Thorliff taught at the high school, filling in for the loss of Thomas Devlin, and spent far more time at the office because everything took him so long to accomplish.
One day, when sun turned the snow to eye-blinding glitter, the two left school at the same time. “Anji, could you please come to the office?”
She mentally ran through her list of things she needed to do at home. “To work on the paper, you mean?” The thought of another session like the last one made her stomach clench.
“No, I think we need to have a talk.”
Relief warmed even her nose. “I need to go home and stoke the furnace and start supper. Then I’ll leave a note for the children. Lissa can manage for a while.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Puzzled was all she could think as she went about her chores. What could he want to talk about? Maybe fire her from the newspaper? While she appreciated the money, she could do without the misery of putting the paper out. Confusion roiled her mind into all kinds of scenarios. He was giving up the paper. He was having a relapse and didn’t want anyone to know. As she went out the door, dread was the only word that even began to cover her tumultuous fears and feelings. The last place she wanted to go was to the newspaper office.
When she stepped into the warmth of the building, she realized he had built the fire to heat the office, while the printing room door was closed. She inhaled the fragrance of coffee and saw a platter of gingerbread with applesauce on the counter. Thelma had been at work. She removed her gloves and stuffed them into her pockets, then hung her coat, hat, and scarf on the coatrack by the door. Was she stalling? Most likely. Although the coffee and gingerbread—no, that was Thelma. Keep your thoughts under control. Be gracious and do not let him upset you. Be calm. Smile. Lord, help me. The uneven clatter of the typewriter did nothing to calm her.
“Would you please bring the tray in with you?” he called.
Thorliff asking for help? “Of course.” Anji picked up the tray and set it on the corner of the desk. “Shall I pour?”
“Ja, coffee sounds mighty good.” He flexed his fingers and glared at the typewriter.
Anji ignored his glare while at the same time felt sorry he had to work so hard at making his hand work. She poured the coffee and set cup and plate beside the typewriter. Then, pulling the other chair up to the front of the desk, she set her cup and plate in place. The actions helped quiet the thoughts rampaging through her mind. She inhaled the fragrance before taking a sip to see how hot it was. “At least this hasn’t been sitting on the stove here and turning to mud.” Humor might help.
He worked his right hand with his left, an almost flinch twitching his eyebrows. “The cold is making it worse, I think.”
“Probably.” She started to suggest putting his hand in warm water and clamped a stop on her mouth. Do not set him off again with unasked for help. The papers scattered across the desk made her hands itch to fix. Thorliff used to be so fastidious, with pages stacked neatly, books on the shelves, pencils in the cup he kept for them.
He heaved a sigh and picked up his cup with his left hand, stretching the other around it. “Thank you for coming.”
“You are welcome.” Formal might be best.
“I have been talking with John . . .”
Her eyes widened and she hid behind a forkful of gingerbread and applesauce.
“He mentioned that he had a letter from Thomas Devlin.”
“Ja, I know they have been corresponding.”
Thorliff stared into his mug of coffee. “I thought perhaps you and Devlin were interested in each other.”
“We were good friends.”
“I thought it more than that. Elizabeth . . .” His voice cracked. A pause that felt long, though it might not have been. “She mentioned that she thought . . .” He inhaled, his fingers clenching the mug. “She had the impression that Thomas was courting you.” He cleared his throat. “And then he received the call to that parish in Michigan.”
Anji waited. It was a good thing the applesauce helped the gingerbread slide down her throat.
“Did he ask you to marry him?”
“Ja.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I . . . I didn’t want to leave Blessing. My children are so happy to be here, and I felt like I had come home again. After all, I grew up here and . . .” She forced herself to look up, to find him watching her.
“And?”
“And after all that happened last summer, I felt that God was telling me to stay here.”
“To take care of me?”
“To help you regain your strength, and I knew you would need help with the newspaper. Between Astrid and Ingeborg, they needed help too.”
“Anji, you changed your life for me years ago.”
“I loved you.”
“And I loved you, but you ordered me to get on with my new life and not come back here for you. I thought you would wait for me. I thought I was getting an education for us.”
