“If you want.”
“How come we never make gingerbread girls?” She took her grandmother’s hand, and the two walked downstairs to the kitchen.
“Because we don’t have a cookie cutter for a girl gingerbread cookie.” At least she had a good answer for that one. Uff da. How to keep ahead of that one, or at least keep up?
“Grandma?”
Uh-oh. Here we go again.
Freda smirked and winked at Ingeborg. “Inga, you fetch the eggs and the lard from the icebox, and Emmy, you help me get the things from the pantry.”
After Inga set the things on the table, she got the big crockery bowl out of the cupboard. “How come you don’t have the receipt written down?”
“Because it is in my head.”
“But then no one else can know it. Emmy and me—er, I—could make the cookies all by ourselves if we could read the receipt.”
Ingeborg and Freda shared a nod and a look. The two girls giggled.
Ingeborg reached for her writing pad. “All right, here is what we will do. I will sit here and write the receipt down while I tell you what to put in next. Then next time, you will have it.”
“What about the applesauce cookies and all the others?”
“We’ll see. Let’s just do this one now.”
Inga and Emmy took turns measuring, mixing, and finally rolling out the dough, cutting them, and baking the cookies. When they were all cooling on the wooden racks, the girls dusted the flour off their hands, shook them vigorously, and turned to Ingeborg and Freda. “Now we will have coffee and cookies.”
Manny burst through the door. “Gingerbread cookies. We can smell ’em.”
Carl was right behind him. “Me too.”
“Did you get the calf pens cleaned out?” Freda asked.
“Of course.” Carl looked at her as if to wonder why she would even ask. She told them what to do, and they did it.
“Then go wash your hands.”
“Can they have coffee with us?” Inga asked.
“Why not? We’ll have a coffee party.”
“Dinner will be ready soon.” Always practical Freda.
Carl looked up at her. “What’s for dinner?”
“You sound just like your pa.” Ingeborg patted his cheeks. “Freda has chicken stew almost ready.”
“Dumplings?”
Freda snorted, and Ingeborg kept from breaking out in laughter. Leave it to Carl. One always knew exactly where you stood with this young man. Chicken stew must have dumplings.
Even Freda sat down to have coffee and cookies after she had fixed well-creamed coffee for the little ones. Manny now fixed his own.
They were halfway through their coffee and cookies when Patches started barking, announcing family coming.
Inga flew to the window. “Pa is coming.” She turned to her grandma. “You won’t let him take me home yet, please?”
“No. You will be spending the night like we planned.”
“Just in time for dinner,” Freda said when Thorliff came through the door.
“I figured. Trygve and Andrew and I are going to bank your house and cover the screen doors. I see they’re not here yet?”
“No. No word. I think Trygve is finishing up the forms for his basement.”
“I know. We’re going over there next.” Thorliff hung his coat and hat on the coatrack.
“How’s Elizabeth?”
“Looking better than she has for months.” He sank down on a chair with a sigh. “I can’t believe we are more than halfway through November, and while we’ve had cold weather enough for butchering, winter has held off.”
“I know. And I am grateful.”
“We started practicing the music for the Christmas program at school.” Emmy looked toward Thorliff. “We will have parts to say too.” She smiled across the table. “Manny too.”
“Not if I can help it,” he muttered into his coffee cup and stuffed half a cookie into his mouth.
Ingeborg and Thorliff shared a knowing look. Manny would be drafted for something. All the children were. Even Benny and his wagon always had a part.
“I have started interviewing various people from the different nationalities here, and each week I will feature the Christmas customs of a different country in the newspaper. I’m hoping this will help our new people feel more a part of Blessing, and vice versa. I do not want the bank thing driving a wedge into this town.”
“And receipts too?” Inga looked eager. “You need receipts, so you can make Christmas cookies.”
“Any other suggestions?”
Freda looked into the distance wistfully. “I have always wished we could have the Santa Lucia festival of lights, but none of our people are Swedish.”
