A Harvest of Hope

by Lauraine Snelling

  They stopped at Astrid’s gate. “Thank you, Trygve. The walk has done me good.”

  “Thank you for letting me, uh . . .” Miriam rolled her lips together and blinked.

  “I know. I know.” Dr. Astrid opened her gate. “You are welcome. I do love to be part of life-changing experiences. And there are a lot of them in medicine. Good night.”

  Miriam and Trygve strolled over to the boardinghouse. What in the world was her hand wanting to do? Take his? What a preposterous thought. They mounted the steps, the moonlight supplemented by the lamps on the porch.

  “Thank you for walking me to town.”

  “You’re welcome. Perhaps I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps. Good night.” Why did she feel as if she were fleeing as she entered the door he opened for her and headed for the stairs?

  His “good-night” floated behind her.

  She climbed the stairs to her room, about as weary as a body can get. Her room. Her own room!

  Peek out the window.

  I will not peek out the window.

  Miriam sank down on the edge of the bed. Good thing she had unpacked earlier, her carpetbag now in the closet, and had taken a bath, because right now, all that sounded possible was her bed. She stared at the window. Was that whistling she heard?

  Go see.

  I will not!

  She’d heard him whistling before. Trygve had waited to make sure her light was on. A buzzing feeling started in her toes and, like a spring flower, bloomed on her face. Hands to her cheeks, she could feel the heat of it. Her upper arm could still sense the nearness of his.

  She had promised herself years ago that she would not tell lies, either to herself or to other people. The hard one was for herself. Surely she could laugh this off and pretend this attraction, for that’s all it was, did not exist. Temporary puppy love.

  A knock at her door brought her to her feet. She heard a giggle and smiled.

  “Miriam, it’s me, Corabell. Are you decent?”

  “I most assuredly hope so.” Blinking away her exhaustion, Miriam crossed to the door and swung it open.

  Corabell threw herself into the open arms. “I was beginning to think you were going to stay in Chicago.”

  “You and everyone else, and I was hoping so too.” Miriam drew her inside and closed the door. “How have you been?” She stepped back. “You look so much better. Where did Miss Mouse go?”

  “Oh, I don’t have time for her here.” She drew out a covered plate. “Mrs. Landsverk said you might like a little something before bed.”

  Corabell never talked this much, or this fast. At least not the Corabell she knew. Vera yes, but not Miss Mouse. Miriam asked, “What has happened to you?”

  “I don’t think anything. I am just so glad to see you. So tell me the news from home, and where have you been?”

  “When I got off the train, Trygve insisted I go to the Bjorklunds’ for dinner today. There were all kinds of good things happening and a baseball game. And I got to catch a baby, and Benny—”

  “Wait a minute.” Corabell held up her hand. “Repeat that!”

  “The mother is from Tent Town. She went into fast labor at the ball game, and Dr. Bjorklund let me do it all. Oh, Corabell, I’ve never had such an experience in my whole life. When that little girl slid into my hands, I held her when she took her first breath, and then she hollered like you would not believe. She is the smartest, most beautiful baby I have ever seen. I’m surprised she did not get up and walk. I got to bathe her. Oh, and I cut the cord.”

  Corabell leaned forward to hug Miriam. “Oh my. Only in Blessing.”

  “Things are indeed different here.”

  Corabell unwrapped the plate of bite-sized pieces of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. “The food here is divine.”

  “You like it better than at the Jeffers’?” Miriam popped one of the pieces into her mouth. “Oh, that is good.”

  “Even without coffee.” Corabell took a second. “Not better. Mrs. Jeffers was so good to us there, but different. Eating in the dining room is always a treat.” A grin lit her eyes, and she leaned forward to whisper. “Vera has met a man.”

  Miriam could feel her eyes pop wide open. “Already?”

  Corabell nodded, vigorously enough to set the wisps of hair around her face to fluttering. “Dr. Deming, the dentist. He has an office at the hospital, or he will have. Right now he sees patients, not very many, at the surgery, as they call the Bjorklund house. That is Dr. Elizabeth’s house, you know.”

