A Harvest of Hope

by Lauraine Snelling

  “No. You will not stay home. It isn’t like anyone can ignore what happened. There are other bandaged people in town too.” Vera shook her head. “Call the dressings your badges of honor.”

  “Trygve?” The voice down the block sounded like Daniel’s. Trygve stopped and turned.

  Daniel didn’t come over to them at a jog, but he walked fast. He was covered in soot and grime, and he smelled like a fire. “The ashes are cool enough now that we’ve been poking around in the rubble where the elevator used to be. Good evening, Miss Wells, Miss Hastings.”

  Trygve realized what Daniel was saying. “Find anything?”

  Daniel nodded.

  Vera frowned. Suddenly her mouth dropped open and she clapped her hands over it. “You were looking for the hired man at the elevator! And you found him.”

  Miriam wagged her head sadly. “Is there enough that we can give him a proper Christian burial?”

  Trygve almost had to smile. Leave it to Miriam—clever, sensible Miriam—to go directly to the important things.

  “I think so. He was where we suspected—well, the little we found of him—on the ground beneath the debris. Enough to bury. And we could include that meerschaum pipe, what’s left of it. The blast shattered it.” Daniel looked at Trygve. “Thorliff and I have to get cleaned up, obviously, and then we’ll be there. Will you tell the quilting ladies, please, that Thorliff and I will help Thelma bring over the rest of the party food?”

  “I shall.”

  Vera still looked upset. Dr. Deming laid his arm across her shoulders and guided her gently off toward the party.

  Trygve fell in beside Miriam as she began strolling in the general direction. “I’m glad they found his body. It’ll be good to give him a proper burial.”

  She nodded. “Most of the people in this town are decent. They value the right things. I find that quite comforting.”

  “I keep hoping you will realize that Blessing has so many advantages, it would pay you and your family to live here. There is plenty of work and plenty of friendliness.”

  “And you keep forgetting that I signed a contract. I must go back to the hospital.” She stopped and turned to face him. “Trygve, I care for you. I do! I really do. But a contract is a promise, and when I make a promise, I will keep it. Do you understand?”

  “Completely. But that doesn’t mean you cannot come back after your contract is completed.” They resumed walking. And down inside, he was singing. Of course she would honor a contract. A woman of immense integrity does that. It was just one more reason why he loved her. And she’d admitted she cared for him! Praise God!

  They were arriving about on time, but the room was already crowded. Almost all the chairs were filled by the ladies, which was proper, and the men stood about in clusters. Trygve delivered Daniel’s message to two quilting ladies by the food table, and they thanked him. He did not reveal that Mr. Nordstrund had been found. Well, parts of Mr. Nordstrund. That was Daniel and Thorliff’s news to announce.

  Then Reverend Solberg called the program to order and opened with prayer. The men gathered mostly at the back. Miriam settled into a chair on the edge, and Trygve moved close to stand beside her.

  Trygve didn’t hear exactly what John had prayed, for his mind was still firmly riveted to the sweet young nurse. She’d said she cared for him! She’d insisted, in fact! What a glorious thing! There was hope.

  The two doctors entered and were immediately given chairs at the front. Good! Her swollen belly aside, Elizabeth looked more or less like her usual self, with a pink complexion and a ready smile.

  But Astrid’s appearance slammed him. She looked ten years older than she was. Haggard. Drawn. A sort of twitchy nervousness, but not exactly. Were he to have to describe her, he would not have the exact words. But she was obviously hurting. And tired. Yes, that was it—very tired. It showed in her eyes. In the way her shoulders drooped. Did Daniel realize how tired she was? When you live with a person day after day, you don’t always notice the changes as they happen.

  Why shouldn’t she be tired? She lost her father only two months ago, and did not have any time at all to grieve. None of them did. It was early harvest, and every hand was needed in the fields. With Elizabeth sidelined, Astrid was carrying the full burden of the hospital and the nurses’ training. And now the fire. It had consumed far more than just wood and grain.