“Well, that was part of the Norwegian traditions too, wasn’t it?”
“Not so much after the independence from Sweden. I think no longer celebrating that was kind of a backlash to the Swedish rule.”
“Maybe next year we can do that. I talked with Mr. and Mrs. Sidorov first, for the Russian traditions. He said there are so many different countries that make up Russia that they will speak of the ones where they lived. It’s hard to believe how big Russia really is.” He dipped his cookie in his coffee. “Ah, this is so good. I think I’ll keep the Norwegian ones until last.”
“For the community party with the school program, I shall ask all the women to bake or prepare foods from their country.” Ingeborg nodded as she spoke, her forehead wrinkled in thought.
“Especially the cookies and pastries,” Thorliff said with a grin.
Freda checked the dinner and looked to the clock. “You girls set the table.” Emmy and Inga jumped up, but when Ingeborg started to rise, Freda waved her back down. “You two visit a bit.”
Thorliff shrugged. “She sounds a lot like Thelma. Hey, did Grace or Jonathan tell you they are hiring Mrs. Rasinov to be their housekeeper, cook, and whatever else they need? She and her children will live right there.” He looked up. “So, Freda, you can have your house back.”
“Is there anyone else who needs my house?” She looked to Ingeborg. “If that would be all right with you?”
“You mean you would stay here?” Ingeborg could hardly believe her ears. Not that Freda had mentioned wanting to move back home, but she had assumed she did.
“With us?” Emmy beamed.
Manny nodded. “Good.”
“Well?”
Thorliff grinned. “Of course, I’m not sure which family yet, but there are plenty of candidates. That would take some more pressure off those working on the building. We hope to open the first floor next week, but when the people move in, they have to understand that the construction will go on above them. We got the fire damage repaired, so we are about winter tight. We’ve not done much on the inside, because the outside and roof needed all the work first.”
“What about the Sidorovs?” Ingeborg asked. “Their two sons are in school, and her sister is one of the laundresses at the hospital. The missus is in Amelia’s daytime class, and her husband and sister are in the evening. She has been sewing along with the rest of us.”
Freda shook her head and shrugged. “There are beds enough. Go ahead and ask them.”
Both Emmy and Inga left their table setting and threw their arms around Freda’s middle. She leaned over and patted their heads and shoulders.
Ingeborg was sure she saw the glint of tears in Freda’s eyes. Had this been weighing on her? Perhaps she did not like living alone, even though her son and family were not that far away. Or perhaps she is concerned about you. That thought floated through her mind like thistledown on a breeze.
After dinner as all the others were going about their plans, she and the two girls returned to the sewing machine.
“Now we can work on Christmas, right?” Inga’s whisper made Ingeborg nod. She and Emmy dug into their basket, where they stored the gifts they were making. Since both had learned to knit, they settled cross-legged on the floor. After Ingeborg check
ed their last row and told them whether to knit or purl—and why—silence reigned, other than the whir and thump of the machine and the click of needles.
Ingeborg was finishing up another shirt for Manny. In the evening she had been hemming his wool coat, but that didn’t need to be secret. Emmy was knitting a scarf for him, and Inga was working on one for her father. Since knitting was a new skill for them, they couldn’t talk and knit at the same time.
Ingeborg snipped the threads and shook out the shirt. She had to do the buttonholes and buttons, and then it would be done. She could hear the men outside stacking straw and manure from the calf pens against the house for insulation.
Like always, time flew fastest when you didn’t want it to. She dreaded Thanksgiving, and it arrived long before Ingeborg was ready for it. She found the day to be very hard for her, this first major holiday since Haakan died. But that night she rocked beside the fire with the satisfaction that she had survived it.
