Fighting to keep her eyes open, Astrid looked up at her grandmother. “Me help?”
“Yes, you can help. You can scrub the potatoes for Bestemor.”
“And pick feathers from the geese to stuff in a pillow just for you.” Ingeborg stroked the back of her daughter’s head. “Right now I think we will take a little girl up to her bed.”
Astrid shook her head, but everyone could tell the fight had gone out of her.
Ingeborg stood and lifted the child from Bridget’s lap. “Come, little one, we’ll wash your hands and face and go say your prayers.”
“Prayers.” Not fighting the idea of getting her face washed said more than the droopy eyes.
Laying her sleepy child in bed, dressed in a clean nightgown fresh-smelling from the clothesline, made Ingeborg smile. She folded Astrid’s hands and began, “Jesus loves me.”
Astrid repeated, “Jesus loves Ma.”
“No, Jesus loves me. Say me.”
“Me.” The eyelids ceased to flutter, and her breath came in a sigh. Just like that Astrid was asleep.
Ingeborg watched her daughter, gently stroking the fine hair back from her forehead and breathing in the peace of the room. Being out in the woods made her think of freedom, but here with her daughter, all she could think was Mange takk, heavenly Father. Forgive me, please, for always wanting more. You have given me so much, and I so often forget to say thank you. Please help me think to thank you before I want. She studied the sleeping face of her daughter. So perfect. The room around her with a window that showed the stars pinning up the cobalt sky at night and caught the first rays of the rising sun at dawn. Astrid would forget the darkness of the soddy and remember the sun. “Ah, my God, my God, I am in awe. Like the psalmist, I praise your holy name. You are my God, and I am your child. And that never changes, in spite of the foolish things I do.” She heard Thorliff bring in another armload of wood down in the kitchen below them. The horse trotting out of the yard meant Haakan had saddled and gone. She could hear the clank of the stove lid being set aside for more wood to be used in the firebox. Andrew laughed at something. It didn’t take much to make him laugh.
Ingeborg leaned forward and kissed Astrid’s wide brow. “God keep thee, little one, safe in the palm of His mighty hand.” She sniffed and drew a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “All of us.” She left the room as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the peace therein.
But it followed her downstairs, drifting around her shoulders as she sat mending in the lamplight while Bridget carded wool from the fleece stacked in the corner. The rasp and scrape of the carding paddles sounded loud in the stillness.
“If you do indeed build a boardinghouse, I will miss times like these.”
“Ja, me too. Makes me wonder if I am being a foolish old woman. So much here, and yet I want more.”
Ingeborg threaded her needle with dark thread and started on Thorliff ’s pants, letting out the last bit of hem. He needed new ones, and when she got them, she would put these away for Andrew. At the rate he was growing it wouldn’t be long. “Strange, upstairs I was just thinking the same thing.” She folded the last bit of fabric over and stitched it with nearly invisible stitches. “But I don’t think you are foolish at all.”
“No?” Bridget nodded, her hands continuing to straighten the strands of wool with the carders. “I am thinking I might take Hamre with me, if that is all right with you. He can be a big help, and maybe he will be happier there.”
“I don’t think that boy will be happy until he has the sea sighing around a boat under his feet. His grandfather poured the love of the ocean into him from the time he was born, maybe before.”
“I’m afraid you are right. But where is there an ocean around here?”
“There’s Lake Superior in northeastern Minnesota, but if he is like the other Bjorklund men, he will want to go west, clear to the Pacific.”
“Uff da. So far away.” The mound of carded wool grew in the basket at her side. Bridget stroked the long fine strands. “Your sheep give such good wool. Spinning and knitting it is a pleasure.” Each kept busy with her own task.
“Is it wrong to want a place of my own?” Bridget asked.
“Don’t ask me. I wouldn’t give this up for anything short of heaven.” The two chuckled together, knowing the trials Ingeborg had gone through to keep the land after Roald died. Roald had been Ingeborg’s first husband and Bridget’s second son.
