From This Day Forward

by Lauraine Snelling

  Toby rested his elbows on his knees and let his hands droop between them. Do I love Deborah? He finally looked up. “I don’t know.” He studied his hands. “Is missing her love?”

  “Part of it, perhaps.”

  “I don’t like it when I see her with someone else.”

  “But you don’t want to have to pay her any attention and perhaps you like being able to see someone else?”

  “Doesn’t sound very good, does it?” Was he really like that? In a burst of honesty, he had to admit that was what he’d done, probably often.

  “Maybe now, with her gone, is a good time for you to figure this out.”

  Rebecca came to stand behind Gerald. “I’m going up to bed. Blow out the lamps when you come.”

  Toby rose to his feet. “Thanks for supper, Rebecca.” He nodded to Gerald. “Thank you—I guess.”

  “You have a lot to think about.”

  Toby nodded. “And I’m not a good thinker like you. Building a school is far easier.”

  Gerald walked him to the door. “I’m always here. Pastor Solberg is too, and he can answer some questions better than I can.”

  “Good night.”

  When Toby walked in the door of his house, a lighted kerosene lamp sat in the middle of the kitchen table. How often had he come home to a dark house? Such a simple thing—a lighted lamp. Did he think to do those kinds of things for other people?

  Thinking. He hated having to think, and now he must. He fell asleep that night trying to think, but not doing it well.

  The next morning he came downstairs still avoiding thinking. “I’ll go by the boardinghouse and bring home supper tonight,” he told Anton, who was just sitting down to eat breakfast when Toby was ready to walk out the door.

  “Good. Thank you. I have a lot of papers to correct. Say, who can I hire to do my laundry?”

  “There’s a washing machine on the back porch.”

  Toby left, chuckling at the look on Anton’s face. He’s probably never seen a washing machine. At least I’ve helped do the wash. Years ago now, but Ma had me crank the wringer when she had an injured arm. He had hung clothes on the line too. Just like he had helped in the kitchen, and he and Gerald had to do the dishes, even though as they grew older they realized that was women’s work.

  But Gerald helps Rebecca with the dishes. Maybe he should ask Rebecca to remind him how to use the washing machine. When he would have time, he had no idea. Unless he didn’t work on Saturdays. That would not happen.

  At the construction site, he stopped to look up at the bare rafters that now stretched from one end of the building to the other. Today he’d set a crew nailing down the cross timbers and another to start laying shingles on the corner of the roof that was ready for shingling. The siding was now above the windows on the north side and even with the tops of the first-floor windows on the west. When might they be ready for the glass? He wrote a note to check with Thorliff on a delivery date. Always the nagging question: Where could he get more carpenters? Since the grain elevator was in full operation due to the harvest, he’d lost two men to that.

  But the other men were back from harvesting, so Samuel and two of the Hegdahl boys were now on the roof, and Laban had taken over driving the wagons back and forth from the siding. As the sun broke the horizon, the men arrived and took over from where they had finished the day before.

  Mr. Heinrich stopped by Toby. “My brother coming on train to work.”

  “Good, thanks. When?”

  “Today, I think.”

  “Does he have tools?” At the headshake, Toby asked, “Has he built buildings before?’

  “Houses.”

  “Good. Bring him to talk with me this afternoon.”

  “He not speak English much.”

  “I see. Then he will work with you.”

  “He not been on such a tall building.”

  “He will be.” One more worker. Every bit helped.

  That night Toby stopped to talk with Thorliff regarding the windows and other supplies, then strode over to the boardinghouse and asked Mrs. Landsverk if he could have two suppers to take home. While she sent someone else to get the food, he asked her, “Do you know of some women who would take in wash?”

  “Hmm, let me think,” Maisie said. “Not right off hand, but I could ask around. The ones who might know would be Mrs. Solberg or Ingeborg. They know most of the wives.” She looked up into the distance. “This is for you and Mr. Gendarme, correct?”