  Miriam nodded. “And how is she?”

  “Getting stronger, I think, but Dr. Astrid has forbidden her to come to the hospital. She has caught up on ordering supplies, and several big crates arrived last week.” Corabell sat down on the edge of the bed, so Miriam did too and put the plate between them.

  “And I brought more supplies from Chicago.” Miriam caught a yawn, but strangling it nearly dislocated her jaw.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. You need to go to bed.”

  Miriam laid a hand on her arm to keep her from fleeing. “Soon, but we have so much to catch up on.”

  Corabell leaned over and hugged Miriam again. “I am so sorry about your mother. We all are.”

  Miriam blinked but failed to keep the tears from falling. “Thank you. She rallied after I got there, and I was hoping . . . but Mrs. Korsheski was right. The rally did not last.” The tears took to running instead of creeping, and she cried into Corabell’s shoulder. “I . . . I had the craziest dream; I dreamed she came to Blessing and danced and sang in Mrs. Jeffers’ rose garden. Ma used to dance and sing.”

  “And now she is doing it again, only this time in heaven. She has lots to sing about there.”

  “I know. If I didn’t have that knowledge, that hope, I think I would shut myself away in a box. I can see her and Father dancing like they did before life got so hard.” Does heaven really exist? Will God really take care of my mother?

  They visited for a few more minutes before Corabell returned to her room and Miriam prepared for bed. When she turned back the covers, she found a sachet of rose petals on the pillow. “Oh, Ma, how you would have loved it here.” She carefully set the little net bag in one of her dresser drawers, where whoever unpacked her belongings had placed her unmentionables. She’d never had a closet and a chest of drawers, and a bathroom on the other side of a door. Such luxury.

  Chapter 10

  How could his world change so drastically just because a certain young woman had returned to Blessing? Trygve whistled his way back to the Gould house, Jonathan and Grace’s. He liked having a room there—it was far different from his former one at the deaf school. A kerosene lamp on the table cast a welcome glow in the window when he mounted the steps.

  He stopped on the porch and looked out toward where the mounds of dirt, barely visible in the moonlight, attested to his labors on the cellar. All the help he’d received made such a difference. He thought about lighting a lantern and going over to dig for another hour or so, but then thought the better of it. Getting up before daylight would be wiser.

  But even when he was in bed, his mind did not want to shut down, instead replaying every moment, from the time he saw Miriam at the top of the train steps until she bade him good-night and went to her room. He’d waited until he saw the light from her window and then, hands in his pockets, whistled his way home. She’d surely felt as tired as she looked, yet she had joined the party, which was what it had turned into, and she’d seemed to be having a good time. And then the baby!

  She had an easy way with people. Even the children liked her. During dinner Inga, of course, had asked a million questions, but that was Inga. He’d quickly realized Inga could ask questions he did not dare to, so he’d just listened. Apparently Miriam’s own small sister was not much different from Inga. When she spoke of her family, he could tell how much she already missed them. And how much she missed her mother. One could be remedied, and the other would take time.

 
He thought of Manny. How Benny had beamed as if lit by the sun from the horse’s back. Manny had put them all to shame. I should have been thinking of ways to make things better for Benny. Everyone was so caught up in building houses they forgot about the people.

  His thoughts switched to Anner Valders. He’d heard someone mention that Anner had tried to cause more discord, but one of the other men politely shut him down. What to do about Anner? Besides wanting to plant a fist in his mean mouth. They did not need that kind of talk or feelings in Blessing. Besides, Miriam was one of “those people” Anner had railed about. That simply would not do.

  Now that all the milkers were back, he’d not have to show up for milking anymore. He could work on his cellar, but he needed to talk with Thorliff or Daniel. And, of course, there was always work to be done on Jonathan’s house to finish it, and to get Ingeborg’s ready for winter.

  When he finally drifted off, he remembered something Thorliff had said about needing more money to finish the apartment house they had started. But that was Thorliff’s problem.

