Tender Mercies

by Lauraine Snelling

  “What a good idea. Now, where were we?”

  “The contract.” Ingeborg jingled the leather drawstring purse that Metiz had made for her. She gave Penny a questioning look. “Is there something I am missing here? It seems like you do not want to sell me a Singer sewing machine.” She stroked the smooth metal shape. “I’d take this one right here if I could have it.”

  “Oh no. I mean . . . ah . . . I promised Mr. Drummond I would always have one out here for people to try out. Here, you can fill this in.” She’s going to catch on, and it’s all your fault. The voice in her head was surely right this time. If she didn’t act excited because she was selling her good friend a sewing machine, Ingeborg would surely catch on. Oh, Lord, what am I to do with that? You say you know all that goes on with us. Well, this is no joke. I cannot tell a lie—that is a sin. And yet I do not want to spoil the surprise either. Please, I need a big helping of wisdom here.

  Ingeborg signed her name and laid down the pen. “There now, how much do I owe you?”

  “For the first payment?”

  “No, for the whole thing.” Ingeborg slowed her speech as though she was talking with a slow-minded child.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Penny looked at the contract and named the figure.

  Ingeborg counted out the amount slowly. “There now. You will let me know when the machine arrives?”

  “But of course.”

  “Bridget is as impatient to get the machine home as I am. Between her and Kaaren and me, it will be running round the clock.” Ingeborg drew her purse closed and got to her feet. “Good-bye and thank you.”

  Penny stared after her departing relative. “Uff da. Such messes I get into.”

  December blew in along with the first snowfall that more than dusted the ground. This one drifted and kept on coming until over a foot of fluffy white covered the ground. As soon as Pastor Solberg said “Class dismissed,” the children grabbed their coats and ran laughing out the door. Shouts told of the snowball fight that ensued, with shrieks from those victims who took the drubbing.

  “I wish Mary Martha could see this.” Pastor Solberg stood at the window and watched. When had he ceased calling her Miss MacCallister? He shook his head. Did it matter? The schoolroom had seemed dimmer than usual ever since she left.

  The setting sun reflected red and gold, dazzling in its glory both on the ground and in the heavens. Did they have snow like this where she lived? Silly question. He knew they didn’t.

  Why didn’t I say more? Like, please, do you consider me more than a friend? Or, I’m coming to care for our friendship more than . . . He sighed and shook his head again. Nothing seemed right. But at least he’d said he’d write to her. She would write back, wouldn’t she?

  He rubbed the end of his chin with one finger, then nodded and smiled in spite of his gloom. That was it. She couldn’t reject a letter from the students. Tomorrow he’d pass a paper around and let everyone write their own message. Then he could sign it at the bottom.

  He banked the fire and, after checking to see that all was clean and put away, took his coat and muffler down from his peg and left the school. Just as he turned to make sure the latch caught, he felt the thunk of a snowball in the middle of his back. But when he spun back around, there was no one in sight.

  “You better hide good, cause if I catch you, there’ll be lots of writing on the blackboard.” He waited, recognizing the stifled snort that came from behind the woodshed. Chuckling, he made his way home. He realized that he should shovel a path from the soddy he lived in to the soddy he worked in. Perhaps one of the Baard boys would like an excuse to be outside tomorrow. Or perhaps Baptiste?

  The next morning, right after the morning song and the children were settled, he looked over his classroom with a smile. “I have a surprise for you today. If you can get all your work done this morning, then we will have the afternoon to do it.”

  “Is it about the Christmas program?”

  “Anji, you forgot to raise your hand.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, my surprise has nothing to do with the Christmas program, so let’s get to work.” He made the assignments and then motioned the first graders forward to read to him. Every once in a while, he glanced up to check on the bigger children. Swen wore a terribly innocent look. That was always dangerous. He continued looking around the room. Manda wore more of a scowl than normal. Most likely Swen had been teasing her again. How that boy could do it so well without a sound mystified him. Perhaps it was time for another woodpile chat.