  He nodded. “Who does the washing and cleaning, and maybe even cooking, for the men in the apartments?”

  “One of the wives there. She pretty much runs the place, which is a good thing. Some of them eat here at times.”

  All we need is a Thelma, only a couple of days a week.

  A girl came out of the kitchen with a basket, which she handed to Maisie. She in turn handed it to Toby.

  “I’ll bring it back.”

  “I know you will, or you won’t get it filled again. That sure is an imposing structure you’re building.”

  “It is that.”

  That night he sat down at the rolltop oak desk in what used to be his father’s office. He found some stationery in one slot and started what was probably the first letter he had written in his life. Other than in school, when they’d learned to write letters in English class.

  The inkwell was crusted black in the bottom. So now what? Put water in it? What was ink made of?

  Anton was sitting at the table in the dining room, papers spread around him.

  “Do you have any ink?” Toby asked him.

  “At school.” Anton eyed the inkwell that Toby held up. “I could get you some tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I’ll use a pencil.” Pencil was easier anyway. He found two pencils, one with broken lead, the other down to the wood. Taking out his pocket knife, he sharpened both of them and turned back to the paper. No wonder he never wrote letters.

  Dear Deborah,

  I hope all is going well for you in Chicago. I am sure you are learning a lot and I hope you are seeing some of the city too. Although I hear Chicago is a dirty, smelly place.

  Now what? He tapped the pencil on his chin.

  We are laying the timbers on the rafters and have started shingling the corner we have done. Mr. Gould continues to nail up siding from the ground; he does not like ladders. He said he hopes we can start a house for him come spring.

  Fall is here. We’ve had frost twice now, but we keep praying the rains hold off until we at least have the roof on.

  I hear the harvest celebration is in another week. I told the men we would stop work early that day. Sophie has figured a way to make this a fundraiser for the school, as only Sophie can come up with ideas like that.

  If you could find the time to answer my letter, I would be honored.

  Your longtime friend,

  Toby White Valders

  He folded the letter and found an envelope for it. An address. He had no idea where to send this. He’d have to stop by the hospital after work tomorrow night. Or he could ask Mrs. Solberg. How could such a simple thing as a letter cause so many difficulties?

  Commitment. Gerald had said he was afraid of that. Would a letter be a start on overcoming that fear, if that was what it was? Maybe it was time to talk with Gerald again, or Reverend Solberg.

  Chapter 30

  You have a letter from Blessing,” Mrs. Korsheski announced.

  “Oh, wonderful!” Deborah turned from the files she was sorting. Mrs. Korsheski claimed that the best way to learn was to do. “Thank you.” She looked at the envelope. This was not her mother’s or father’s writing, nor Astrid’s. After slitting the envelope open, she pulled out a sheet of paper. “Toby?”

  “I thought that was male handwriting. If you are pleased, I am pleased for you.”

  Late one evening, Deborah had told Mrs. Korsheski the story of what she saw as an on-again, off-again relationship that always left her disappointed. Deborah had decided it was tim
e to get over any dreams of a life with Toby Valders. Friends, yes, of sorts, but he did not appear to desire to be husband material.

  “Sometimes reason does not triumph over feelings,” Mrs. Korsheski had said.

  Deborah had frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we think we can reason things out, and that would work if feelings did not get in the way. You have loved him for a long time; choosing to no longer love will take time also. You cannot turn real love off like a faucet.”

  “But if he chooses not to love me, then what are my choices? To leave? To pretend I never cared? To search out God’s will for me?”

  “The last one is of course the best.” Mrs. Korsheski smiled. “Or you could ask someone to drop a board on his head to wake him up.”

  They had laughed together over that, but until right now, Deborah had put Toby and Blessing out of her mind as much as possible to be able to concentrate on learning all she could.

  She tucked the letter into her apron pocket to read later. Not that it would take long, but it was a letter.