  But look at her, soldiering on. The Bjorklunds were like that, though. No matter how shattering the blows, they kept going, kept doing, kept serving. But then, just about all Norwegians were good at maintaining life in the face of crushing loss. Trygve was proud of his Norwegian heritage and its stalwart women.

  Several children stood up front now to recite the thanksgivings they had offered in school. Trygve clapped when everyone else clapped.

  Miriam was like Norwegian women in so many ways. Industrious. Energetic. Efficient. Capable. She had just lost her dear mother, yet here she was, back in harness. She was separated from her beloved family by seven hundred miles, yet she continued on. And she’d admitted she cared about him! Insisted she did!

  More children came forward, spoke—most of them in singsong, obviously having memorized their essays—and sat down to applause.

  What a contrast: Astrid so harried, and Miriam sitting here beside him looking so youthful and fresh. In fact, she seemed more hale, with better color, than she did back when she had first arrived. It seemed long ago. He had loved her even then, the first time he saw her. And she’d said she cared for him!

  Some of the immigrant workmen stood up. They had lost their tent homes, yet how grateful they were for life and for their neighbors. Trygve had a great deal of difficulty understanding the heavy accents, especially the Russian, even though he was around them every day.

  Maybe he should travel to Chicago and sit down with this Mrs. Korsheski, or whoever she was. If he could adjust Miriam’s contract or perhaps even cut a new one, she might be more inclined to move to Blessing.

  Several others, including some of the women, stood up to say the same thing everyone else was saying. Gratitude in the face of loss. Apparently women were allowed to speak at this gathering.

  As far as Trygve was concerned, they ought to have a voice all the time, including at business meetings and meetings of bank members. After all, they were the ones who really controlled the money in this town, and that included his dear tante Ingeborg.

  Sophie stood up and thanked the many families who had taken in the now homeless people from Tent Town and given them a roof over their heads as winter came at them with freight-train speed.

  Trygve nodded to himself. That was definitely the thing to do. Take the train to Chicago, talk to this Mrs. Korsheski. She obviously valued the whole family, not just Miriam, and would almost certainly agree to whatever would be best for them. Maybe while Trygve was there, he could recruit more workmen for Blessing. Put an ad in the papers or something. He had heard of the Chicago Tribune. There must be other newspapers in a city that large. Blessing could certainly use all the labor they could get, especially with the massive setbacks the fire had created and winter so close.

  But where would they live?

  Should he mention this idea to Miriam, or just go?

  What’s this? Garn Huslig, owner of the grain elevator, was coming forward. Like Astrid, he had aged a decade in the last week. And more than just about anyone else here, he had just lost everything. He’d lost his elevator and all the grain in it—a whole year’s profit, for a lot of the grain had not shipped yet. But he was not knocked flat by this horrific loss either. He still stood straight.

  “My friends. I have no words. Like the others here, even our precious children, I am grateful to God for the brave men who fought the fires and the men and women who stepped up immediately to help their neighbors. As terrible as this tragedy is, you all kept it from being far worse than it could have been. We could have lost the whole town, every building. We could have had many deaths. But we didn’t, because
of our dedicated men. Thanks be to God.

  “And what do I see when I look around? Strong men and women. Strong children. People who will rebuild our town. Dear friends, we will rise from the ashes and restore Blessing. God willing, it will be the best town in the Dakotas. I give thanks most of all for you, our friends and neighbors, because we stand by each other, and you will bring us back again!”

  Sophie’s husband, Garth, leaped to his feet. “Amen to that, Garn! We’ll come out of this bigger and better than ever!” He started clapping. Half a dozen more men, agreeing with him, applauded enthusiastically. Trygve watched Miriam. She was caught up in the general mood, nodding and clapping. Yep, she would fit right in to Blessing. She’d said she cared about him!

  Now Dr. Deming came around to the front, bandaged face and all, to thank God and to praise the personnel at the hospital and the medical treatment he’d received. “Our medical care,” he boasted, “is the best!” More enthusiastic applause.

  Uh-oh. Anner Valders was standing up. And Trygve noticed that instantly Miriam, who had been so loose and cheerful a moment ago, even slightly embarrassed that the hospital was garnering such praise, suddenly turned stiff. Frowning. Her hands clenched into fists.