  Thorliff drilled the Erickson sisters nearly as well as Miss Mac-Callister had.

  Why did everything have to come back to her? That was a question he could never answer.

  “Did we do all right?” Anna asked much later, after having raised her hand. Dinner pails were stored back on the shelves and woolen coats and scarves shaken free of snow, so the room smelled of wet wool, not the most delightful odor.

  “Yes, you did all right. Some of you need to see me privately, don’t you think?” He looked directly at the back row of big boys who suddenly became smaller. “Now, here is the paper. Let’s write a letter to Miss MacCallister.” He held up the largest sheet he had. “How about if we draw a Christmas tree on it?”

  The children all nodded their heads excitedly.

  “And each of you write Miss MacCallister a message. You older children can help the younger. Make sure you sign your name so she knows you all took part.”

  “What about you?” Andrew Bjorklund asked.

  Pastor Solberg blinked in surprise. “Why, ah . . .”

  “He’s a growed up. He don’t be a kid.” Ellie nudged Andrew with her elbow.

  “But he likes Miss MacCallister, I know.” Andrew turned on her, his voice carrying to the corners of the room.

  “Thank you for your concern, Andrew. I will sign the picture after everyone else is finished.” He could feel his ears burning, and Mary Martha wasn’t even there. “Now, who shall we have draw the tree?”

  “Baptiste. He’s the best drawer in the whole school.” Anji Baard spoke as she raised her hand.

  Several others murmured agreement.

  “All right. Baptiste, the paper is yours.”

  Within minutes Baptiste had drawn a pine tree that filled much of the paper. The children clapped when he stood back and indicated he was finished.

  “Did you sign it?” Pastor Solberg asked, every bit as pleased as the children.

  Never one to waste words, Baptiste signed his name in cursive, not printing as was his wont.

  “Is there anything you’d like to write to Miss MacCallister?”

  Baptiste shook his head, handed back the charcoal, and headed for his seat.

  “Those of you who aren’t at the paper may read anything you would like. The bookshelves are open, or you may work on the Christmas presents for your folks.” After a brief flurry, the room settled down again, and Pastor Solberg spent the time answering questions, encouraging the slow and cheering on the shy.

  “We’re done.” One of the girls handed the rolled paper to their teacher.

  “Good. I will fold this and make an envelope big enough, then put it in the mail sack tomorrow morning before I come to school.” He glanced at the clock. “You are all dismissed, and thank you for such a pleasant afternoon.”

  “You won’t forget to sign it too?” Andrew stopped at the teacher’s desk.

  “No, I won’t.” He patted the boy’s head and walked with him out the door. As if he would forget. He not only planned to sign the tree but to include a letter, a very personal letter.

  It took him three tries before he got the letter right. Or as right as it was going to be. He breathed a sigh of relief and read it once more. It sounded friendly, newsy, and not too pleading when he asked her to write back. He signed it, “Sincerely, Pastor John Solberg.”

  While he wasn’t much pleased with the last, he didn’t want to copy the entire thing over again, so he left it as it was.r />
  “So, what have you heard about my machine?” Ingeborg hoisted a basket up on the counter.

  “N-nothing, but it’s only been a week. I’m not surprised.” Penny began to dig in the basket. “Oh good, more of that soft cheese. That has become really popular.”

  “If you want, I can make more of that. It goes quick. See the smoked goose? You think train riders might like to take one of those home for Christmas dinner?”

  “I’ll put it out and see. Some days they clean me right out, even after eating a full dinner. I think every one of them would buy a whole pie if I had it. You ever think of opening a bakery?”

  “No, but Bridget considered it. They’re cutting timbers for the boardinghouse. Got lots of the beams and two-by-fours and sixes. Haakan’s wishing now they had dug the cellar before the ground froze.” Ingeborg handed Penny one of Metiz’ deer antler knives. “She says she’ll have a couple more pretty soon.”

