“Will you stay here with us tonight?” Mercy asked.
“Yes.” Nurse Korsheski had given her the guest room at the hospital, since her former room now housed another nursing student. But tonight she’d stay at home with her siblings. “I have a meeting with Nurse Korsheski in the morning and will be speaking to the nursing students in the afternoon. She says if you come at lunch, you can listen if you want.”
“We have school,” Truth reminded her.
“Perhaps you can get out a little early.”
“You can help me in the garden,” Este offered with a grin.
“Or me in the kitchen at dinner. Cook likes little girls a whole lot.” Mercy settled on the floor by Miriam’s knees. “Cook really likes you too. She says you’re the best nursing student they have ever had.”
Miriam started to refute the comment but decided not to. Cook did her best to take care of all the student nurses and future doctors from that program. Between the two schools, the hospital was well served. Not like the paucity of help in Blessing. If they ever had an accident or epidemic of some kind, that little hospital would be in serious difficulty.
“Tell us more about Blessing.” Truth prodded her sister. “You wrote about a little girl named Inga.”
“She’s younger than you are—she’s only five—but what a mind that child has. I always thought you asked a lot of questions, but Inga is a never-ending fount of whys and whats. She loves her grandma Ingeborg, and I know she must be crushed that her grandfather died. She spends a lot of time at their house.”
“Her grandma lives on a farm?”
“Yes, and lots of calves were born this summer. She has a little dog named Scooter, and her best friend is Benny, a boy with no legs below his knees. He used to live here in Chicago, but after he was injured, Dr. Bjorklund found a family in Blessing to adopt him. He gets around on a low wagon with wheels.”
“By himself?”
She nodded. “Or the other children pull him.”
“You said there is a school for the deaf there too?”
“There is. I left before all the students returned from summer vacation. But all the children in Blessing know how to talk in sign language. The students from the deaf school go to the regular school during the day once they’ve learned signing.”
The sun had set while they visited. Mercy and Joy brought out their hand sewing and handed Truth a dish towel to hem.
“I could help, you know,” Miriam said, nudging her sister.
“But you are a guest.”
“I think not.” Miriam felt like she’d stepped back in time, to before she started nursing school, when they’d sit like this. But their mother, when she was healthier, had occupied this chair. No one ever wasted a moment. There was always more mending to do, or hemming. Their mother and Mercy did most of the sewing on the fine dresses they’d been hired to create.
By the time they went to bed, Miriam in their mother’s bed with Truth snuggled up at her side, life in Blessing seemed as far away and as gossamer as the clouds playing hide-and-seek with the moon. Except for a certain young man who had insisted he had fallen in love with her. Could she possibly ever love him in return?
Resolutely she forced herself to concentrate on life here in Chicago and how she could help provide for her brothers and sisters. As the oldest, that was her job.
The next morning, Miriam greeted Mrs. Korsheski right on the mark at nine thirty. “Thank you for making such provisions for my family. I know Mother died in peace, knowing they are provided for.”
“You are welcome. Your mother is missed here too. So often I would find someone sitting by her bed, even ambulatory patients. She had a peace about her. You couldn’t pass by her bed or when she was sitting in a chair, which didn’t happen too often, without feeling that sense of comfort. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Miriam rolled her lips together, sniffed, and blinked. She would not cry again. “Th-thank you. And thank you for bringing me back so I could say good-bye to her. I will never forget those last days we had together.”
“She wanted to see you again so terribly. I would see her staring at the wall, and it was like she’d already had a glimpse of glory. I moved her to a bed where she could look out the window, and it was like I had given her a new life, she was so overjoyed. I often wonder what she saw on that brick wall out there.”
“I think she was living in her memories. She used to tell us stories of her life before coming to this country. How she loved England and then she fell in love with my father, who was from near London, and he taught her all about gardens. She always had at least one thing growing until she became so weak last year.” Miriam blinked and mopped at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Thank you for reminding me of the good parts. I won’t forget your kindness to her.”
“She left a legacy here too. We won’t forget her.” Mrs. Korsheski cleared her throat and blinked. “Now, I want a full report on your time in Blessing.” She nodded to a paper in front of her. “I have a list of questions here, so I will go down it.”
Miriam used her handkerchief again and heaved a sigh. “The first thing—student nurses are desperately needed there. With the three of us, that doubled their staff. The two Indian women are not much help yet, and part of our responsibility has been to help train them in simple basics of patient care, along with our regular nursing duties. Dr. Elizabeth is no longer able to be part of the active staff. Due to her health, she has had to assume more clerical duties that she can do from home. Dr. Astrid has put her on bed rest—while not on strict, close to it.”
“And do you know the problem?”
“Dr. Elizabeth is pregnant, and I have a feeling, based solely on my observations, that she had trouble before and has lost several babies.”
“She nearly died giving birth to Inga.”
“I see.” That explained a lot. No wonder everyone was so protective of her.
“Do you know when the baby is due?”
“After the new year—February, I think.” Interesting what one could learn just by paying attention and thinking things through. While no one had laid out all the facts to the students, rumors ran rampant. She watched as Mrs. Korsheski wrote herself a note.
