Tender Mercies

by Lauraine Snelling

  “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” She tried to smile at Ingeborg.

  “I wouldn’t say that, but I’m going to ask you to do something that might seem silly.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Lie back down flat and put your feet up on the arm of the sofa. We’ll pad it with a quilt or pillows or something.”

  Katy looked at her mother, who shrugged. “They know things in this country we didn’t do at home. Just do what she says.”

  Between the three of them, they quickly had her situated. Bridget took over the kitchen, washing the breakfast dishes and adding wood to a stove low on embers. Soon she had the coffee bubbling, and the smell of meat stew floated through the house.

  They heard the jingle of harness outside, and within minutes Zeb came in the front door, clapping his gloved hands against his shoulders. “Welcome. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. That young gelding thinks the other horse should do all the work while he admires the snowdrifts. Old Jezzy set him straight, let me tell you.” He hung up his coat and crossed the room to take Katy’s hand. “Were you warm enough? I was afraid the stove might have burned low.”

  “The kitchen did but not in here. Mor is taking care of dinner.”

  “Good. I know you get tired of my cooking. Manda tried to talk me into letting her stay home again today.”

  “Leave it to her.” Katy tried to sit up, but he gently pushed her shoulder back before Ingeborg could even say anything.

  “I have a feeling you’ve been told to lie like this, and so you shall.”

  “I must look huge as that beached whale I saw once in the fjord at home.”

  “You look lovely to me, so don’t complain.” He kissed the tip of her nose, making her blush. At least that way some color rose in her face.

  “Zeb, we have company,” she whispered, catching a giggle in the same breath.

  “You think they’ve never been kissed? Maybe I should take care of that right now.”

  She grabbed his arm when he started to stand. “Z-e-b.”

  With a voice that flowed like warmed syrup and flashing eyes with more than a hint of mischief, Zebulun MacCallister had them all laughing with his descriptions of life in Missouri when they talked about Mary Martha. They ate dinner at a small table pulled up to the sofa where Katy remained flat out, much against her will.

  “But I am making such a mess,” she grumbled, brushing away the crumbs.

  “Then I shall feed you.” Zeb picked up her fork and transferred meat and potatoes to her mouth.

  “But I’m not a baby.”

  “No, that is for sure not, but soon you shall have one, and then it will be your turn to stuff food in another’s mouth. Open.”

  Afterward Metiz handed Katy a cup of hot tea made from dandelion. “You drink this. Drink much warm water. Keep feet up.”

  Ingeborg turned to Zeb. “We could pack her feet in snow for a bit to try to take away the swelling.”

  “If it would help. Won’t be hard to get a dishpan full.”

  A short time later, with snow packs around her feet and legs, Katy shook her head. “I sure hope this baby comes soon,” she muttered, her feet burning with the cold. “Before you freeze my feet off.” She groaned and shook her head. “And now I have to use the necessary.”

  “Good,” Metiz said with a smile. “Tea working.”

  “I’m glad it’s doing something, because it tastes awful.”

  After they had her back on the sofa and as comfortable as possible, Katy looked at her mother. “I’m an awful bother, Mor. Please forgive me.”

  “You shush about bother. Some babies take a bit more out of their mors, and that’s just the way life is. You’ll find it worth all the struggle when that baby is lying in your arms.”

  “I can’t wait.” Katy flinched as her belly bounced the blanket up. “This one surely is trying to let me know that he’s in there and getting ready to meet the world.”

  It wasn’t too long before Ingeborg asked Zeb to bring up her horses so that she and Metiz could head for home before dusk. “You come for us when you need us, no matter what time of the day or night.”

  “I will. Thank you for bringing Bridget. I know Katy will feel better with her here.” He looked down at his snow-covered leather boots. “Am I making up things to worry about, or is something seriously wrong with Katy?”

  Metiz leaned forward, the robe slipping from her knees. “She not right.”

