Solberg shook his head. “Strange.” He continued greeting his flock, shaking hands with the adults and patting the children on the head. Some of the older children sneaked by, anxious to get outside before they exploded. “Good morning to you, too, Swen, Thorliff, and Knute.”
The boys waved and ran off laughing.
With each couple he said a few things, but all the time he could feel himself waiting. Waiting for Mary Martha to come out with Zeb and Katy. A group of girls gathered in one corner of the vestibule, giggling now that they were free of their parents.
But Manda stayed with her family, almost smiling at the pastor as he greeted her. “How are your horses doing? I heard good things about how you train them.”
“Fine.”
“They follow Manda around like she gots a rope on them all the time, but she don’t.” Deborah filled in the gap only to get a dirty look from her older sister. “Well, it’s true.”
He could feel her looking at him.
Katy laid a hand on Manda’s shoulder and shook her head. “If only she worked as hard on her lessons, right?”
While he nodded, he looked up to see Mary Martha’s green eyes twinkling like sun kisses on an emerald pond. “Good morning,” he greeted her.
“And to you. That was a fine sermon. We all need reminding of His love—often.”
“Mange takk.”
“Velbekomme.”
“And here I thought she was teaching English, not learning Norwegian.” Zeb shook his head as he shook the pastor’s hand.
“And you, my friend?” The arched eyebrow reminded Zeb of his hours in English class so he could pick up some Norwegian to be able to talk with Katy more easily. “Seems to run in the family.”
Zeb and Katy looked at each other and laughed as they followed others down the stairs.
Pastor Solberg could feel himself smiling all over as he turned to the next family. Although it took effort, he kept from turning to see what Mary Martha was laughing about as they visited with other friends.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wold, good to see you.” As he shook their hands, he glanced from Goodie to Olaf. Something was wrong here too. Goodie’s usual smile had gone into hiding, and her squared jaw made her appear almost formidable. Standing slightly behind her, Olaf gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. While Hans had gone to play with the boys, Ellie clung to her mother’s skirts. That wasn’t like her either. Generally she and Andrew fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.
When Solberg leaned down to greet her, she whispered in his ear, “My ma’s been crying.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he whispered back. “You be a good girl, and that might help her.” Ellie nodded, her face so serious that Solberg wanted to hold her close. Instead he shook her hand and patted her on the head.
How can I help all of you if I don’t know what is happening? He let them go, wishing he could do something. He had a feeling there was a connection between Penny leaving so abruptly and Goodie fighting tears. Leave it to the children to be so honest.
Ellie’s sober little face accompanied him home as he went to change clothes before heading to the Johnsons’ for dinner. They’d invited him a couple of weeks ago. He wished he were going to the Hjelmer Bjorklunds’ or the Wolds’ instead. He was sure no one else knew of the problem, because someone would have told him. Maybe he should send Ingeborg over there. Or Kaaren.
“Ah, that is what I will do.” He stripped off his clerical collar and white shirt, hanging them carefully on a wall peg, along with his black suit. He kept the suit and shirt for Sundays, weddings, and funerals, knowing that with his meager funds, replacing them wouldn’t be easy.
He whistled for the horse he pastured out behind the parsonage, and within minutes he was saddled and bridled and on his way to see Kaaren and Lars. Frost still coated the grass in the shady places and the north sides of the fence posts. While the sun shone, the wind promised an even colder night.
“Winter’s on the way, that’s for sure.” He patted the horse’s neck as the animal snorted an answer. “The coat you’re wearing promises a mean one, eh?” Another snort. John nudged him into a canter. No sense being late for the meal. That wasn’t polite. “But, Father, while I don’t know what is going on, I know that you do. Please speak to each person and remind them that your Word says to go to the other party, no matter who or what is right or wrong. Tell them to make it up. Friends are far more important than whatever got in the way.”