“What do you think would help them the most?”
The question caught Miriam by surprise. She repeated it to herself, shaking her head. “Barring a major crisis . . .” She started to say they could use a more experienced nurse, but stopped. “I think Dr. Astrid can handle either the teaching or the patients, and maybe the way things are, she won’t have to do so much administrative work. But they were strapped having two doctors, and now with just one . . . I know I’m rambling but . . .”
“Ramble on. This is what I want to know—your observations.”
“The biggest problem is surgery. We had a young boy there with a compound fracture, a really bad one, of the femur. Dr. Astrid knew most doctors would have taken the leg off, but she decided to try something unusual. She tried to nail the two bones together. We kept the infection out for a few days, and then we had to go in again and remove the nail and dead bone, so his right leg is shorter than the other. But the leg finally healed, and Manny gets around real well on crutches. We are hoping he can start using just a cane pretty soon.”
“That is quite an accomplishment. I wish Astrid could work in a big hospital where research is going on. She has unusual insight for such a young woman. I’m convinced that someday there will be a way to hold bones in place to heal.”
“She devised a traction device that kept the muscles from contracting and stabilized the bone. Said she’d seen a picture of one.”
“I wonder if we should send one of our final-year residents out there.”
“You know, their only student nurse before the three of us arrived was Annika Nilsson. Annika has since returned home, so it is now only we three. I am certain both doctors would say they need all the help they can get.”
“Astrid told me Annika has an exc
ellent position in Minnesota now, a rural area with limited medical resources, much like Blessing before the hospital was established. How are our other two nurses doing there?”
“You were so right that we’d have new experiences not available here. We are expected to do whatever needs to be done, including scrubbing down a room and disinfecting it when needed by a patient. Or translating. An Irish man was speaking Gaelic, and I know a bit of the language, so I was able to translate for him.” She didn’t mention her part in assisting the priest.
“Corabell was on duty when a woman was at the hospital for something else, and her baby decided to come right then. Dr. Astrid got there as Corabell caught the baby and waited while Vera followed the entire routine. And did well.” Even though she was shaking for a long time after.
They continued their discussion until the bell announced the noon hour and dinner being served in the dining room.
“Thank you, Miriam. If there is anything else . . . ?”
“An X-ray machine would be a big help, since so many we treat there have broken a bone or two. One of the workers died shortly after his arrival due to consumption. We all wore masks and followed quarantine procedures. The people who live in Blessing are remarkably healthy, including the pregnant mothers. Maybe it is all the fresh air and good food.”
“And teaching. Astrid’s mother, Ingeborg, has been providing medical care and information to the people there for years. Have you met her?”
“Oh yes. She has invited us to her house several times, and she and the pastor there show up at the hospital whenever prayer is needed. They believe in the power of prayer in that town.”
Mrs. Korsheski stood, so Miriam did too. “You are ready for your presentation this afternoon?”
“Yes. As much as I can be. I thought to let them ask questions too.”
“Good.”
Should she say this next thought? Mrs. Korsheski had told her to be candid. “You know, I think one thing is very different from here.”
“What is that?”
“Out there, the doctors treat us all as part of the team. They expect us nurses to think and act when and however needed.”
Mrs. Korsheski rolled her lips together, but her eyes twinkled. She dropped her voice. “Are you saying some of the doctors here can be . . . uh . . . overbearing?”
Miriam paused. Be diplomatic. “That would be one way of putting it. That is why I see training in situations like Blessing is invaluable. You said that before we left, and you were right.”
“Thank you. By the way, are all three of you keeping some kind of journal or diary of your experiences there?”
“We keep careful notes on patient charts and in the day log, if that is what you mean.”
“Good. That is necessary, but I’m talking about notes of a personal kind, more observations, I guess, than facts. I find it sharpens my insight and gives me a place to go back and check when my memory gets shady.”
“About nursing?”
“About nursing in a small hospital, in an unfamiliar town, and things that might help others to prepare for the life.”
Miriam stared at the older woman for a moment, questions playing tag in her mind. “Can we talk more about this?”
“Of course. You have another day here before you board the westbound train. We’ll make time. I’d be very interested in reading such a memoir.”
Chapter 3
BLESSING, NORTH DAKOTA
Ingeborg woke to damp sheets and pillowcase and a soaked nightdress.
She blinked in the dimness of early dawn, listening to the whispering of the curtain with the breeze and a bird trying out its vocal cords to greet the new day. Blowing out a breath, she forced herself to turn her head to the empty pillow. The pillow with no indentation, the sheets still pristine from the wash line.
Haakan had not returned in the night, the only gift she pleaded for every night before falling into the well of sleep. To see his face one more time, to hear his voice calling her My Ingy, to feel the warmth of his body in the bed beside her.
She sat up, afraid of slipping back into sleep. The pit. That was what woke her. She’d not been that close to the edge of depression since those many months after Roald died before she had finally returned to the land of the living, the land where she no longer needed to nearly kill herself to keep the land, the precious land they had sweated and bled for, the free land for their children. The land was secure now, owned by her and her sons and daughter.
