A Touch of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Huh, you might as well make it earlier. We don’t have any chores to do.” She turned away and set each leaden foot on the next step up.

  The next day she filled and set the last cheese presses. Granted that while she had a lot of cheese for this time of the year, the house would not be full come fall. And after she filled the orders, there would be no more.

  When the paper came out that day, Thorliff had written an article about the catastrophe and the far-reaching effects. The government had decreed that all cloven-footed animals be destroyed west of the Mississippi River and east of the Rocky Mountains and that there be no cattle imported or transported. The Red River hadn’t stopped it.

  The people of Blessing gathered at the church only due to Pastor Solberg’s insistence. With eyes red-rimmed from the smoke, the men removed their hats and nodded to one another as they sat down. Women held the little children on their laps, and the older ones sat silently beside them. Mrs. Valders glared at Ingeborg.

  When it looked like everyone was gathered, Pastor Solberg stood up and moved to the center in front of the carved altar, Bible in his hands. “Dearly beloved, let us hear what the Word of God says to us.” He flipped pages and began reading. “Isaiah 43:2: ‘When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”’

  When he stopped, he closed his Bible. “Let us pray, and tonight I ask that those of you who are able, to please pray aloud, so that we can all be blessed. I’ll begin and then you join in.” He paused and the rustlings settled. “Lord God, heavenly Father, we have heard your word of promise and mercy. You have promised to restore the years of the locust. We’ve lived through those, and you have restored us. This horror is like unto another locust, taking what we have built and burning it away. But our hearts are on you and your kingdom, where moth cannot make holes, nor can disease, where rust does not destroy any earthly thing. We are your children, the people of your kingdom. Heal and restore us, O Lord, we pray.”

  Ingeborg heard someone sniffing and mopped her own eyes. Lord, these were your cattle, hogs, sheep, and goats. Your hills around here are now empty. I know you can restore, but right now I’m not sure you will choose to.

  Haakan cleared his throat. “Lord God, I can’t say I understand this, for I don’t. I just know that evil does not come from you. And this has been a great evil. But I do know that your love never changes and that you have promised to bring good out of bad. Only you can know how to do this. I give you my heart, knowing that it is safe with you and you will live up to your promises.” He paused. “I know that.” His voice carried a conviction that caused murmurs of agreement to float around the room.

  Ingeborg slid her hand into his and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “You are right,” she whispered and squeezed his hand. He covered their two hands with his other one.

  Several others prayed, and the room seemed to lighten. A breeze blew through the windows, a clean breath of air.

  Pastor Solberg said, “And all the people said …” They all joined him on the amen. He lifted his hands. “Say this with me. The Lord bless us and keep us.” The congregation joined one by one. “The Lord make His face to shine upon us and be gracious unto us. The Lord give us His peace. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen.”

  Only a sniff broke the silence. Ingeborg sucked in a deep breath that caught on the lump in her throat. It was Grace crying next to Astrid.

  “ ‘Blest be the tie …’ ” Surely it was Kaaren’s voice but still choked up and hard to identify. One other joined in, then another.

  Ingeborg fought the tears and tried to join, but no sound came from her throat. Haakan’s rich baritone voice picked up the harmony. She mouthed the words, singing with her spirit, even though her vocal chords would not function properly.

  “‘Our hearts in Christian love.’ ” By now all those around her were singing. “ ‘The fellowship of kindred minds …’ ”

  Her voice finally returned. “ ‘Is like to that above.’ ”

  All together they surged into the second verse and after Haakan stood, the others followed. “ ‘And perfect love and joy shall reign through all eternity.’ ” As the last verse sung in full harmony reverberated off the walls, a small voice from behind her said, “Pitty, Ma.”

  Pretty indeed. If heaven sounded half as good, it would be worth the trip, let alone to see the Savior. Ingeborg wiped her eyes again and turned to beam through her tears at her little granddaughter. “Leave it to Inga.”

  Thorliff’s eyes shone bright, and Elizabeth hugged her daughter close.

