Skip to main content

Excerpt

Excerpt

To Everything a Season: Song of Blessing, Book 1

Chapter 1

Blessing, North Dakota
May 1905

"I fear something is seriously wrong.”

Dr. Astrid Bjorklund Jeffers stared at her mother. Mor never said things like this. She always said God was in control and He knew best. Astrid forced herself to step out of her daughter role and into her doctor role. Forced, because raging through her mind was Far, my far. What is happening to you? “Mor, can you tell me what you see that is different?”

Sitting in her rocking chair, her hands quiet in her lap, something so rare that Astrid caught that too, Ingeborg let the song of the rockers fill the quiet room. She slowly wagged her head. “There is nothing specific, like his speech or the shaking. Just a sense I have. One cannot be married for all these years and not sense when something is changing or amiss.”

Astrid heaved a sigh, remembering the stroke Far had suffered two years ago. As far as she could tell, he had recovered completely, other than getting tired more easily, but then, he was getting older too. Someone else had mentioned one day after church that Haakan had aged in the last couple of years. But wasn’t that to be expected? He worked hard, and always had. Farmers did that. Norwegian farmers maybe even more so. The farm was his life. It provided for them, and he believed God gave them the land to husband and make flourish. Mentally she catalogued the scenes she remembered from the other episode, searching for more knowledge.

“He will resent it if I ask him to see me or Elizabeth for a checkup.”

Ingeborg nodded. “He is a man, after all.”

“And I am his daughter and Elizabeth his daughter-in-law. Women always see male doctors without qualms, but the reverse . . .” She shook her head, sharing a smile with her mor.

“He respects what you do and admires you for it.”

“I know, but letting me help him is something else.” Even though both daughter and daughter-in-law were fully accredited physicians, she and Elizabeth still fought the stigma of being women in a man’s field. Astrid tucked a strand of aged-honey hair back in the chignon she wore at the base of her head. She’d never gotten into the habit of wearing braids pinned into a coronet like her mother wore.

“I know I must turn this over to God and not fret.” Mor stared out the window to the burgeoning greens of spring. Sparrows argued in the branches of the cottonwood tree she had planted at the corner of the house so many years ago. The liquid notes of a meadowlark out in the field floated through the open window. A cow bellowed, adding to the chorus that sang of new life after the long, hard winter. “In my reading this morning, Paul says, ‘Be anxious for nothing.’ Such an easy thing to read and yet so hard at times.”

“After all these years, I would hope it has become easier.” If it hasn’t for you, my dear mor who walks so closely with our Lord, how can there be hope for the rest of us?

Mor’s voice was soft, sad. “Ja, until it concerns your husband or your children. To not fret or be anxious takes more trust. God keeps giving me lessons in trusting Him, and about the time I think I understand it, something new comes up. . . .” She sighed. “Easy to do for myself and for all the others around me, but not when it comes to Haakan.”

Astrid turned at the sound of a harness jingling. Surely it wasn’t time for dinner already. She glanced at their carved walnut clock. The oak box on the wall, with the mouthpiece in black and the receiver on the hook at the side, started its call to attention. One, two, three rings. The call for Tante Kaaren over at the deaf school.

“Answer that, will you?” came from the front porch.

Astrid stood and hustled to pick it up. “Yes?”

“Oh, it’s you, Astrid. This is for Kaaren.”

“I know. She’s just coming in the door. Please hold for a second.” She held the receiver out to her tante Kaaren, whose once-golden hair was silvering even more than Ingeborg’s.

When Kaaren took the receiver with a smile, Astrid headed for the shiny black cookstove with polished chrome trim and pulled the coffeepot closer to the heat. Lifting the front lid, she inserted a couple of sticks of firewood from the woodbox, grateful that someone had refilled it since early morning. Adjusting the damper, she moved the coffeepot all the way to the hottest section.

“The ginger cookies are in the cookie jar, and we have some corn bread left from last night that we can pour syrup over if you want.” The creak of the rocking chair announced that Mor was on her way to the kitchen.