  Zeb raised fear-filled eyes. “But she will be—right?”

  “I hope so,” Ingeborg said softly. “I surely do hope so. Best thing you can do for her is spend more time on your knees, for this is all in the good Lord’s hands.” She rippled the reins, clucking the horses forward. “God be with you.”

  “And you.”

  Pastor Solberg checked the window of the sod schoolhouse again. The snow that had started out falling gently now swirled and slanted, driven by a north wind blowing right off the ice fields of the northern tundra. He shuddered at the cold he could feel coming in the windowpanes. He couldn’t send the children home in this. Why, oh, why hadn’t he dismissed them earlier?

  He couldn’t even see his own house. The church sometimes appeared like an apparition through the snow curtains.

  “Baptiste, Swen, please go out and bring in more wood.”

  They shrugged into their coats and wrapped mufflers around their necks.

  Why hadn’t he been paying more attention? But then, the storm had come like a freight train roaring out of the north. One minute a snowfall, the next a raging blizzard. Thinking of that he asked Thorliff, Knute, Hamre, and Anji to help with the wood. That way they could touch hands. “Stand near each other and pass the wood in. That way no one will miss the schoolhouse.” He buttoned up his coat and added. “Hold hands and we’ll go on out like a chain, with Anji right at the door. Children, don’t be afraid, we’ll be in as soon as we can. Ingrid, you man the door.” The wind tried to rip his hat and coat from his body, but holding hands, they stretched as far as they could.

  Solberg squinted against the snow driving into his face. Could they not reach the woodshed? Had he passed it? He swung slightly to the left, feeling with his hand straight out in front of him, the other holding on to Baptiste. Swinging it from side to side like a blind man, he connected with solid wood.

  “I found it.” He turned and yelled so Baptiste could hear. “Tell everyone to stay right where they are, and we’ll pass the wood.” So shouting, he picked up a chunk and passed it to Baptiste, who passed it on.

  We might need enough for all night and tomorrow too. How long can we do this without freezing? He passed the wood, one chunk at time, until he could see much was diminished. Since he was under the shed roof, he knew he was more protected than the children. He sent ten more pieces, then he took Baptiste’s hand and started back, the children clinging to each other behind him.

  Once they were all inside with the door closed again, he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving and surveyed his charges. Please, God, keep all the parents home. They must know that I wouldn’t send their children out in a snowstorm, let alone a blizzard like this.

  “Well done.” He smiled at the younger ones gathered in front of him and gestured to the wood stacked at the back of the room. The older ones were gathered around the stove, still shivering, their teeth chattering as they tried to warm up. “All right, let’s get moving so we can keep warm.”

  “When is my ma coming?” Ellie Wold wore the soberest expression he’d ever seen on her little face.

  “Not until the blizzard blows away.” Pastor Solberg squatted down and drew the littlest ones into his circling arms. “We’re safe here, and your folks know that. We will keep warm and have warm water to drink.”

  “What will we eat?” Jerry Valders asked, his face sober too, the teasing light gone out of his eyes at the enormity of their situation.

  “Well, does anyone have anything left in their lunch pails?” As each student shook his head, Solberg nodd
ed. “I didn’t think so, but we won’t starve to death if we miss a meal or two.” Or three or four. Dear Lord, let it clear by morning.

  Dark came early, since the window was soon covered with snow and blocked out what light was left. They slid open the windows on the front of the stove to have some light, and Solberg gathered them around the stove.

  “Let me tell you a story,” he began.

  “Oh, good. I want David and Goliath.” Andrew crossed his legs in front of him.

  Every once in a while, the teacher would have them get up and march around the room while he put more wood on the fire, but then they would gather round the stove again. The cold pressed in on them as the wind howled over the top of the snow-covered schoolhouse.

  They played Twenty Questions, reviewed all the arithmetic tables, and sang songs. As the younger ones fell asleep, the older cuddled them close, every one pressed against another to share the warmth. Sometime in the night, Pastor Solberg filled the metal pail with snow and let it melt atop the stove so they would have something to drink.