“Mor, I’m hungry.” Andrew crossed the room to stand at his mother’s arm.
“There’s milk or buttermilk in the pantry, and you know where the cookie jar is, unless you’d rather have bread and jam.”
Andrew thought a moment, his brow wrinkling in the process. “Can I have both?”
Ingeborg laid aside her mending and started to get up.
“I’ll fix it,” Thorliff called from the kitchen table. “Come on, Andrew.”
“Thank you, son. Now you’ll have clean trousers to wear to school tomorrow, ones that cover your ankles.”
Not long after the boys were in bed, the horse trotted back into the yard, greeted by Paws, who took his job of announcing visitors or family very seriously.
“We’ll have frost tonight,” Haakan said a few minutes later after putting the horse away. “I could already see it in some places, the moon is so bright.” He hung his jacket and hat on one of the pegs on the wall by the door. “Olaf said to tell you that he has your rocking chair about finished, Mor.” He glanced at Bridget. “And there are no arms on it, like you asked.”
“Good. It is easier to knit and do other things if there are no arms, especially when working at the spinning wheel.” She looked with pride at the wheel nearest to her, the one thing she’d insisted come from Norway with her. Gustaf had made it several years before, after they sold her other one to help the brothers buy passage to come to the new land. It was the last thing he had made for her.
“The coffee could be hot in a minute or two.” Ingeborg snipped the last thread and folded the pants, laying them to the side. The darning and patching basket seemed to refill of its own accord, no matter how many things she finished in an evening.
“No, I’m coffee’d out.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.
“So, what went on at the meeting?” The look of him, so relaxed with cheeks burnished by the cold, made her heart pick up its beat.
“They’re talking of building a frame house for Pastor. He says he doesn’t need it, but I think Hildegunn is after Anner to get it going. Says a man in his position needs more than a soddy.”
Ingeborg chuckled. That sounded like Hildegunn all right.
“He’s starting English classes again next week, so, Bridget, if you want to attend, I will take you.”
She nodded her reply.
“Oh, and there are so many children in school this year, he wondered if there were some who could give a bit of their time to help, especially with the little ones. You think Kaaren might be able?”
“What about Mary Martha? That might keep her here a bit longer.”
“True.” Haakan dipped his head and gave his wife one of those “you’re cooking up something” looks out of the corner of his eyes. “Ingeborg.”
“What?” Pure innocence shone from her face but for the slight curve of one eyebrow.
“Just don’t meddle.” He sighed at the futility of his remark and rubbed his chin. “There’s to be a debate between Walter Muir of the Farmer’s Alliance and Porter J. McCumber, who’s talking for the railroads. They asked to use our church. I want to ask them what they plan to do about the railroad gouging the farmers. The shipping price per ton went up again.”
“Uff da. You’d think they’re afraid they’ll go broke.” Ingeborg had read in the Dakota Farmer newspaper about the wealth being accumulated by the railroad magnates. The only company that seemed to care about the farmers was Hill’s Great Northern Railroad, but the Great Northern didn’t have any cheaper rates, just more sidings to load w
heat. Not having to drive the loaded wagons so far did indeed help, but the cost . . .
“Olaf said wheat prices dropped again too. Sure glad we got ours shipped when it was higher. Between the flour mills and the railroads . . .” He shook his head. “Maybe we should just make cheese.”
Ingeborg’s good cheese was bought up wherever she sent it, with shopkeepers crying for more. She’d given up trying to deliver to the Bonanza farm, so they rarely saw Solveig, Kaaren’s sister. She had married George Carlson, who ran the Bonanza farm just across the river from St. Andrew. Mrs. McKenzie at the Mercantile in St. Andrew even drove out to the farm to buy cheese on her own.
“We’d need a bigger well house for curing.”
“I’ve been thinking on that. If we build it like the ice house . . .”
She could tell Haakan was off on one of his planning trips again. He nodded and left the room.
“Inge, where’s a piece of paper?”