Kaaren replaced the earpiece in its metal hook and turned to Astrid with a smile. “What a treat to find you here. I’m on my way to town and wondered if you want anything at the store.” She smiled at Mor, who was retying her apron as she came under the arch from the parlor to the kitchen.

“Let me think. You will stay for coffee?”

“Ja, especially since you said corn bread and syrup. I’ve not made corn bread lately. No idea why.” She nodded to the telephone. “The last of the students just got on the train.” She heaved a sigh. “Another year done.”

Kaaren Knutson had started the Blessing School for the Deaf years earlier after she’d learned sign language to help her daughter Grace, who was born deaf. Since then the school had become so well-known, they had to turn students away for lack of housing.

The lack of housing in town was becoming more and more of a problem, for Blessing was growing from a farmers’ village into a real town, thanks to the hospital, the flour mill, Ingeborg’s cheese house, and various other businesses. All were supported by the farms in the Red River Valley, an expanse so flat that wagons never even needed brakes.

“You sit down, Mor, and let me serve you for a change.” Astrid smiled at her mother.

Mor rolled her eyes but joined Kaaren at the well-worn kitchen table.

While the coffee was heating, Astrid dipped some hot water from the reservoir into a bowl and set the syrup pitcher in it to warm, slid the pan of corn bread into the oven, and after arranging some cookies on a plate, brought that to the table.

“Use the flowered plates, if you will.”

“Oh, we are having a party?” Astrid put the plain white plates back in the cupboard and fetched the hand-painted dishes from the glass-fronted china cabinet that her father had made for her mother last Christmas.

“Of course, to celebrate another year of Kaaren’s school and anything else we can think of to celebrate.” Ingeborg patted Kaaren’s hand on the table. “Whoever would have dreamed of all the changes that are going on. So many people blessed by coming to Blessing.”

“We named our town well.” The two women shared a memory look of all those years ago when the folks had voted on a name for their town. The men had suggested various names, but when Pastor Solberg decreed, much to the dismay of the males, that the women could indeed vote, the name Blessing carried. Women were still allowed to vote in church matters, but like women everywhere, they were not permitted to vote in general elections, including school elections.

When all was set on the table, Mor took their hands and bowed her head. “Thank you, Lord, for this day and these treasured moments with my sister and daughter. Amen.”

Astrid cut into her piece of corn bread smothered in syrup and smiled around the treat. “I’ve not made this for Daniel yet. I wonder if he will appreciate it like we do.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Kaaren said after wiping a spot of syrup from her mouth with one of the embroidered napkins Astrid had set at the places. “Although how you find time to do any cooking, what with the hospital and your medical practice, I’ll never know.”

“Same as you two always have—Mor with the cheese house, and you with a school full of students who board there. Deaf students, no less.”

“Well, we certainly do not have a noise problem.” They paused as the telephone started to ring again and they counted the rings of the party line. Four rings meant the call was for Penny Bjorklund at the mercantile.

Kaaren paused a moment, looking daydreamy as she savored the corn bread. “I know I could call my order in and Penny would have it ready when I get there, but somehow that seems rude.”

Astrid shook her head. “It certainly is convenient.” Ever since she and Daniel had moved into their own house, the men having finished the interior during the winter, she’d been juggling the demanding tasks of creating a home while running the hospital and going out to birth babies. It seemed that every young pregnant woman in the area had either delivered already or would be soon. She and Elizabeth took turns with the deliveries, with only two having complications enough to use the hospital. Due to all that, she’d taken advantage of the new service Penny had dreamed up—her helpers brought the orders out to the customers. The service was working so well that the Garrisons, who owned the grocery store, were teaming up with Penny.

Mor set her cup back down. “I’ve been thinking of something.”

“Uh-oh.” Kaaren grinned at Astrid. “Now we’re in trouble.”

“Oh, you.” Ingeborg waved off her comment. “Andrew thinks this is a good idea too.”

“What about Far?”

A shadow passed over Ingeborg’s face. “That’s one of the strange things. He has come up with all kinds of objections.”