Gloom be gone! The Sunday after Thanksgiving was a big day, in Blessing at least. Everyone gathered at the apartment building and Reverend Solberg led a service of blessing and dedication. That afternoon the first-floor residents moved in, which wasn’t difficult, since no one had much to move. Everyone in town and the surrounding area donated what they could for tables and chairs, as each unit already came with a cooking stove and an icebox. Wooden boxes were put to use for chairs as well as for storage, and pegs on the walls served for hanging clothes. Families were given first preference. The remaining single men would share the apartments on the second floor when it was finished.
Monday, Miriam spent the day at Ingeborg’s finishing up her sisters’ dresses on Ingeborg’s sewing machine. “I can’t thank you enough. Between you and Mrs. Jeffers . . .” She shook out the dress after she tied off the last threads. “All I have to do is hem them, and my box will be ready to send.”
“All the sewing machines in town have been humming nearly around the clock.”
“When I think of all the hours it takes to hand sew a shirt . . .” She shook her head. “Sewing machines are one of the best inventions ever. When do you get to use your own machine?”
Ingeborg smiled. “Freda and I take turns after the others go to bed.”
“How many quilts have you done?”
She shrugged. “We all do different parts, so who knows? We tied off three more last week, and I know of at least four other tops that are ready to tie. All the women who can, meet at the church and put them together. We are running out of batting. I wish I had more sheep. We could card the wool and form it right into batting. Outfitting this many new homes is a huge undertaking.”
“It’s a good thing other churches are sending boxes. Trygve said three more came in yesterday.”
Ingeborg nodded and tried to hide her smile. Did this young woman realize that even the way she said his name showed her feelings for him? How could she have any doubt that she was in love with Trygve Knutson? Why did the course of true love never run smooth?
Miriam folded the dress roughly on her lap. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know you were in love with Haakan? I mean, I know it was a long time ago, but . . .” She dropped her gaze to the folded dress, then looked up to Ingeborg again. “Trygve tells me he loves me, and I am sure he does.” She fingered the carved wooden heart she wore except when she was on duty. “I . . . I know I am attracted to him, but marriage is forever, and I don’t want to make a mistake. I want what my mum and da had and what I saw you and Haakan living out so beautifully. But, Ingeborg, I’ve seen so many horrible ones too. Marriages that seemed perfect and then dragged both parties down to hell.”
Ingeborg swallowed the lump growing in her throat. “This is such a hard question to answer. My first husband, Roald, died, along with Kaaren’s husband, Carl, and their two little daughters. She and I, well, only through the grace of God did we make it through that winter. And then Lars Knutson came along and married Kaaren—that helped. Then one day another Bjorklund man strode across the plains. He was a cousin to Roald and Carl, and his mother had told him some family needed help. He planned on going back to lumber country when winter came, but he never did. I’m not sure how much I loved him in the beginning, but he was so kind and willing to help us, it seemed natural to say yes to marriage. Oh, but our love grew deeper through the years. He was such a man of God, how could I not love him?”
She mopped the tears trickling down her face. “Trygve is a lot like Haakan, Miriam. A fine man who will become even more of a man of God. When I see the two of you together, it is like two puzzle pieces that fit. A glow seems to surround you.” She patted Miriam’s hand. “I know that is a long story and is not really your answer, but I do know this: God will make it clear to you when you ask.”
“But what if you have a hard time believing that God really does exist, let alone cares about the daily things of our lives?”
Ingeborg looked deep into Miriam’s eyes, now swimming in tears also, and took her hands. “He will make himself known to you if you just keep asking. I love the verse ‘My grace is sufficient for thee.’ I have so been depending on that promise these last months. With all my being, I know it to be true.”
“I’d like it to be true.”
“Just ask.”
Patches barked his way off the porch and down the lane.
Ingeborg stood up. “Manny and Emmy are home.”
“How do you know?” Miriam stood as well, gathering her gifts to her breast.
“That’s his family bark, and it’s time.”
“Coffee’s ready,” Freda announced from the kitchen.
Ingeborg hugged Miriam. “All will be well.”