  “Our next section is devoted to budgeting and estimating expenses. Many administrators come to work at a hospital not because they are medically trained but rather trained in business and accounting, fields like that. You will spend the next week with our administrators, seeing what all they do.”

  After class, Deborah asked the instructor, “It seems to me that while I need to understand these broad concepts, at our hospital I would be more like a nursing supervisor than a hospital administrator.”

  “I think you are right, so we will spend the most time on that, after you better understand the big picture.”

  Two days later, Mrs. Korsheski handed Deborah another letter. “I see you are rather popular in Blessing.”

  This one had a return address. “Mr. Gendarme. What a surprise.” She again tucked it away for later, but it did get her wondering how everything was going back home. “I wonder what is happening at the hospital.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, or we would have heard. We always hear.”

  The next day, Deborah felt like screaming, I am not cut out for this job! Budgeting! Expense estimates! Assets as opposed to debits! What a nightmare. Life in Blessing, in their hospital, even at the busiest, was not like here.

  Yes, but you are here, so make the best of it, she ordered herself. But all she wanted to do was get on the westbound train and get off again in Blessing. Might she dream that Toby would be at the station when she arrived?

  Finally, finally, they set her to learning other tasks. Hands-on tasks that she loved to do. At lunch one day she mentioned to Mrs. Korsheski, “Dr. Johnson told me that I needed to ride the trolley around Chicago and walk on the shore of Lake Michigan.”

  “He was so right. I’ll show you around town; we’ll do just that on Saturday. You need at least one day off. Wear warm clothes.”

  Accordingly, on Saturday Deborah donned her wool petticoat and wore her winter coat, her wool scarf around her neck ready to tie over her hat if need be.

  When they stepped down from the trolley car, she crossed the sidewalk to the beach, clapping her hand on her head to keep her hat from ripping off. “This is as bad as a North Dakota wind, but . . . but I’ve never seen water like this. Oh my.” Waves broke on the rocks and the sand. In spite of the sun peeking out from the clouds, her eyes watered from the wind. “There are ships out there.”

  Mrs. Korsheski nodded. “Boats of all sizes. Cargo is brought clear in here from all around the world.”

  Deborah knelt down and picked up a handful of sand. “It’s so different from our dirt.” She looked up. “Would anyone mind if I took some home with me?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Deborah filled her handkerchief with sand and tied the four ends together, carefully setting it in the bottom of her reticule. “Can we walk a bit?”

  Walking in the sand was different than walking in North Dakota mud. She glanced down. When she pushed the sand with her boot, it just slid away. It was wet, but not muddy. She shaded her eyes with her hand and stared out as far as she could see. All water. No other shore.

  They took the next path up to the sidewalk and caught the trolley at the corner. When they returned to the hospital, Deborah’s eyes were gritty from the dirty air and her ears ached from the cacophony of a busy city. It amazed her that the same city that contained the ornate estates of the wealthy also had slums where people were crammed in like penned animals, much like the stockyards where cattle bellowed and hogs poured out of railway cars and into more pens. There were buildings so tall they blocked the sun and others that went on for blocks, housing industries of every kind. They had eaten from a cart that served strange sandwiches, and as dusk fell, electric lights lit signs and windows, as if there were no night at all.

  Deborah bathed in the shower down the hall from her room before collapsing in bed. No wonder those who came from here were so amazed at life in Blessing.

  A letter from her ma and pa arrived the next day. The third paragraph from the bottom made her jaw drop.

  Toby came for supper last night and he asked for a meeting with us, but your father especially. He requested our permission to court you when you arrive home. We said he had our permission but it would depend on if that is what you want. So, dear Deborah, life might be very different when you return home. We love you and miss you. Counting the days, which are nine, until you come home.

  Within the letter were notes from her brothers and sisters too.

  Deborah dropped her hands into her lap and stared out the window. Even though night had fallen, the sounds of the street still beat against the grimy window. Nothing stayed clean here on the outside of the buildings, which made keeping the inside clean a constant battle. Even in the operating rooms.