Astrid leaned forward on her elbows. “That’s not like Far.” Usually her father encouraged new ideas, no matter who they came from, but especially if his beloved came up with the idea.

“I know.”

Mor moved her spoon around, then glanced from Astrid to Kaaren. “My idea is to provide milk service to the people in town that do not own a cow. We could bottle it here, or probably at Andrew’s, and deliver once or twice a week. I would be sure to leave plenty of milk for the cheese house and yet help some of those struggling to create a home. I thought of having them come here to pick it up, but delivery seems like a good idea. I know they do things like this in the cities, even in Grand Forks. It’s something to think about.”

Astrid could only shake her head. Leave it to her mother to come up with another brilliant idea.

The phone rang again, this time for her. “I’m here, Gerald. What is it? Tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can get there. Thank you.” She turned to the others. “Tante Kaaren, can you give me a ride to town? Gerald says the baby that has dawdled so long has decided to come, and fast.”

Kaaren and Astrid were out the door, Kaaren’s thank-you sailing over her shoulder.

“I’ll call my order in,” Ingeborg called from the door as both Astrid and Kaaren climbed up into the buggy.

Turning the buggy, Kaaren set the horse to a fast trot, kicking up twin spirals of dust down the lane. “Do you anticipate trouble?”

“No. Most likely, she won’t even really need me, but better safe than sorry.”

Kaaren glanced down at the black bag at their feet. “You carried that out to Ingeborg’s?”

“It’s not heavy—well, not much anyway. Guess I never go anywhere without it.”

Kaaren wagged her head, but she was grinning. “Astrid, you are hopeless.”

Ingeborg plopped down on the settee on the porch and watched the women go until the buggy was nothing more than a small hazy dust cloud beyond the trees. And who was this coming? She recognized the bonnet immediately—Grace. And the child’s face looked disturbed. Child? No. A bride to be, no longer a child.

Ingeborg sighed. She and Haakan were getting old, but somehow she avoided thinking about that. For sure, she still felt as though she were thirty. But here were grandchildren, nieces and nephews, even grandnieces and grandnephews, Grace among them, and still she did not really feel old.

Grace trotted up onto the porch and sat down on the settee at Ingeborg’s invitation.

“Tante Ingeborg, I . . . I . . .” Grace looked to be squeezing the life from her hands.

Ingeborg took the hands of this young woman beside her and signed I love you into her palm. “All will be well.”

All is well already, dear child, Ingeborg thought. What a wonder this young woman was. Grace, deaf since birth, was already a well-known teacher of sign language, and thanks to her mother, she had learned to speak with words as well. It was exactly like knowing two languages. Kaaren had learned to sign so she could help her daughter, and thus was born the Blessing School for the Deaf.

Grace clung to Ingeborg’s hands and spoke in her monotone, halting way. “You always say that.”

“I know, because it is true. Our Father has proven himself over and over all our lives. I remember when you were born—Sophie first and then you. Sophie was such a squally, noisy baby, and you were so quiet. When we learned you couldn’t hear, your mor and I prayed so hard that you would be healed. But God didn’t see it that way. And now look how He has blessed so many people through you and your mother!”

Grace leaned her head briefly against her aunt’s shoulder. “I am so thankful for you, Tante Ingeborg.”

“I will guess here about what’s bothering you. You are troubled about your wedding. Uncertain.”

“Uncertain. Exactly. Ja, and troubled.”

Ingeborg continued to stroke Grace’s hands, but was careful to make sure Grace could see her mouth to be able to read her lips. That was another skill Grace had perfected through the years. “You need not doubt your decision to marry Jonathan. I assure you, having the jitters is very normal. Almost everyone gets them.”

Grace forced a smile that wasn’t really there. “I was ready. But his mother . . .” She sighed.

That was certainly understandable. His mother, who never did like Grace, had done all she could to forestall the wedding and had succeeded in delaying it.

“You have worked so hard, Grace, and done so well. You can do this too. And possibly win her over. In any case, you have won Jonathan. And what does Jonathan want?”

“To be married as soon and as easily as possible. He wants to come here immediately after his graduation and get married that very weekend. Then he plans to farm with my father and Onkel Haakan.”