  Never had he spent such a long night. He recited Bible verses to himself, answered questions when one of the children awoke, and dreamed of Mary Martha. What was she doing? When would she come back?

  What if the blizzard lasted longer than a night and a day?

  “I’m really hungry,” a voice spoke, penetrating the stillness.

  Pastor Solberg jerked alert. Day must have come because the room was lighter. The wind howled the same as the children stirred like a pile of puppies coming awake.

  “I know, Joseph. We all are,” he said to the hungry boy.

  “Pa coming soon?” Andrew asked Thorliff.

  “Soon as he can.”

  “I’m cold.”

  “Me too.”

  Solberg eyed the woodpile. Would they have enough to last the day, or would they have to brave the killing cold and wind again?

  Someone started to cry and another hushed the tearful one.

  “All right. Everybody up, and let’s get moving around. We’ll warm up that way. That’s right, swing your arms and stamp your feet. Hamre, do you have your harmonica here?”

  “Ja.”

  “Can you play for us, and we will all dance?”

  “Ja.” He pulled his harmonica from his pocket and blew into it. With his mittened hands, the music hardly came through.

  “Come over close to the stove and have a drink first, that might help.”

  Hamre did as told, and the dance began. Everyone partnered everyone as they whirled and stamped around the room dancing polkas, the Hambro, and the Pols. If someone didn’t know the steps, they skipped and clapped anyway.

  When they tired of that, they gathered around the stove again for more lessons, the older quizzing the younger. Solberg smiled reassuringly whenever someone looked at him with questions or fear in their eyes.

  “Come now,” he said at one point. “Let’s move close together and pray that God will take the blizzard away and keep all of our families safe.”

  The children gathered, snugged as close together as they could.

  “Father God, we know that thou canst see us in spite of the storm. We thank thee for thy protection, that we are safe within this snug school, and that our families are safe in their homes. I thank thee for each child here, that we are all precious in thy sight. Please, we ask thee, calm the storm as thou didst on the Lake of Galilee, that we may return to our homes. In Jesus’ precious name we pray. Amen.”

  “You didn’t ask for food.” Ellie frowned up at him.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right, I didn’t. Would you like to?”

  Ellie folded her mittened hands over each other and scrunched her eyes closed. “God, we didn’t have any supper last night nor breakfast this morning. It must be dinnertime now, don’t you think? Please send us something to eat as soon as y—thou can. Amen.”

  She looked up at Pastor Solberg. “I didn’t say the right words, huh?”

  “Ellie, you said the perfect words. Thank you.”

  They alternated moving around, listening to stories, and reviewing their lessons in the dimness. Time seemed not only to stand still but to trickle backward.

  “Anyone want a drink? I’m going to refill the pail with snow to melt.”

  Several of the children took sips from the dipper and passed it back. The dipper went around again, and Baptiste took the pail and headed for the door. When he cracked it open, the snow was packed solid against the door.

  “Oh, look.” Deborah’s eyes grew round.

  “My pa will bust through that,” Knute Baard announced.

  “Mine too.” Thorliff nodded at the same time.

  Baptiste filled the pail and, with the help of two others, slammed the door shut again and dropped the bar back in place to keep it closed. The bucket rang in the silence when he set it back on the stove.

  “Children, listen!”

  “I don’t hear nothin’.” Toby White shook his head.

  “I know.”

  “The storm is over! The storm is gone!” With shrieks of joy they clapped their mittened hands and jumped up and down.

  “Thank you, God.” Never had Pastor Solberg offered a three-word prayer more heartily.

  “How will they get in?” Thorliff stopped beside the pastor while the others continued their dancing.

  “We will begin digging with sticks of firewood.” He turned to the older girls. “You keep the stove roaring so they can see the chimney smoke in case the whole building is buried.”