  Trygve was careful to move about quietly the next morning, trying not to awaken Jonathan and Grace. He wanted to get some digging in before he went to meet Thorliff. The roosters were crowing as he stepped out to the porch, but he turned when he heard Jonathan call his name.

  “Good morning. Didn’t expect you up yet.”

  Jonathan shrugged into a light jacket. “Thought I could help you for a while. Then after breakfast, we could work on the flooring of the back stoop. If that’s all right with you?”

  “Of course.”

  At the end of the hour, they climbed back out of the hole and turned to see how much they’d done. They’d made good progress.

  “I’ll be back to town in time for breakfast,” Trygve said as he turned right, heading out to the farms.

  Jonathan frowned. “I thought you weren’t on the milking crew.”

  “I can be if they need me, but Lars said they had plenty of help. Samuel is taking my place. I’m going out to make sure Tante Ingeborg doesn’t need anything.”

  Jonathan nodded. “That’s where I’m headed too. She’s not just in grief. She’s slowed down by grief. Doesn’t get everything done. Grace said to be back in an hour and a half and she would have breakfast ready.”

  “Grace is cooking breakfast?”

  “Yes. She assures me she has not forgotten how to cook. But I’m thinking of looking for some household help. Do you know anyone?”

  Trygve shook his head. “You might ask Ingeborg or Mor. They know just about everybody.”

  “Gud dag,” Ingeborg said when they came through the back door.

  “Good morning.” Trygve also greeted Freda, who was eating, along with Manny and Emmy.

  “I will put two plates on.” Emmy looked at them as she stood.

  Trygve raised his hand. “Not today. Grace is making breakfast. We’re just checking to see if you need anything. Has anyone gotten to caulking your windows yet? And liming the outhouse?”

  A whistle came from outside. Ingeborg nodded. “Samuel is here. You better get going, Manny, Emmy.”

  “I know.” Manny pushed back his chair and grabbed his crutches while Emmy picked up both lunch pails, and out the door they went, Manny hollering thank-you over his shoulder.

  Trygve stared at Ingeborg. “What happened? He didn’t grumble.”

  Freda shrugged. Ingeborg smiled. “I think he has something up his sleeve. Your question, Trygve. There are always things to do here. Dig the potatoes—the tops are shriveled and ready—and no, I didn’t lime the outhouse yet. The windows are caulked, but some gaps in the siding need filling. The wood shrank over the summer.”

  From out in the lane, Emmy’s cheerful voice called, “Good morning, Mr. Munro!”

  A gruff Scots brogue replied, “And to yorself, Miss Emmy!” A buggy rattled to a halt out beyond the porch.

  Jonathan headed for the door. “I’ll get some caulk and shims to patch your siding.”

  Trygve smiled at Ingeborg. “I’ll be by with a bag of lime this afternoon. And then maybe get to the potatoes tomorrow. See you later.” He swung the front door open. “Mr. Munro, good morning!”

  Mr. Munro beamed. “Good morning!” He looked happy, even elated, and well he should. Last night he had drooped, as glum as Trygve and Manny. Of course, his baseball team had not just lost a game they should have won. “Mr. Valders gave me an hour off to fetch the missus and me wee bairn.”

  “I see Toby even loaned you his buggy. He’s a good man, Toby Valders.”

  “He is that!”

  Why can’t Toby’s father be so nice?

  Mr. Munro continued inside and the two men headed down the lane back to town.

  Trygve caught Jonathan up on some of the things that had gone on in Blessing while he was north with the threshing crew. The boardinghouse was pretty much finished, and fall work would be starting now that threshing was finished. The corn was ready to be picked, shucked, and stored in the corncribs for winter feed. They would feed the stalks to the cattle. Once it turned cold, butchering would come next.

  Jonathan and Trygve climbed the stoop to the Gould house.

  “I thought you would never get here,” Grace said in her slow speech, while her fingers flew in the signs. “Get washed.”

  Trygve knew Jonathan had been learning sign language ever since he decided he was in love with Grace, but Grace insisted she needed to keep speaking aloud, or her skills would get rusty.