Ingeborg nodded. “We all want that too. When will Jonathan’s family be here?”

“They’ll be coming for his graduation but plan to stay in Fargo until the day before the wedding on the following Saturday. We will leave for our honeymoon on Sunday. His mother is not happy that I refused to be married in New York. Jonathan did not want to be married in New York either, but she . . .” Grace shrugged and tipped her head to the side. “As you said, all will be well.”

“Ja, it will be.”

“We will go to New York after the wedding for some celebrations with Jonathan’s family and friends. But I think Mrs. Gould is also angry because we declined her offer for a wedding trip to Europe. We asked, instead, if they would put the money into the building fund for the addition to the deaf school instead.”

Ingeborg had heard all this from Kaaren, but that didn’t dim her delight in Grace telling her. Knowing what little she knew of Jonathan’s mother, Ingeborg had a pretty fair idea of where Grace fit or didn’t fit in with the family. But her own memories of Jonathan’s father, the man Ingeborg had met as a new immigrant in New York City, were always treasured in her heart. He had remained a friend all these years. So many years since he had come west, and now he was coming for a wedding of which she was sure his wife did not approve. Life takes strange turns.

Ingeborg had another thought. “Tell me, Grace, are you afraid a child of yours might be deaf? Cannot hear, like you?”

“Ja, sometimes. In the middle of the night if I cannot sleep.”

“I have read what I could find about this, and there is no evidence that will always happen. But our God is in charge. Never forget that. And your family is here to gather around you.”

Their silence stretched before Grace answered. “I am glad I do not have to live in New York.” She fluttered a little wave and stood up, so Ingeborg stood also. Together they walked down the steps and out the lane to the path leading across the small field to the deaf school. The men had built stiles across the fences to make it easier for the visitors, and now that they no longer kept the bull in that pasture, the path was used often.

“Soon the wedding will be here, and you and Jonathan can get settled. And honeymoon, of course.” Ingeborg hugged Grace again. “Now, is there anything that I can do for you?”

“Just pray for us and come to the ceremony. I want to keep this as simple as possible.”

“Of course I will!”

Grace heaved a sigh and gave a little wave. “Takk. Tusen takk.”

 

Two hours later, Astrid walked back to the surgery, a two-story residence with gables and gingerbread that housed not only the doctors’ office and examining rooms but also Thorliff, Elizabeth, and five-year-old Inga. The two doctors had talked of moving to the hospital but so far hadn’t made the effort. Besides, they needed the rooms there more for hospital staff and training. Astrid had checked on their six patients at the hospital earlier in the morning.

“My, that was quick,” Elizabeth said when Astrid joined her on the back porch.

“The mother was right. That baby boy was not wasting any more time. He came in a rush, and I’m sure I heard him hollering before he emerged. Mother and baby are doing fine. I was mostly a spectator.” Astrid smiled up at Thelma, Elizabeth’s housekeeper, cook, and whatever else she needed to be. “Ja, I would love a cup of coffee, and no, I’ve not had dinner.”

Thelma believed her main mission in life was to take care of her two doctors, along with all the other things she accomplished. Both doctors had given up on trying to keep up with Thelma, a wiry, whirling wonder of doing and caring with no thought for herself. Even her hair could not keep up with her. Instead of a sedate bun, it flew in all directions, causing her to threaten it with scissors on a daily basis.

By the time Astrid had given the briefest report on their patients, Thelma had set a bowl of thick chicken-and-dumpling soup in front of her, as well as a steaming cup of coffee and fresh muffins, butter, and jam alongside. Just the way Astrid liked it.

“Mange takk.”

“Anything else?” Thelma also conserved words like water in a drought.

“I think not. You could bring a cup of coffee out here and sit with us.”

The look made Astrid and Elizabeth roll their eyes and share a smile. “I’ll keep trying,” Astrid called toward the slamming screen door. The first spoon of the meal-in-a-bowl made her sigh with pleasure, a normal reaction to Thelma’s cooking.