The horse nickered as they trotted past the Haakan Bjorklund house and on to the next. Paws accompanied them partway, announcing their arrival before turning for home. Pastor Solberg swung off his horse at the gate to the fenced-in yard and tied him to one of the posts. The roses had already been trimmed back and covered with straw for the winter, as had the other flower beds. Manure and straw from the barn banked the base of the house. Lars was a strong believer in being prepared, fixing things before they broke, and minding his own business.
John hoped the latter wouldn’t be a problem in this case. He needed Kaaren’s gentle wisdom. He knocked on the door, grateful to hear children’s laughter inside. They could have all been over at Ingeborg’s.
“Welcome, Pastor. Come right on in.” Lars held the door open wide. Tall like most of the men in the area, Lars still limped from the loss of several toes in a freak late spring snowstorm a few years earlier.
“Thank you. My, it smells good in here.” Solberg stopped just inside the door and sniffed appreciatively. Sophie and Grace, the three-year-old twins, ran to their father’s legs, and Sophie smiled up at him. Grace, who was born deaf, studied him gravely. One had to earn a smile from the towheaded little girl with the gray eyes of her father.
“You are just in time for dinner,” Kaaren called from the kitchen. “Won’t take me but a minute to set an extra place.” She came around the corner, wiping her hands on her apron. Trygve toddled along with her, one fist clamped on her skirt for balance.
“Thank you, but no. I am on my way to the Johnsons’, and I swung by here to ask you a favor.” Solberg held his hat by the brim with both hands.
Kaaren looked at Lars, and he gathered the children together.
“Come now, let’s go get washed up for dinner. I’ll help you.” He swooped his son up in his arms and, using his other hand, guided the two girls before him.
Kaaren led the way into the parlor and gestured for John to take the man’s rocker while she sat in her own. “Now, what is it, and how may I help you?” She half turned to face him and folded her hands on the rocker arm.
Solberg leaned forward too. “I’m not sure—that is, I don’t know what has happened, but I do know that we have some unhappy people. Have you seen Penny lately or Goodie Wold?”
Kaaren shook her head. “I haven’t been out much, what with the butchering, and Trygve and baby Samuel both had a croupy kind of cough before that. Are they ill or . . . ?”
“Mostly or, but I have no idea what.”
Kaaren waited while he collected his thoughts. “Penny left church today during the final hymn and looked about to cry all through the service. Goodie looked stiff as a barn beam, and neither Olaf nor Hjelmer said more than hello.” He rocked a minute. “Oh, and Ellie said her ma had been crying. Out of the mouths of babes, you know?” He worried his bottom lip for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of it, but I do know I cannot go barging in and ask them what’s wrong.”
“No, I suppose not.” She smiled. “But you want me to?”
“They talk to you. Everyone does, either to you or Ingeborg. In this case, I thought your gentleness might be more effective.” He ran a finger over the brim of his brown fedora. “Talking about it might just be enough.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then we go from there.”
The sound of the children laughing and talking with their father made him smile. “They sound so happy.”
“They are. And yes, I will do this, but unless I feel ther
e is something you can do, I will not carry gossip.”
“I know that, and so will they. That’s what makes you the ideal peacemaker.” He got to his feet, the rocker creaking a protest. “Mange takk.” He gestured toward the table. “I’ll take you up on your dinner invitation another time.”
Kaaren rose also. “Anytime. You know that.”
By the time Solberg returned from the Johnsons’, dusk was already graying the land. The wind had picked up as he’d predicted, making him grateful he’d worn his heavy wool coat. The half loaf of bread, slice of cake, and leftover beef roast wrapped and stored in his saddlebags would make a fine supper, even though he was still full from the food Mrs. Johnson had repeatedly encouraged him to partake of.
“I’ll be four axe handles wide if this keeps up,” he told the horse, who’d picked up his feet more quickly the closer they came to the soddy. He rode the horse into the shed, stripped off the saddle and bridle, rubbed him down, and dumped a can of oats in the manger. After checking to make sure there was water in the trough, he hung up his gear, then slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and headed for the dark house.