  Toby—on-again, off-again Toby—had asked if he could court her. What in the world had been going on in Blessing to bring him to that point?

  “What in the world is going on in this town?” Toby dropped his muddy boots by the door, shook off his slicker, and threw it on a chair. “It’s not supposed to be raining like this in October.”

  Anton looked up from the kitchen table. “Everyone keeps telling me, ‘Oh, it’s not usually like this at this time of year.’ I’m beginning to suspect you never get normal weather.” He was grading math papers. Toby no longer envied Anton his short workday. It wasn’t. He worked as long as Toby did, just not physical labor.

  “Oh good. You got the mail.” Toby flopped down in the chair across from Anton’s and picked up the envelopes. Here was another sale flyer from that company that distributed windows. He and Thorliff were both getting sales brochures ever since they’d ordered the school’s windows. Did the company think that since they’d bought thirty windows, they’d want to buy lots more? Two letters for Anton that had been opened, and here was one from Deborah! He knew because she had put her return address on it. He had forgotten to do that when he sent her his letter.

  He ripped it open. She had beautiful writing—delicate, neat, easy to read. Well, it figured; she wrote all those records and reports at the hospital, and the lines on their paper were close together. She missed Blessing. Lake Michigan was absolutely amazing, and wait until he saw their sand. How was he going to see Lake Michigan sand? The people there were wonderful and she couldn’t wait to get home. And she signed it, “Affectionately, Deborah.”

  She did not mention anything about receiving his letter, but then, all he’d written about was the school project. That had to be pretty boring for a young lady like her. The more he thought about it, his hotshot letter was not nearly as great as he had first imagined it to be. And he had not even given it a return address.

  Then he noticed the return address on one of Anton’s two letters. He scowled at his housemate. “You wrote to Deborah too?”

  “Of course. Being away from home and familiar places gets very heavy. I know. So I wrote to her a few times.”

  So I wrote to her a few
times. Anton made it sound like no big thing. Writing that letter had been the hardest work Toby had ever done, not counting working dawn to dusk on construction. “All you do is teach math and stuff all day. What’d you find to say?”

  Anton shrugged. “I don’t remember, really. Small talk. Weather, of course, the new ice cream flavor at the sweet shop, things like that. Ingeborg noticed some wood rot on the north side of her house, so Thorliff, John, and I spent an hour replacing some boards. Nothing big. Like you say, I study four walls all day, one of them a blackboard.” He went back to his grading.

  Toby smoldered. If Deborah decided to rank him and Anton by the letters they wrote, Toby was done for. Anton had seen her off at the train station; Daniel had said so. Toby had been stuck at the construction site by an unexpected problem that needed solving immediately and couldn’t get free until noon, when she was long gone. If she ranked them by that measure, Toby was doomed again.

  He had never felt more like pasting Anton Gendarme clear across the room.

  Deborah sat in the first row of assembly, and she should have been horribly nervous, but she wasn’t. All she could think about was Toby. What did he mean by courting? Had he read the courting chapter in some fancy etiquette book and was going to do whatever it suggested? Was he going to fall back on their school days and tease her and dip her pigtail in the inkwell? Courting how?

  Quit thinking about Toby!

  She would leave for home in four days. She would not be sad to leave here, other than the people who had been so kind to her and taught her so much. No wonder both Astrid and Elizabeth were grateful to have gone to school here.

  In a few minutes she would be speaking to a general assembly of the nursing and medical students. She’d been asked to talk about their small hospital back home and some of the difficulties they encountered.

  When she told Mrs. Korsheski that she’d never spoken before a large group of people before, Mrs. Korsheski simply smiled and said, “Just tell them some of the stories of what has gone on there. Those who have returned from Blessing have shared plenty as well.” She patted Deborah’s hand. “I’d start with the grain elevator exploding. That will get everyone’s attention.”