Elizabeth blew on her spoonful of soup. “We have no patients scheduled for this afternoon, so I suggest you go home, not back to the hospital, at least not yet, and—”

“I guess I can write letters to Chicago from home as well as here or at the hospital.”

“I was going to say to take the rest of the afternoon off.”

Astrid looked up from her dinner. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“I took time off to go visit Mor.”

Elizabeth started to say something, then stared at Astrid. “Something about that visit is bothering you.”

“You are too perceptive for your own good.” Astrid went on to describe her mother’s concern for Haakan. “She can’t put a finger on it either, but you and I have both noticed something is different. What do you see?”

“He’s been somewhat withdrawn at church. Talking with the men some but more listening.”

“Or just being there. Is he listening or . . . ?”

“How should I know? I’m not part of that circle.” Elizabeth put her feet up on the hassock.

“I shall ask Thorliff.”

“Or Daniel. He’s pretty observant, and Haakan is not his father. That makes a difference. Also Reverend Solberg. But what can we do anyway?”

“Knowledge is our first line of defense.” Astrid sipped her coffee, elbows propped on the round table. “I’ve been wracking my brain to pinpoint when the change began, what might have precipitated it.”

“He never returned to full robustness after his stroke. No matter how he’s tried to think so. Men can be so stubborn.”

“I take offense at that comment.” Thorliff, husband to Elizabeth, Astrid’s brother, and the eldest of the Bjorklund children, did not take the three steps as one, like usual.

“The newspaper is finished.” Astrid stated more than asked.

“Yes, thank goodness.” He sank down on the chair across the table from Astrid and reached for his wife’s hand. “Good to see you out here.”

“I know. This is the first day really warm enough to enjoy being outside.” An argument started in the tree that hovered over the porch roof and ended when one bird flew off. The cat settled back in her basket and Inga’s dog, Scooter, laid his head back on his front paws after greeting Thorliff.

Thelma brought the coffeepot out, poured a cup for him, and refilled Astrid’s cup. “Soup or sandwich?” she asked.

“Soup is faster.”

Elizabeth’s brows arched. “And what is the hurry after finishing the paper? A brief rest would not be amiss.”

Thorliff half smiled. “I need to check on the crews.”

“Your foremen have all quit?” That arched eyebrow took the slight sting from her words.

Astrid rolled her lips together. Yes, Thorliff was working long and hard hours, but that seemed to be a family trait from both sides of the family. Andrew too. Work hard and long but live the pace of the land.

The jangle of the phone and two rings brought Astrid to her feet.

“You are wanted at the schoolhouse,” Thelma told her a moment later. “Something has happened.”

“Did they say what for?” she asked as she grabbed her black bag.

Thelma shook her head. “You need a bicycle.”

“Good idea.” Astrid knew she could walk there faster than she could hitch up a horse. “Call Mor and ask her to start praying.”

“She always starts to pray when our telephones ring,” Thorliff called as, with one hand clapped on her straw hat to keep it from flying off, Astrid jogged away toward the schoolhouse on the other side of town.

Chapter 2

Inga fell out of the tree!” shouted one of the older boys, running to meet her.

“Is she bleeding?” Astrid kept up her jog, more a running walk.

The boy took her bag and kept pace. “No. Mr. Nyquist said she had to lay still. I mean, lie still.”

“Good. Thank you. Is school out yet?”

“No, ma’am. Final recess.”

Astrid could see a circle of children under a cottonwood tree and the teacher ordering them all back into the schoolhouse. They stepped back when she set her bag down beside her niece, whose head was cradled in Emmy’s lap. Inga and the little Indian girl were inseparable. “What were you doing up in the tree?” Astrid knew there would be a good story behind all this, while at the same time she knew instantly what was wrong. Inga’s right arm was already swelling midway between wrist and elbow.

“Melissa’s kitty was up there, and none of the boys would go get it down, so I did. And she scratched me and bit me and I sort of dropped her, and we both fell out of the tree. I was almost down, but I slipped and fell.” Her sniff indicated how hard she was fighting against crying. Tear traces said she’d lost the battle earlier.