“I believed you needed freedom to do all you dreamed of doing. It seemed the best thing at the time.” The two of them stared at each other. No spark that danced like it did those years ago when all they wanted was to be together, to . . . Only—only sadness. Or acceptance?
Thorliff leaned back in his chair, slowly shaking his head. “And now you . . . Anji, I am grateful for the help you have given me.” His head continued to move from side to side. The silence and the air both felt heavy, as always overlaid with the odors of ink and paper.
Anji left the last piece of gingerbread on the plate and set it back on the desk. A thought floated through her mind. A calling might not be forever. She watched as he massaged the right hand with his left. Could God be releasing her from . . . from helping Thorliff? What if all the past was in the past? A memory of Thomas at her kitchen table for supper, laughing with her children. Promising the boys that he would teach them how to use a carving knife. Smiling at her and her heart feeling both a leap and a laugh.
“I have learned that one of the immigrants worked once on a newspaper. He can set type too, although in Dutch. He has learned to speak English well enough from Amelia to tell me that he is now learning to read and write English too.”
“So you are saying I am fired?” She hoped she made it sound like a joke.
He didn’t look at her. “I am going to cut back to every other week for now.”
She stared at him in surprise. “Good for you.” Then glanced up at the clock on the wall above the door. “I need to get home.”
“Thank you . . . for everything.”
Walking home, Anji kicked away a clump of snow and ice. A crow scolded her from the bare branches of the maple tree in front of the boardinghouse. When it flew away, she felt like she could fly too, as she watched the black wings beat against the unseen air. Freedom, that crow was free. And now she was too. “Thank you, Lord. I believe I have learned one of your lessons today. You have freed me. I don’t know what is going to happen next, but tonight I will write a letter. If Thomas Devlin is to be in my life, that too will be if you will it. One step at a time.”
That night after the children were in bed, she sat down at the desk in the parlor and pulled out paper and pen. She hushed the voice that whispered But what if he has changed his mind? with a firm admonition. God is in control. I can only go forward.
Dear Thomas,
I know Reverend Solberg has kept you abreast of all the news of Blessing, not that there is that much. Everyone here misses you, including Thorliff. He told me he wishes you were still here to help with the newspaper. His right hand is not working as well as it should, or rather will, according to Ingeborg. I too wish you were here.
I have been doing a great deal of thinking and praying . . .
Her pen paused. She almost wrote I truly believe my calling here is completed. But she caught her hand before the words poured out. That would be a matter for later, if and when they sat talking face to face.
She continued.
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br /> I have realized that sometimes in life, or maybe mostly in life, we can only go forward. We cannot go back. If that is still your desire, I would be overjoyed to go forward with you.
With love and basking in the streams of God’s mercy,
Anji
She read it through again. Yes, in this life, we cannot go back.
Lauraine Snelling is the award-winning author of over 70 books, fiction and nonfiction, for adults and young adults. Her books have sold over 4 million copies. Besides writing books and articles, she teaches at writers’ conferences across the country. She and her husband make their home in Tehachapi, California.
Books by Lauraine Snelling
SONG OF BLESSING
To Everything a Season
A Harvest of Hope
Streams of Mercy
An Untamed Heart
RED RIVER OF THE NORTH
An Untamed Land
A New Day Rising
A Land to Call Home
The Reapers’ Song
Tender Mercies
Blessing in Disguise
RETURN TO RED RIVER
A Dream to Follow
Believing the Dream
More Than a Dream
DAUGHTERS OF BLESSING
A Promise for Ellie
Sophie’s Dilemma
A Touch of Grace
Rebecca’s Reward
HOME TO BLESSING
A Measure of Mercy
No Distance Too Far
A Heart for Home
WILD WEST WIND
Valley of Dreams
Whispers in the Wind
A Place to Belong
DAKOTAH TREASURES
Ruby
Pearl
Opal
Amethyst
SECRET REFUGE
Daughter of Twin Oaks
Sisters of the Confederacy
The Long Way Home
A Secret Refuge 3-in-1
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
Website: www.bethanyhouse.com
Facebook: Bethany House
Streams of Mercy Page 33