they made me want to learn to walk again.”

  “Aye, and baby Roald. Thorliff is going to have a hard time this winter without the children’s mother to help.”

  “Grandma Ingeborg.”

  “She not be getting younger. Astrid is worried. Ingeborg is not frail, but she not be as strong and spry as Astrid remembers. No, they’ll need more help than what Ingeborg can offer.”

  “I grew up in Kentucky. Never felt a winter as fierce as this place gets.”

  Devlin sat quiet. Let the lad’s thoughts work.

  Manny looked up at him. “They really need me on the train, Mr. Devlin. But Grandma needs me too. I don’t know what to do.”

  Devlin nodded slowly. “I wager ye never wanted to run away to sea.”