  Astrid held out her arms, and Inga reached for her, so Elizabeth let her little one loose. “You liked the singing?”

  Inga nodded. “More?” She placed her hands on Astrid’s cheeks and stared into her eyes then laid her cheek on Astrid’s shoulder and sighed.

  “Someone is tired.” Thorliff smiled at his mother. “I have a feeling she is not the only one.”

  “No, that’s for sure. Sadness makes you more tired than twelve hours of pitching hay.” Haakan turned to greet Pastor Solberg. “Thank you. Although I didn’t want to come, I’m sure glad I did.”

  “God indeed met us here tonight. Times like this I am not only renewed but more deeply amazed than ever at the power of His Word and how gathering together to hear it brings healing to souls and spirits. ‘Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.’ ” He patted Haakan on the back of his shoulder. “Thank you for coming.”

  Back at the house Ingeborg added wood to the stove and drew the coffeepot onto the soon to be hotter part. “There’s cake left. I could whip some cream and put raspberries on it.”

  “How about putting raspberries on it and pouring the cream on top?” Haakan sank into his chair and clasped his hands on the red-and-white checked tablecloth.

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll get the raspberries and the cream.” Astrid headed out the door.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through such an ordeal,” Ingeborg told Jonathan as he took a seat at the table.

  “Me? I didn’t lose my livestock. I don’t know how you are all going on like this.” His voice grew more intense with each word.

  Haakan leaned forward. “One thing you learn about farming, son. Any number of things can nearly wipe you out—floods, fire, drought, disease, an accident—but if you love the land and can’t see yourself doing anything else, you put your trust in the Lord above and keep on going. Somehow, we will buy more cows, plant more wheat, cut more hay. Loss and death are part of life, but not the most important part.” He smiled at Ingeborg. “When you have family and loved ones around you, you can get through most anything together.”

  Jonathan stared deep into the older man’s eyes and nodded.

  Ingeborg wondered what he saw there. She knew what she would see: love, patience, and fortitude, but mostly love. Such love for this wise man sitting in the lamplight at the table welled up in her that she went to stand behind him and placed both hands on his shoulders. She laid her cheek on the top of his head and inhaled his scent, a fragrance like no other. Soap and sweat and Haakan.

  The sound of sputtering on the stove cut off the moment. The coffee was boiling and spattering out the spout. “Uff da.” She grabbed a potholder and dragged the coffeepot off the hottest part. Astrid came through the door and set her basket and the cream pitcher on the counter. She brought out plates from the shelf, and she and her mother fixed and served the dessert.

  The last of the cream, Ingeborg thought. Where would they get milk to drink or cook with? While they had butter to last awhile and buttermilk, what would they do?

  “I’ll find us a cow if I have to go to Chicago for one.” Haakan had read her mind again. “As soon as it is safe to bring one home.”

  “How will we know?”

  “I
’m sure the agriculture department at the college will have good advice.”

  “The school there, is it a regular college?” Jonathan asked.

  “Ja, they have more than just the agriculture program.”

  “That’s where I’m going for nursing school—someday.” Astrid licked the cream from her fork. “Why?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Just curious.”

  Ingeborg watched him draw lines along the checks in the table-cloth with the tines of his fork. What would Mr. Gould have to say if his son wanted to go to school out here? She looked up at Astrid as her “someday” caught up in her mind. This fall was not someday.

  WOULD THE SMELL NEVER GO AWAY? Gace wondered.

  The stench had been hanging over Blessing like a heavy cloud for several days. And though rain would’ve helped if it came, they needed to get the hay in first. Her mother had said that perhaps the fat melting down into the earth was what still smelled, but all the bones had not burned up either. The men were digging a hole by the burning place to bury the remains. Perhaps then the air would be clean again.