Once the lamp was lit, he found a message written on paper held down by the lamp in the middle of his table.
Pastor, please come. Our ailing mother is asking for you. She says her time is near.
The Bjerke family lived ten miles or more to the southwest of Blessing. John put the food into the pie safe off the pantry, poured some milk for the crying cat, and turned out the lamp. Who knew when he might be back.
He started to leave, then took the paper and pushed it over a nail he kept on the door for this purpose. That way anyone who needed him would know where he’d gone.
“Lord, if this is the time for her to go home to you, please make this as easy on her and the family as possible.” He continued to pray while he resaddled his horse. The ten-mile ride out to the farm gave him plenty more time for that.
Could Mary Martha handle the whole class in the morning if he didn’t get back in time?
Chapter 13
Grandma Bjerke died an hour or so after he got there.
“Thank you for coming, Pastor, we sure do appreciate it.” Knute Bjerke shook John’s hand, his eyes still red from crying. “Mor did like to come to your church when we could.” They had left the bedside and were sitting in chairs nearer the stove. The children had gone to sleep out in the lean-to in the bunk beds, so the house was quiet again.
“What day would you like the funeral?” John took the hand offered by Mrs. Bjerke.
“Would tomorrow afternoon be all right? I know you got school and all. I’ll get the box built in the morning.” Bjerke continued. “No need for anyone to help. We can get her ready and all.”
“We thought to bury her out by the willow tree she loved so much,” the woman said. She wiped her eyes with her apron once again. “She was right beautiful there at the last, weren’t she?”
“Ja, when the saints get a glimpse of the heavenly host, they can’t help but share a bit of that with the rest of us. We have the cemetery by the church, you know, if you want to bring her in there.”
“I know. But she asked to be buried here, where we all worked so hard. She planted the willow tree and watered it till it got a good start. She was a hard worker, my mor,” Knute said.
“We’re just sorry we couldn’t get to more of the doings at the church,” Mrs. Bjerke said. “She would have loved the quilting and all, but it’s just too far to go all the time.”
“You did the best you could.” John had held services for some of the local people several times at the Bjerke soddy. “Maybe we should think of having regular services out here, like twice a month on Saturdays. What do you think?”
“Would you do that?” The woman brightened. “We’ll be building a frame house come spring, so there would be more room.”
“If you could, pass the word around for the Saturday after this one. We have the political debate going on this Saturday, and I have to introduce the speakers. You’re invited to that, you know.”
“Ja, but that is awful far just to hear some guys argue about one state or two. We all know the mills and railroads are stealing us farmers blind, so what good will arguing about it do? They’re a bunch of crooks, anyway.”
John knew many of the farmers felt that way, so this wasn’t any surprise. At least in Blessing they had Olaf weighing and grading the wheat, and he was honest as the prairie was flat. Even so, they’d had to argue with the buyers more than a time or two. No one in Blessing put rocks or dirt in the wheat sacks to make them weigh up heavier, as he knew went on in other places.
Silence settled gently in the room. Father, comfort these people, as you’ve always promised to. Please lay your hand upon them and give them peace.
“I sure do thank you for coming so quick.” Knute rocked forward and propped his elbows on his knees.
“You’re welcome. Do you mind if I read a bit of Scripture again and pray before I go?”
“Oh, please do.” Mrs. Bjerke stifled a yawn behind her hand. “But you are welcome to stay the night.”