  “As far as I’m concerned, Deming, your praise is misplaced.” Anner looked angry. But lately, he always seemed to look angry. “Whatever that was they gave me for my burns, the sores are still open. They’re not healing. I wouldn’t call that good service.”

  Miriam gasped. “Second degree burns, and if they don’t heal in a few days, it’s our fault?” Her neck had turned red.

  “Mine aren’t healing yet either, Anner.” That was Garn, now standing toward the back. “But that’s the way with burns. They take a long time.” He pulled his sleeve up enough to show the bandage on his own arm.

  Anner didn’t seem to hear. “When a man puts his life on the line for the community, he deserves good medical care! And I notice when you were doling out thanks, Huslig, you failed to mention me. If I hadn’t rushed into that burning bank to close the door to the safe, this town would have no money! Do you understand? Every dollar gone. Burned up! And all the books.”

  Apparently now even Dr. Deming was irritated. “Right! And if you hadn’t been so careless as to leave the safe standing open when you went home, you wouldn’t have had to come hustling back to close it.”

  “I am getting sick and tired of being disregarded by this community!” Anner’s voice was almost shrill, he was so furious. “I do my best, and all I get is criticism. Besides, Dr. Deming”—he put a nasty slur on the title—“my Hildegunn went to the hospital today for headache powder. She has been suffering for days with a headache, and the doctor would not see her! Would not! Flat out said she didn’t have time for her. You call that good medical service? She said she didn’t have time to see a suffering woman.”

  Astrid leaped to her feet. “You blathering, mean-spirited—” She caught herself. “Do you know why I did not have time? I was treating a family who is starving, literally starving, and their poor baby is near death. Because of you! You loaned the husband a modest sum of money, and now you are sucking out half of his paycheck every payday! Half! That family has no money for food, you leech!”

  Reverend Solberg strode forward from his place at the back of the room. “Enough!”

  Anner stood before her nose to nose. “You will not malign my sound business practices, you who are ignorant of finance!”

  Trygve expected Miriam to gasp or something. Instead she jumped up and stomped over to the furious pair. She pushed between them, facing Anner. “Don’t you dare address the doctor in that manner!” She had her hands up, her fists solidly clenched.

  Trygve started toward them. Elizabeth looked stricken. Astrid and Elizabeth, of all people, did not deserve this. Not now, not ever.

  Astrid was still shouting, her fists white, her face and neck red. “You even lied to the man, saying you would get him deported, knowing full well you can do no such thing. You lied! Just so you could milk more money out of him. And his poor baby is starving to death. For some reason, you have turned into a despicable . . .” She stammered for a word. “If I could, I’d get you run out on a rail!”

  But now Anner was scowling in rage at Miriam, Trygve’s Miriam. “So even the little bushy-haired guttersnipe gets to yell at me. This town has gone mad!”

  “Guttersnipe!” Astrid looked ready to punch the pompous excuse for a man.

  Anner was not quite finished. “And this incompetent little fool is no more a nurse than you are a doctor!”

  But Astrid didn’t have to punch him. Miriam hauled off with a fist and knocked Anner Valders back so hard he stumbled two paces before he met the floor, rear first.

  Chapter 27

  Miriam sat quietly shaking, the only person in the schoolroom, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her. Her right hand hurt like everything, but she ignored it. How could she have lost her temper like that? Whatever had possessed her? And in front of Trygve. That hurt even more than her hand.

  She heard the music out in the other room, so they must be dancing yet.

  The door opened and Thorliff Bjorklund entered. Behind him came Anner Valders, Trygve, Reverend Solberg, and Thomas Devlin. She was really in for it now. She watched Mr. Bjorklund’s face. She couldn’t bear to look at the others, especially Trygve. Whatever must the man think of her?

  “Miriam.”

  She pushed herself to her feet. “Mr. Bjorklund.”

  He looked grim, but then, they all looked grim. “As you know, Miriam, our town has no law officers and no jail. You committed an assault, which is punishable by jail, if we had one.”

  “Yes, sir.” She barely spoke it. She went back to studying the floor.