  Grace squatted down to reach three green beans hanging together. She had long before realized that her sense of smell was far superior to those around her, but now that was a burden. She was in a constant state of nausea, and any attempts to eat only made her gag. Although she had been able to munch on the more tender beans as she picked them, which interrupted the smell for a few moments. She’d come to realize the close connection between smell and taste. Being outside, which usually gave her a sense of peace, was now something she avoided. Perhaps if she tied a scented handkerchief over her nose it would help.

  With her basket full, she settled onto the bench on the back porch. Shame Astrid wasn’t here to help. Someone to chat with always made a job go easier, although it might be harder to keep up a cheerful attitude. All she felt was tired these days. If she didn’t know Mor needed her, she wasn’t sure she could get out of bed in the morning. And she wasn’t the only one. Astrid said Elizabeth told her that grief was more exhausting than any physical labor.

  As she snapped the ends off the beans and broke them into bitesize pieces, she let her mind roam. As always it went back to Toby and how he wouldn’t dance with her. Then learning why didn’t help at all. She closed her eyes against the stab in her heart. But others liked to dance with her, like Jonathan. She clamped her jaw, recognizing the anger that danced and popped like drops of water on a hot stove. As Astrid said, Toby had been terribly rude even though he had a reason. Not that the reason made any of this easier to bear.

  She’d loved waltzing with Jonathan, his strong hand at her back, her right hand lost in his. And when he spun her around, her feet hardly touched the floor. What would it be like to kiss him? His lips were firm and carved like the lips she’d seen on a picture of a statue. Where did that thought come from? Of course, she could ask Sophie how it felt to kiss Toby. The one person she cared about she’d never kissed, but her sister had. That thought brought her back to reality with a thump. She bit into a slim green bean as if she were chomping nuts. What if Jonathan cared for her like she cared for Toby? She mustn’t treat him like Toby treated her, but how could she keep his friendship without leading him on?

  She felt the thud of footsteps on the stairs and looked up to see Jonathan smiling at her. He looked a little pale. “You want a bean?” She held out one of the slender, more tender, ones. She felt the blush moving up her neck, glad he couldn’t read her thoughts.

  “But it’s not cooked.”

  “Haven’t you eaten raw string beans before?”

  “No.” The twist of his mouth made her smile as she bit off part of the bean.

  “You are missing out.” She held out another, and this one he took, obediently biting down and chewing.

  He cocked his head slightly. “Not bad.”

  “No, very good.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Perhaps raw beans are an acquired taste.” He reached for another. “But it does help a little.”

  Grace tilted her head in a question.

  “The smell.” Jonathan looked embarrassed.

  “Me too.”

  “But it is such a small discomfort compared to what your families are facing.”

  Grace nodded. Her parents, Tante Ingeborg, and Onkel Haakan, even Andrew, all walked as if they were carrying heavy wood. And Astrid said Onkel Haakan sometimes took a short nap in the afternoon “I thought you were fishing with the boys?”

  “I was, but I didn’t catch anything except mosquito bites.” He scratched one on his arm. “Where’s Astrid?”

  “At Dr. Elizabeth’s.” Her fingers continued snapping beans while they talked. “Did you hear we are going to have a party?”

  “When?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Isn’t this an odd time to have a party?”

  “Well, it will bring the community together to remind us of joy as well as sorrow, Mor says.”

  “Can you get ready for a party in two days?”

  She drew back, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. “We can get ready for a party in two hours. Or make one up on the spot.” She handed him another bean.

  “What are you doing to them?”

  “See, you snap off the ends, without wasting any of the bean, and break them up. Did you really never help with the garden?”

  “No, never.” He tried to sign but mixed up his fingers.

  Grace moved them in the right way and had to hold her breath at the tingle that shot up her arm.

  “At home a party takes at least two weeks to organize. You have to make up a guest list, send out invitations, get the responses back, decide what you want to serve, and give Cook plenty of time to purchase the supplies. Then the housekeeping staff must clean extra good, not that the house isn’t always immaculate, or heads will roll under Mrs. Smithston.” At Grace’s questioning look, he added. “She’s the head housekeeper and in charge of hiring and firing the maids. If one isn’t doing her job, she is let go immediately.”