That night, as every night, Ingeborg closed her day with a well-worn prayer. Lord, calm all the turmoil in Blessing and bring us peace this Jule season.
Chapter 34
Miriam was near tears, her eyes hot. She had been this way all day. They were gathered at Ingeborg’s home, in the parlor around the candle-lighted pine tree, laughing, digesting a splendid feast, telling tales, relating reminiscences. It was all very enlightening, and Miriam was learning much about Trygve’s family. What extraordinary people!
But she was not home. Wonderful food but not the table around which her family gathered. Lovely people, the Bjorklunds, but she wanted to be among the Hastings. This was Christmas Day. She should be in Chicago, not Blessing. What was Truth doing now? Did she miss her big sister the way Miriam missed her little sister? Ah, well. Very shortly now she would complete her training. Next year the family could be together again for Christmas. Whether here or there, it didn’t make any difference. Not being with the other Hastings on Christmas Day made an immense difference.
And this Bjorklund-Knutson clan was so close too, so much like Miriam’s family in that regard. Late last evening after church, Thorliff had driven the wagon from house to house, gathering up chairs and rockers and bringing them here to Ingeborg’s. Now everyone had a place to sit, to be comfortable, with all the children on the floor. He had brought in extra dishes as well, so that all could be served.
This was not at all like Thanksgiving. On that holiday, each household had celebrated separately. Today, they all gathered as one huge happy mob.
Beside her, Sophie asked, “Why so glum?”
She forced a smile. “Sorry. I was thinking about my family.”
Sophie nodded, smiling, and patted her arm. “I figured as much. Trygve often says how closely knit your family is. That is one of the many things he loves about you. Family. And loyalty. What would they be doing now?”
She thought a moment and burst out in a laugh. “Exactly what we are doing here! Gathered in the parlor after dinner, chattering and telling stories. There would not be nearly so many of us, of course.” At least it was like that in the years before her father died and her family moved to the tenements. This year . . . She could hardly bear the thought of her brothers and sisters alone i
n that miserable place. She deliberately closed that door in her mind and paid attention to here.
At her other side, Trygve laughed. “We are getting to be quite a clan, aren’t we.” And indeed the room was about as full as a room can get, and all of them were talking cheerily. His parents and brother and sisters—all the Ingeborg-and-Haakan children, their spouses and children—my goodness. With six Hastings children, Miriam’s family would probably expand like this someday. If they were all able to be together again.
Daniel was saying, “I’m glad the phone service is finally back. Sure, we got along without it, but it’s a mighty great convenience. Jonathan, your father is talking about investing in a phone company here in Blessing.”
Jonathan nodded. “He is certain that investments in this area will bring great returns. So many people are moving here, and there are so many opportunities.”
Thorliff smiled grimly. “We can use the development money. That’s for sure.”
Andrew had been watching out the window. “The weather is really getting worse. The snow is back, and the wind is rising.” At least they had milked early, so the chores were all finished before supper.
The phone rang . . . speaking of telephone service.
Ingeborg sat nearest. She got up and answered. Voices quieted down in the room a little. Not much.
She was grinning as she looked around the room at no one in particular. “Of course, Mary Martha, I’ll give them all your warmest Christmas wishes. Certainly. And a very blessed Christmas to you all as well.”
“Solbergs,” Sophie murmured. “Some of her family even came for Christmas.”
Ingeborg listened in silence for a moment. She lost the smile. Then she gasped and cried, “Oh no!” Everyone in the room fell silent.
“Yes! Yes, right now! Good-bye!” Ingeborg hung up. “That little cousin of Henrik Helder just rode into town to the Solbergs’ house. There’s a fire out on the Helder farm. He says there are injuries! John and the men were running out the door as Mary Martha hung up!”
“So are we!” Thorliff grabbed his coat off the peg and ran out, followed by all the other men. Even Manny clumped out the door with his cane.
A Harvest of Hope Page 30