  “So we’ve been discussing what to do about this. For one thing, the hospital is short-handed, and Elizabeth says they cannot afford to lose you for thirty days if we sent you up to jail, which would be the appropriate punishment. Anner agrees that if the reverend and Thomas levy an appropriate punishment, a spiritual punishment, you might say, he’ll consider it sufficient. We feel first off you should apologize.”

  She raised her head and locked eyes with Mr. Valders. This was so very difficult, a punishment in itself. “I apologize with all my heart, Mr. Valders, for losing my temper with you, for hitting you. I am very sorry.”

  He bobbed his head slightly, turned on his heel, and marched out. The door didn’t slam exactly, but it closed firmly. In a very nasty way, she was sort of pleased. Already his cheek was bruised and swollen, his eye turning purple. If she must suffer the consequences, at least she’d gotten in a good, solid punch.

  And now she would pay the price, pay handsomely for a moment of foolishness. She looked over at Trygve. Please forgive me.

  He walked up to her, grabbed her head in both hands, and kissed her on the forehead! “You wonderful woman!” A public display of affection! What?

  Father Devlin was laughing. He grabbed her left hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically. Reverend Solberg was laughing too and pumping her other hand, squeezing it so hard it hurt worse.

  Even Thorliff was grinning. “Miss Hastings, you cannot imagine how much all of us have wanted to do exactly that! Yearned to do that!”

  Reverend Solberg let go, still grinning. “We are all assuming you won’t do it again. Right?”

  “Too right! It will never happen again.”

  Father Devlin made a hasty sign of the cross. “Then ye’re forgiven yer transgression, and we’ll assume yer promise to be penance. ’Twill be hard enough to refrain from punching him again. But tell us, lass, how have ye developed such a powerful punch, a wee slip of a lass like yerself.”

  She still felt a bit stunned. “Well, er, you don’t grow up on the streets of Chicago without learning a thing or two about fighting and defense.”

  Thorliff stepped back, still smiling. “Don’t forget to look very contrite as you leave.”

  “As I leave?”
This was it? Her punishment was to look contrite? Suddenly she was grinning so hard she couldn’t quit. “Thank you, all of you. And if I dare admit it”—she ducked her head—“it was the most satisfying thing I’ve done in years.”

  Astrid remembered Daniel bringing her home, barely.

  She stared up at the ceiling and around the room. She was in her own bed, in their bedroom, not the places she’d been to—the horror of the dark and the noises and the tears. Always the tears. What had happened to her? Was it dusk? How long had she been in bed? Her eyes burned as if walking through smoke. Had something happened to her? An accident or something?

  Nothing made sense. A picture, a memory. Far smoking his pipe in the kitchen at home. Immediately tears tried to drown her. Using the sheet to wipe her eyes, she turned over and tried to muffle the sobs with the pillow. An explosion that rocked the walls. Flames. How could memories be so real? The night that threatened to burn Blessing to the ground. People screaming, the hospital overflowing. No, that had not happened. Had it?

  When she threw back the covers, her feet searching for the rug, she pushed herself to sitting, slowly, as if the entire state of North Dakota were grinding into her shoulders. Staggering to the bathroom, she clung to the doorframe, the wall. Whatever she was suffering from, she must have been terribly ill to be so weak. So weak she felt nauseous.

  Her memory flashed back in bits and pieces. Tears. Tears that would not stop. What started them? She focused as hard as she was able, but nothing came to mind. Other than she couldn’t quit crying. And now here she was again, mopping the overflow away as she made her way back to bed.

  She went back to bed. Sleep. Go back to sleep, she told herself. There is safety in sleep. Or was there? Would all those horrifying dreams return?

  Daniel. Perhaps Daniel had some answers for her. She tried to call his name, but instead she spiraled back down into the abyss.

  The next time she woke, the birds that had not flown south were heralding the dawn. They must have slept in too. Sunlight whitened the sheer curtains. Someone had said they should have drapes to keep out the light, but she had said no. She needed the light to wake in the morning. Their bedroom had an eastern window for that very purpose.