  “Good. I’m about out. Tell her to make more rabbit skin vests if she can. One man bought two, one for each of his boys.”

  Ingeborg leaned a hip against the counter. “You know the picture of that man you got in the window? Anyone ever inquire about him?”

  Penny shook her head, adding up the column of figures in front of her. “You’re going to have to buy more here, I owe you too much money.”

  “You want I should bring in less?”

  “No, and I was teasing. I’ll gladly pay you cash for the things you bring in.”

  “But they can’t go on a sewing machine, huh?” The twinkle in her eyes said she was teasing.

  “Once they tasted your cheese, those folks at Singer Sewing Machine Company would probably buy it by the carload. If they only knew.”

  “You seen Katy lately?”

  “No, not since church on Sunday. Why?”

  “I just miss seeing her, that’s all. Think I’ll go on over there. Any mail for them or anything?”

  “Not right now, but the train will be in soon if you want to wait.”

  Ingeborg shook her head. “I’ll be on my way. You let me know about the machine, now, you hear?”

  “I hear.” Penny breathed a sigh of relief when Ingeborg went out the door.

  “Getting close, ain’t it. You think she suspects?” Goodie came through the curtain that led to the kitchen.

  “I sure do hope not. This is getting more and more difficult.”

  “You could tell her the machines are on back order, that the company is behind.”

  “But that would be a lie, and I can’t do that.” Penny looked to the sewing department of her store. “Not with their two machines sitting right there waiting for Christmas.”

  Goodie chuckled. “Wait until she finds out. She’s going to bust up laughing.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  It wasn’t long before the train whistle sounded far down the track.

  Penny hurried to put a couple more things in the mailbag. “Anything for the mail, Mr. Valders?”

  “No. I already took care of that,” he answered from the banking room.

  Penny took the leather bag stamped with United States Mail outside to hand to the man in the mail car. Two men who’d bought goods in her store waited at the other end of the platform. Olaf had the big door closed on the sack house, so he must not be shipping any grain today. After the fire in the sack house, he’d asked for a car to be left on the siding for him to fill, so maybe he’d gotten it all shipped.

  The snow-blanketed prairie sparkled like freshly strewn jewels in the westerly sun. She shivered, even with her wool shawl around her shoulders. She could have hung the bag on the peg and come back for the full one, but being outside felt good for a change.

  The heat of the steam engine had melted the snow along the tracks. Coal clinkers showed like black rocks against the white and the dirt both. She should ask Hans if he wanted to earn some money picking those up for her. The potbellied stove in the store devoured coal and wood like some ravenous beast. With the men having to haul wood so much farther now, perhaps she should switch entirely to coal.

  “Good day to you, Miz Bjorklund,” the green-shaded man from the mail car called. He jumped to the wooden platform and turned back to retrieve the mailbag. “You look all ready for Christmas with that red sweater.” Handing her the new bag, he took hers. “You got any more of that cheese I got last time? My wife couldn’t get over how good it was. She said she wished you didn’t live so far away. She’d rather shop in your store than anywhere.”

  “Tell her I carry Singer sewing machines now too, and we will have smoked meats. I got a smoked goose right now for Christmas.”

  “I’ll tell her, but you put my name on two of those geese. Let me know when they are ready.”

  Penny glanced down the line to see a black man climbing down from the passenger car. When he reached back up the steps for a valise, she realized he might be staying. “I’ll do that,” she said to the mailman. “Excuse me, please.” She left the mailbag lay and walked on over to the newcomer. “Good afternoon, sir, is your name by any chance Sam?”

  “Yes, ma-am, that it be.” His soft accent sounded more like Zeb MacCallister’s than anyone else around Blessing.

  She put out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you. Hjelmer is my husband, and he will be delighted you are here. Come on, before you freeze to death.”

  He took her hand hesitantly, shook it once, and dropped it, reaching for his two bags. “Ah’m pleased to meet ya. Hjelmer tol’ me plenty about ya.”