“I need to be at school too early for that, but thank you.” John thumbed through his Bible until he came to the Beatitudes. “ ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they . . . ’ ” He continued reading, and at the end he repeated the verse “ ‘Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.’ ” He looked each of them in the eye. “And that means all of us, for our Father comforts us moment by moment. Shall we pray?” He bowed his head and took in a deep breath, letting it all out so that he could feel his shoulders relax. With his Bible clasped in his hands, he began. “Heavenly Father, thou hast said we may come to thee in times of sorrow and thou wilt bring us comfort and peace. I thank thee for the life of Elmira Bjerke, for her years here on earth, and that thou hast now taken her home to be with thee. Bless her family as we mourn her passing yet rejoice in thy promise that thou hast prepared a room for her in thy heavenly mansion.” He paused, sniffing himself at the sniffs he heard from his two companions. “She led a full life, Lord, one pleasing to thee, because thy Son died for her sins and ours. We thank thee and praise thee in the precious name of thy Son, Jesus Christ.” They joined him in the “amen.”
Knute then rose and shook the pastor’s hand. “Thank you for coming.” Grabbing his coat he excused himself and went to the barn.
Mrs. Bjerke pressed a packet of food into John’s hand as he shrugged into his coat and wrapped a wool muffler around his neck. “I wish it could be more.”
“Mange takk. I’ll see you as soon as I can get back out here. I’ll let school out early. That won’t upset any of my pupils, I know.”
She nodded. “I surely do wish we had a school close enough for our children. You think they’ll build more schools when we get to be a state?”
“I think so, most likely before then, from what I hear.”
“Your horse is ready, Pastor.” The mister stuck his head in the door.
After saying more good-byes, John nudged his horse into a lope and headed for home, grateful that Henry, as he called him, knew the way home no matter how dark the night. At least it wasn’t raining or snowing, but from the cold seeping into his heavy wool coat, the latter wasn’t far away. By the time he staggered into his soddy, he had prayed for everyone he knew, planned the next Sunday’s sermon, and thought of a new and easier way to help the little ones learn their letters and sounds.
The soddy was nearly as cold as he. “Father, you know a wife would have kept the fire going and been here to welcome me home. Don’t you figure that would be a good idea?” He crawled into bed after putting another quilt on top.
There was ice on the water bucket in the morning, but he woke with another good idea.
While the schoolchildren were arriving, he put the question to his new assistant.
“Miss MacCallister, I have a favor to ask. An old woman died last night, and I need t
o help with the burying later this afternoon. Since it’s better than an hour’s ride, could you please conduct the last two hours of school for everyone? I know that’s an imposition, but—”
“Of course.”
He realized he’d been holding his breath. Almost stammering, he replied, “Th . . . thank you. Perhaps you could lead singing or read another chapter in Oliver Twist.”
“Most likely both, and regular memorization?”
“That would be wonderful.” He turned from looking at her to studying the children, some of whom were still walking toward the school. He and Miss MacCallister stood near the soddy, out of the way of the game of tag being played by the older children. The little ones played on the south side of the soddy, where the sun had barely melted the frost off the lower wall. A bench had been set there for the older folks to sit on when the soddy was still the church too.
“If it stays nice, would it be all right if we all came out here to read and sing?” she asked.
“I don’t see why not.” Now why didn’t I think of that? We could have brought lots of classes out here, especially since she came to help me.
“Mith MacCallithter, I brung you thith.” Anna stopped beside her, just close enough to touch the fabric of her skirt with a tentative finger. Mary Martha squatted down eye to eye with the little girl. Anna drew her hands from behind her back and handed her a wellpolished apple.
“Thank you. That was very thoughtful.” Mary Martha laid her hand along the little girl’s cheek.
“I brung you one too, Teacher.” She held out the other apple for him. “My ma thaid . . .” She stopped and looked to Mary Martha and swallowed. “Thh . . .” She started, then changed the shape of her mouth, put her teeth together, and tried again. Ducking her chin a fraction, she made a hissing sound. “Sss-aid.” Her grin nearly split her cheeks. “Ssaid . . . said apple-s are good for you.”
Throwing all propriety aside, Mary Martha drew the little one into her arms and hugged her close. “Very good, Anna, you are wonderful.”
Tender Mercies Page 12