“We better have Olaf build a desk so we can keep track of things.” Ingeborg set the sock she was darning aside and got to her feet. “That man, he couldn’t find his way out of a gunnysack.”
The chuckle she and Bridget shared didn’t need words.
Later that night, curled up in the curve of his body, she let her mind wander again. Would this time together have brought them another child? She didn’t care if it were a boy or girl, just so she could have a baby again. Although, it would be wonderful to give Haakan a son of his own.
Please, God, I want to give Haakan sons. Is that too much to ask?
Chapter 7
“Ah heard you could use some help.”
Pastor Solberg stared at the smiling young woman with her two charges in front of her. Her green eyes sparkled like morning dew on spring green leaves. And her hair, the dark curls rioting down her back, was caught back on the sides with two mother-of-pearl combs.
She should know enough to bind her hair up, a woman her age, after all. He could feel the frown deepening between his eyes. “Well . . . ah . . .” Lord, help me. What can I say? She’s the last person I want here. The crisp fall breeze chuckled in his ear.
“Good. I’m glad to be useful, as my ma always said. While I’ve not taught school before, I’ve worked with little ones, and—”
“And she is the bestest reader.” Deborah, who hadn’t run off as Manda had, stood next to Mary Martha like a fiercely protective guard dog. The look she aimed at the teacher warned that she sensed his thoughts.
“I . . . ah . . . thank you very much. Ah . . . if you . . .” Mind, where have you gone? I’m stuttering like a child.
Mary Martha looked as if she might begin to twiddle her thumbs any second. “Where may I tie up the horse?”
“I’ll show you.” Deborah gave her teacher a confused look, then shrugged and took the woman’s hand. “This way.”
“Morning, Miss MacCallister. You staying to help at school?” Thorliff left the game and came over to her. At her halfhearted shrug, he responded in kind before continuing. “I could take off the harness if you like. Then if we tied your horse on a long line to the wagon wheel, he could graze, if that’s all right. That’s what we do for church on Sundays.”
“That will be right fine, and I appreciate the offer.” Mary Martha let the children help her, and just as the school bell rang, Deborah brought her back to the front door where children were lining up.
Pastor Solberg stood at the doorway, nodding in answer to greetings from his students. He very carefully refrained from looking at Miss MacCallister.
A bubble of laughter rose in her throat and threatened to embarrass her. Why, the man was flummoxed. He’d been rude the other day and didn’t know how to get out of it. The idea tickled her. If Zeb were here, he’d tell her to leave it alone, but he wasn’t here. Pastor John Solberg was too solemn for his own good, leastways that’s how she saw him. Surely there was a remedy for such seriousness.
But don’t embarrass him in front of his pupils, a wise voice in her ear cautioned. She agreed. That would never do.
“See, my hand is better now.” Deborah held out her bandaged hand. Her scream the afternoon before when she’d impaled her hand on a stick had set his heart to racing, much like it was doing now.
Silence fell as Pastor Solberg bowed his head. “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank thee for this day, the beauty we see and the joy we feel.” Heaven above, what did I mean by that? “Bless our studies today and every day, and make us worthy of thy kingdom.” The children joined in the “amen” and immediately moved into the schoolroom, hanging up their coats and dinner pails without any fuss.
They stood by their desks and waited for the teacher to make his way to the front of the room. “Swen, will you lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance?”
All hands clapped over their hearts, including Deborah’s after Andrew changed hands for her.
“Oh. I forgot.”
A giggle came from somewhere farther back but was cut off at the look Solberg sent the offender.
“I pledge allegiance . . .” The words were picked up in unison, and while there were still some stumbles in the middle, “With liberty and justice for all” rang loud and clear.
“Anji, you have the Scripture reading?”
“Yes, sir.” The girl opened the Bible on her desk at the bookmark and read. “ ‘Trust in the Lord with all thy heart and do not rely on your own understanding.’ ”
“Thank you. Everyone may be seated.”