  When she bent to take the mail sack, he shifted his two bags to one hand and took the mailbag before she could get it. “Ah’ll get that.”

  “Thank you. I can’t wait to tell Hjelmer you are here. He’s been getting further and further behind in the blacksmith, with all the traveling he’s had to do with banking and now the Farmer’s Alliance business.” After the political debate Hjelmer had been asked to help talk other Norwegian farmers into joining the Alliance. While Haakan had been asked to travel also, he’d declined, due to the sawmill he had running and the ice cutting that would begin more toward spring.

  When they entered the store, she pointed to the stove. “Why don’t you go stand there and get warm again while I sort this mail.”

  “Ah’d near forgotten how cold winter can be in Dakota.” He shivered and held his hands to the heat.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here.” Penny dropped her shawl on the stool behind her and pulled open the mouth of the mailbag, spilling the contents onto the counter. Even with the snow, she could hear people laughing and chatting as they made their way to the store. She had to hurry.

  Taking a handful of envelopes, she began stuffing them in the slots with her neighbors’ names on them. Without glancing at the return addresses, she put two in their slot and kept on distributing the mail. The doorbell tinkled and then again as the people entered.

  Conversation drifted off and the room fell silent. Penny turned to see what was happening. All eyes were on the black man standing at the stove.

  Chapter 22

  Springfield, Missouri

  And so we wish you a blessed Christmas.

  Mary Martha fought the burning on the back of her eyes. She sniffed once and blew her nose, then tucked the square of cotton back in her apron pocket. Tracing the outline of the tree with a trembling finger, she read the messages again.

  They couldn’t miss her any more than she missed them.

  “Mary Martha.” Her mother sounded stronger, much to the daughter’s relief.

  “Coming.” She tucked the letter into her pocket and took the picture with her into the bedroom. “See, Ma, a Christmas letter from the schoolchildren in Blessing.” As she held it up, she explained who each of the children were.

  “Good of them.” Ma studied the signature at the bottom. “This the man you left behind?”

  “Pastor Solberg is a friend. That’s all.”

  “But you wish more?”

  “Sometimes yes and
sometimes no. I mean, I like him.” She stopped and rolled her lower lip between her teeth. “But sometimes he aggravates me no end.” She knelt by the bed. “Ma, can you picture me as a minister’s wife?”

  Mrs. MacCallister stroked her daughter’s hair with a gentle hand. “You will make a fine wife for any man lucky enough to win your heart. If this is the husband God has chosen for you, then it will work out.”

  Mary Martha didn’t think she’d heard that many words from her mother at one time in years. “I know-I think.” She laid her cheek against her mother’s hand. “What’s important right now is that we get you strong enough so that you can enjoy Christmas. Jed brought in a tom turkey, and I dug the last of the sweet taters. I haven’t had sweet tater pie for far too long. How about you?”

  “You know what sounds good to me? A custard pie, that’s what.”

  “Then that’s what I shall make first. I’ve got cornbread for supper and then for stuffing. You want to help me chop the onions? We could set you up at the table.”

  “Maybe after I rest a bit more. My eyes are mighty heavy.”

  “You do that. Jed is milking the cows, and I’ll go pick the eggs.”

  Mary Martha threw her shawl around her shoulders, trailing her fingers over the long needles of the pine tree they’d set up in the corner. It wasn’t as big as usual, but still the house smelled of cinnamon and pine, just the way it should for Christmas.

  If only they could take Ma to church for the Christmas Eve service the next night.

  She broached the subject to Jed as he finished stripping out the last cow down at the barn.

  “We can put hay and lots of quilts in the back of the wagon, even the feather bed. I know some of the men would help carry her in, like in the rocker.”

  “Uncle Jed, you have the best ideas.”

  Late the next afternoon Jed padded the wagon just as he’d said. Mary Martha brushed her mother’s thinning hair and fashioned it in the usual bun. Only this time she tied a red ribbon around it and anchored the whole with two carved wooden pins her mother kept for good.