But Haakan was gone. She’d read and reread the verses where Jesus talked about going to prepare a place for us in his Father’s house of many mansions. Perhaps good farmland too, a place for the farmers who wouldn’t know how to sit still, even though she was sure that singing heavenly praises was a wonderful thing.
Lord, am I going crazy? You’d think I’d not see the pit again. I know you’ve promised to never leave me nor forsake me. You will not allow me to fall over the edge, but I beg of you, remove the horror of it altogether. All these years I’ve trusted you, as you said, and I know you are never changing and you will not go back on your word now.
But, God, I hurt so bad. I am so tired of crying. The tears drain me, then attack again like a swarm of bees. Only there is no honey here, only pain that has attacked every part of me, but mostly my soul. Can one’s soul be destroyed by pain and tears?
She waited in the silence. The bird outside in the tree burst into song with all his chorus mates, welcoming, heralding the rising sun, the rooster from the chicken coop joining in, playing his own song, but all of them together sang of morning.
Another day. She could hear her Freda rattling the stove lids. Her cousin now had her own house a short distance from Ingeborg’s, but she still got up long before dawn and always arrived at Ingeborg’s early in the morning. Now Manny’s crutches were beating their own tattoo on the floor, and the screen door screeched when the boy went out to join the milkers. Haakan had always oiled the screen door. So many things Haakan did that she had taken for granted, or probably not even recognized until they were left undone.
A man’s whistling fluted up through the tree branches. Probably Trygve. He whistled a lot. The men were on their way to milking. A cow bellowed, followed by two more.
Ingeborg reached for her wrapper and, ignoring the slippers by the bed, headed for the outhouse. The dew cushioned her steps, the wet grass squeezing up between her toes. Ah, another blessing. When she opened the privy door, she realized no one had sprinkled lime down the holes. Automatically she started breathing through her mouth. A tear meandered this time rather than rained down her cheek. She brushed it away and gritted her teeth. The incongruity of the verse that tickled her mind made her forget and breathe through her nose. This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.
Patches scratched at the door and whined.
“I’m coming.” Lord, this is indeed a sacrifice of praise. I will praise you when my heart is broken, the outhouse reeks, the other side of the bed is empty . . . Stepping outside and away from the little building that wore a shawl of honeysuckle, which she could now smell, she stopped and blew out a long breath. The shorn wheat fields went clear to the western horizon, the corn stalks in the garden barely showed any green, instead browning to a fall color. They should be chopped down and fed to the cows. The ears on the stalks in the cornfield all hung at half-mast, awaiting the picking, while the cleaned-out corncrib awaited the dried and shucked corncobs.
Other years they’d had a corn-shucking party. The thought of having a party made her eyes fill yet again.
“Oh good.” She pulled open the screen door to hear the sizzle of turkey frying in leftover bacon grease. Since they were out of hams and bacon, Freda had smoked the turkeys that Trygve brought her. He’d shot several when he and Johnny Solberg had gone hunting. Soon the skies would darken with the southbound flocks of ducks and geese, and the smoker would be going steadily again.
Getting dressed, Ingeborg remembered the
year she’d challenged her sons to a hunting contest and she had brought down the first deer. Haakan had not been pleased that she’d reverted to her early days of hunting, farming, and chores, all done in britches. While she’d shot the deer, she had been wearing a dress and apron, just to please him. Wouldn’t her family be surprised, or rather shocked, if she took out the rifle and did some hunting just to find out if she could still aim well?
She braided her hair and coiled it in a figure eight at the back of her head before putting on a clean apron for the day. Maybe today would be the day Manny would not try to talk her out of forcing him to go to school.
Last night they had sat out on the porch, and he’d read to her from his textbook. He was doing better in reading and had easily remembered the sums, as he called adding and subtracting, one skill his mother had taught him.
Her mind wandered, trying to see mountains clad in trees that should be donning their fall garments about now. Manny had spoken of maple and various nut trees, of apple trees laden with fruit, and of growing tobacco, or “tabaccy,” as he called it. Kentucky, far enough away that he should never have to see his bank-robbing brothers again. But it was still in his heart.
He’d not mentioned leaving, in spite of not wanting to go to school. At first he’d threatened often. He took his chores here on the farm very seriously, even to fixing a harness so he could pull the wagon to haul the buckets to feed the hogs in spite of his crutches. Soon the calves would be weaned, and he wouldn’t have to feed them.
Ingeborg went out to the kitchen to find that Gray Cloud and Dawn Breaking, their two Indian nursing students, had already arrived to help Freda with the early-morning chores. One was thumping the churn and the other was hauling hot water to the washing machine and the raised tub for rinse water.
“Thank you,” Ingeborg said, forcing a smile. Just because she didn’t feel like smiling was no reason to take it out on others.
“You are welcome. We enjoy helping you. You help the hospital. Freda put biscuits in the oven.” Dawn still spoke carefully, but she was doing so much better in the nearly two weeks they had been there. Every evening they attended the classes in English that Amelia Jeffers offered at the schoolhouse.
A Harvest of Hope Page 2