Mary Martha stood off to the side, feeling as though she were right back in the schoolroom herself. When she looked up at Pastor Solberg, he stared back. “Ah, Baptiste, could you run over to the church and bring back a chair or a bench? A bench would be good. Yes, that’s right, a bench.”
She could see the red creep up his neck.
“Thank you.” She nodded to the children.
“Miss MacCallister has come to help some of us—you—with your lessons, so will you kindly welcome her?”
“Good morning, Miss MacCallister.” The older children led while the younger ones stumbled over the words.
“Shall we try that again?” Solberg sounded more sure now, as if he, too, were getting his footing.
After the second time, Mary Martha answered. “Good mornin’ to you too.”
Anna Helmsrude smiled as though she’d just seen an angel. “Ain’t thee purty?”
Now the heat was crawling up her own neck. She helped Baptiste settle the bench against the wall and took her seat, folding her hands in her lap. She’d have folded them on top of a desk, had she one.
And so she sat for the next two hours, watching Pastor Solberg conduct the classes, the older ones helping the younger, and having much too much time to think. Keeping a smile plastered on her face was taking more effort as the morning wore on. At recess, the children walked to the door and then burst into running as if catapulted from a slingshot.
“Is there something I can do to help, or did you just want . . .” She almost said “spectator” but refrained.
He looked up from his book, his face as blank as the blackboard behind him. “No . . . ah, yes, yes. I was about to ask you to review alphabet letters with the little ones.”
She could tell he was thinking off the top of his head. “That will be fine. And then?”
He shrugged. “Their numbers?”
She had the distinct feeling he didn’t know what to do with her. “Would you rather I come back another day?” Or not at all?
John Solberg scrubbed a hand across his head. “Look, Miss Mac-Callister, I have a confession to make.” Both hands this time, one followed the other across his now mussed hair.
She waited. Surely he hadn’t murdered anyone or done anything so terrible to earn the look on his face.
“I have to ask . . . beg for your forgiveness. The other day I was unbearably rude, and today I am not doing much better. You see . . .” He stopped. He’d said enough. Now it was her turn.
She gave him the same smile she’d blesse
d Deborah with, warm and sweet. “I see. Yes, you are forgiven, and now I hope you can allow me to work with the children. I am not without schooling myself, you know, and you asked for help. Haakan Bjorklund made a special trip to my brother’s house to tell me so. Otherwise I would never have presumed . . .” Her words trickled off, her face needing a fanning, and he just sat there.
Flummoxed, that’s what he is . While she didn’t know the exact meaning of the word, old Uncle Jed used it often to show complete confusion.
I may have to take a buggy whip to Haakan Bjorklund. The thought of that made him almost smile. At least he could feel a little grin tickling the right side of his mouth. This woman knew how to make a point, and that point stabbed him right in the gullet.
“I said I was sorry.”
“That was for the other day.”
“Can it cover today too?”
Children laughing caught his attention. “Glory be, they need to come in from recess.” He started to rise. “Could you please call the children in?”
“Yes, surely.” And so she answered both his questions in two words.
He sank back down in his chair, and this time his hands straightened the sandy hair that started waving back well beyond his forehead.
Mary Martha stood at the door and rang the handbell, which called the children in from play. The sun shone brightly, and the air nipped her nose, pleading with her to come and enjoy the fall. Winter would soon be on its way.
She glanced back inside the dim room. Even with the door open and the two windows that faced south, the long room was dark. While the women whitewashed the walls every year, the dirt floor seemed to absorb the light. Wouldn’t it be better to meet in the church where there was some light?
“Mith MacCallithter.” Anna looked up, her face a picture of delight.
“Yes, Anna?”
“Your dreth ith tho pretty.” The little girl fingered the royal blue serge of the skirt. “Like the thky.”
Mary Martha wanted to pick up the little girl and hug her. She was so thin, it seemed the sun could shine right through her. “Thank you, Anna. I think you are a poet in that little heart of yours.”
Tender Mercies Page 6