  The men sat down at the table in the kitchen, and Grace served scrambled eggs with ham, toasted bread, applesauce, and fried potatoes. She filled their coffee cups and sat down herself. Jonathan said grace, and Trygve marveled that his sister had not forgotten how to cook. Especially after her years at the deaf school on the East Coast, where she taught.

  “This is mighty good.”

  “You are surprised?” she asked.

  Trygve shook his head. “No, but you’ve—”

  “I would not pursue that line of thought, if I were you.” Jonathan smiled at his wife, who cocked her head, questions parading across her face.

  “I will be working with new students at the school today,” Grace told the men. She taught the lessons in signing so that the new students, of which there were six this year, could soon attend the Blessing school, where classes were signed as well as spoken. In the afternoon she taught signing to new pupils that could hear, since all the children learned sign language.

  Jonathan held out his mug for a refill. “I’ll be helping Lars this afternoon after I talk with Thorliff. I’ll get to Ingeborg’s siding probably tonight or tomorrow. Grace, do you want me to bring you anything from the store?”

  She shook her head.

  Trygve finished his breakfast. “Thank you. If you tell me what you want done here, I’ll help with that in the next day or so.”

  Grace and Jonathan shared a glance, reminding Trygve what married life could be like. He thought of Miriam. How was her day going? Could they someday have a home and family?

  “I’ll make a list.” Jonathan drained his coffee cup. “Let’s go see Thorliff.”

  The three left the house at the same time. How different from home.

  They found Thorliff in the newspaper office, just finishing printing the paper for the week.

  “Done. Lemuel will be here any minute to deliver the bundles around town.” He wiped his hands on a rag and, taking some twine, started tying the stacks together. Trygve, who had helped before, pulled off a length of twine and started in. They’d just finished when Lemuel, the son of Mr. Sam, the blacksmith, and Mrs. Sam, chief cook for the boardinghouse, arrived pulling a flatbed buckboard. He stacked the bundles of papers on it and, with a grin, headed out.

  “Where all does he deliver them?” Jonathan asked.

  “Oh, the boardinghouse, the mercantile, the post office, the railroad station, the grocery store . . .” Thorliff rubbed his forehead, leaving a smudge of black ink. “The hospital.” He p
ointed to a rack by the door with a stack of papers on it. “And here, of course.”

  He looks like he’s aged ten years, Trygve thought. Or more.

  “Good game yesterday.” Thorliff leaned back against the raised counter, rubbing his forehead again.

  Both Jonathan and Trygve groaned. “How come no one said Father Devlin could hit like that? We should have won it.”

  “Let’s go have some coffee. Knowing Thelma, cookies or something should be coming out of the oven about now.”

  “Have you heard anything about those letters to Norway? Is anyone coming?” Jonathan asked.

  “No, and I’m surprised.”

  Scooter, Inga’s little dog, barked and wagged a greeting. They sat down on the porch, and like magic, Thelma brought out the coffeepot and a plate of apple cookies.

  “How’d you know we were coming?”

  “I saw Lemuel haul off the papers. You always come for coffee after that.”

  “Of course. How is Elizabeth?”

  “She’s working in the front room. Astrid is here seeing patients.”

  “She’s not overdoing it, is she?”

  “No, she is being careful and promised to go lie down if she feels tired.”

  “Good.” Thorliff slumped against the cushion back. “The year’s getting old. Won’t be much longer we can meet out here.”

  Trygve prodded. “You were asking earlier about help, Jonathan.”

  “With Grace spending so much time at the deaf school and me working too, we need some help. Someone who can cook and clean. Do they make replicas of Thelma anywhere?”

  “You aren’t the first to ask. I’ll ask Mor to follow up with another letter to her relatives. It’s not like them not to answer.” Thorliff set his cup on the table and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I had trouble with the press last night, so printing took longer than usual.” He reached for one of the still-warm cookies. “I don’t think I had breakfast, and I’m not sure about supper last night.”

  “Ask Thelma. She’ll know.”