  “Really? You think it could be?” Swen went to the door and swung the bar up again. “Where we gonna put all the snow?”

  They took turns digging, piling the snow along one wall and packing it down. Slowly they packed and cleared until they were beyond the doorframe and tunneling on an upward slant. Each time they changed diggers, they packed a step to reach higher.

  “It’s getting brighter.” Swen stood in the tunnel and scraped back the snow to Knute, who scraped it back to Baptiste, where it was picked up by the middle children and carried to the side, where the little ones tramped it down.

  When Swen broke through into the daylight, everyone cheered.

  “Thank thee, Father.”

  The bigger boys pushed back the snow so there was room to crawl out.

  “What do you see?” Solberg stood in the school with the smaller children around him.

  “The church roof and the store. Some of those mounds must be your house and barn. And the sack house.” Swen bent back down to yell inside. “And here come the sleighs.”

  “See, God made the storm stop ’cause you asked.” Ellie clung to his coat. “I bet they brung food too, huh?”

  “Yes, Ellie, I’m sure they did.” Pastor Solberg thought of his horse and cat. Would they still be alive or frozen to death? And what about all the range cattle?

  Pastor Solberg helped each of the children up the packed snow steps and into the waiting arms of their parents. He banked the stove and, stepping into the tunnel, closed the door behind him. He’d come back later and shovel out the snow before the floor turned to mud.

  “Come on, Pastor, we’ll get your house shoveled out before we get on our way, unless you want to come stay at our house,” Haakan offered as he and the other men shook Solberg’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I need to take care of my animals. I’d be mighty grateful if you’d shovel a path to my house, though.”

  “Ja, that we can do,” Haakan replied. “And thank you for taking such good care of the children.”

  “Thank God you are all right.” Joseph Baard hugged Anji and clapped a hand on his boys’ shoulders.

  “Your children are all pretty wonderful,” Pastor Solberg said, waving good-bye as his pupils were tucked in the sleighs under elk robes, quilts, and blankets.

  “We’ll never forgit this, you know,” Joseph declared.

  “Nor I.” Pastor Solberg shook his head.

 
Dear Mary Martha,

  You wouldn’t believe the blizzard we just went through. It hit within minutes and trapped me and the children in the schoolhouse overnight. I couldn’t even go to my house and get blankets or food or anything. We had a short break, and then the storm returned for almost a week. Some are saying it was one of the worst blizzards ever. Farmers lost whole herds of cattle, and people were taking to burning furniture to stay alive. All of us here in Blessing came through relatively unscathed.

  But life is hard here in our little town right now. I believe we are all still sorrowing over little Anna’s death and that of an older man who lived south of here. While death is always sorrowful for those left behind, Mr. Henderson had lived a long and full life, nothing like the snuffing out of our young candle. I know that our heavenly Father is doing what He thinks best, but sometimes we struggle with accepting His will. When Mrs. Helmsrude asked me why Anna died, what could I say?

  I’m sorry to sound so down in the dumps, because I am really rejoicing that we lived through the night without anyone getting frostbite or starving to death, although I know that wouldn’t happen so suddenly. I am thankful that none of the families tried to come get their children until the blizzard cleared, for they could have been lost forever.

  Kaaren is almost ready to begin teaching signing here at the school, but we will wait until the weather lets up some.

  I trust that your mother is improving. Have you thought of bringing her here to Blessing?

  I remain faithfully

  your friend,

  John

  Springfield

  Dear John,

  I was so glad to hear from you. When I think of Anna not being there in school, the tears begin to flow all over again. How I ache for her poor mother and father.

  It is hard for me to believe that a snowstorm can be so vicious as to keep you at the school. Thanks be to our God that you are all safe.

  You didn’t mention Katy, and Zeb never writes. How is she? Tell my brother that his mother would feel much better if she knew how he was. How are the Bjorklunds? How are the twins doing in learning their sign language? I have so many questions, please forgive me.