  Grace shook her head slowly. Every time Jonathan revealed bits and pieces of what life was like in New York City, she was always grateful she didn’t live there. “Can’t you ever just have people over?”

  “We do more of that when we are at the shore during the summer.” He sat down on the wide porch railing and wrapped his arms around one raised knee. “There, all of us, including houseguests, kind of float from one house to the other, depending on what we want to do.”

  For the most part he was speaking, but from time to time he tried to fill in a few words with sign language.

  “We go to the Bloomquists’ if we want to go riding, the clay tennis court is best at our house, croquet at the Mitchells’. If we decide to do a … bake, we need at least one day for the food to be purchased.”

  “What kind of bake?”

  “A clambake. You’ve never had clams?”

  She shook her head and signaled for him to come over to her chair so she could help him sign the word clambake. After he had it down, she handed him some beans. “Women can snap beans and visit at the same time.” This way she could avoid touching him again.

  “Then how can I practice?” he teased but rolled his eyes and followed her suggestion. “Well, I’d never had raw beans or peas before coming here, so I guess we’re even.” He got settled on the railing again and started snapping beans. “Clams are bivalves, meaning they have two shells with a strong muscle to hold them together. Like fish, they come from the ocean, and when they are cooked in a kettle— steamed—they open up, and you dig the meat out with a fork and dip it in melted butter. We do potatoes and corn on the cob and sometimes lobsters or big shrimp.” He watched her eyes. “You have seen pictures of such things, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe, but I might not have known what I was looking at.”

  “When you come to New York, I’ll make sure you get to try all kinds of new things… .”He paused.

  She could feel him staring at he
r. But she couldn’t nod and smile like she could tell he wanted her to. Instead she shook her head. “Whatever makes you think that I will come to New York City?” She shook her head again, smaller movements but nonetheless emphatic. “I have no desire to leave Blessing at all, let alone travel all across the country to a huge city that I can’t even begin to imagine the size of. Sophie is the one who wants to travel, not me. Not me at all.”

  Jonathan stiffened slightly. “My father and I are hoping your entire family, you and the Bjorklunds, will come visit us to allow us to repay the hospitality all of you have shown me. There is an incredible school for the deaf that I think you would be interested in.” He got off the railing and dumped his broken pieces into her basket. “It is one of the leading schools in the world for deaf people and it trains people who work with the deaf. I thought perhaps you would like to learn new things to use in the school here.”

  Grace tried to soften her reaction. He was just being considerate, and she was being rude. “I think Mor has corresponded with someone there. You’ll have to ask her.” She tumbled the ends of the beans into a bucket to feed to the chickens. “How do you happen to know about such a school?”

  “I wrote and asked my father what he could find out.”

  “How kind of you.” She knew she was being more formal than she’d been with him before, but the thought of a trip like that and visiting a house like he’d described made her shudder. Nothing about it appealed to her—or did it? What if she could indeed learn something to help the students here? Would it help or hurt her family financially with the school? “I’d like to learn new things to help Mor, but I don’t think I’d like to go there.” She stood. “But I think you are very kind to offer.”

  Grace took her basket of snapped beans into the house and rinsed them with water from the bucket kept clean by a dish towel that covered it. The water ran into another bucket set under the drain in the dry sink. Perhaps this year the men would have time to run a pipe from the well like they had at the well house, and they could have running water in the kitchen. Especially since they’d have no stock probably for a long time to come. Running water had been one of her mother’s dreams for years. Just like making the school even better was one of her dreams. If that school could help here, why was she being so pigheaded about looking into it? Grace stared out the kitchen window to see Jonathan walking down to the machine shed, where her pa was going over the steam engine to get it ready for harvest. While the wheat was nearing harvest time, there were still greenish patches among the gold. She’d read somewhere that the wind blowing the wheat looked like a golden sea. What would it be like to see the Atlantic Ocean? What would it smell like? she wondered.