“Do you hurt anywhere other than your arm?” While questioning the girl, Astrid felt the back of her head and checked her eyes and extremities.

“I scraped my leg some.” She held up her other arm. “And here.”

Astrid glanced up to see that the other children had obeyed the teacher and returned to their classroom, other than one of the older girls, who waited to help if need be. “Linnea, will you please go call Dr. Bjorklund’s house and tell them we need a wagon or buggy here to take Inga to the office? Emmy, you stay here with us.”

“My arm hurts bad, Tante Astrid.”

“I know it does. I’m going to wrap it so it won’t hurt so bad.” While she talked, Astrid removed a dish-towel-sized piece of sheeting from her bag and folded it into a triangle. She slipped it under the arm as gently as possible, but even so, Inga whimpered. “I’m sorry, Inga. Be brave.” Helping her sit up, Astrid tied the sling around the back of her neck. “Now, you don’t move it. All right?”

After a major sniff and clearing possible tears with the fingers on her other hand, Inga whispered, “Ma is going to be mad at me.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I climbed up in the tree. I did that at home, and she was really mad. She said girls do not climb trees. Tante Astrid, if I can’t do so many things, why do I have to be a girl? Boys can do anything.”

Astrid concentrated on putting things back in her bag. How do I answer that one?

“Huh?” Inga pressed.

“Well, I asked my mor the same thing a long time ago, and she said someday I would understand.”

“Do you?”

Be honest. “Yes and no. Girls aren’t supposed to be doctors either, but—”

“But both you and ma are.”

“I know, but it has not been easy.” She sat down, putting one arm around Inga and drawing Emmy close with the other. “Mor said that God made me to be a girl for a reason, and that He always knows best.”

“Bestamor is really smart.”

“She is the wisest person I know, and she listens to what God has to say.”

“God talks to her?”

“He talks to all of us. Only we don’t always know how to hear Him. She does.” The jingle of a harness made her look up. Thorliff and Elizabeth were both in the approaching buggy. Thorliff called “Whoa” to the single horse and stepped down to help his wife alight.

Inga leaned into Astrid, her sturdy little body shaking. A whimper slid out between her tightly clenched teeth.

“I’m sure it’s just a broken arm. It feels like a greenstick fracture,” Astrid said in place of a greeting. “She’s being very brave.”

“You sure that is all?” Elizabeth asked as she rushed to kneel down by Astrid. “You fell out of the tree?”

“The kitty bit and scratched me and I dropped her. Then I fell and the kitty ran away, and . . . and I didn’t mean to fall.”

“Of course. People who climb trees never mean to fall, but if you had not climbed the tree, you wouldn’t have broken your arm.”

“But no one else would get it down, and she was mewing and crying and . . .”

Thorliff knelt beside his daughter and scooped her up in his arms. “Let’s get you home so we can take care of that arm.” Standing, he headed for the buggy. “Astrid, you get in back and I’ll hand her in to you. Elizabeth, you take the front again. Emmy, you can ride in back too.”

Once they were all situated, Elizabeth turned and reached over the seat back for her daughter’s hand. “Looks like you got scraped some too.”

“There’s blood in my shoe. It ran down my leg, but it stopped.”

“That Oscar!” Emmy snarled. “He dared Inga to climb the tree, but he was too scared to do it himself.”

“Emmy,” Inga whispered in warning.

“Did your teacher know you climbed the tree?”

Inga stared at her mother. “He did when I fell out. Someone ran and told him. He said I would have to stay after school when I got better, and I couldn’t go on recess forever.”

“Serves you right.” Thorliff clucked the horse to a trot.

“Pa.”

“Well, you disobeyed the rules.”

“There wasn’t a rule! Teacher never said I could not climb the tree. The boys climb the tree.”

Astrid kept her chuckle to herself. Inga was too smart for her own good, an old saying of her mother’s. The buggy hit a bump and Inga yelped.

Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “We’ll splint it and it won’t hurt like that.” Astrid could see that Elizabeth had slipped from mother to doctor role now that she knew the accident wasn’t so terrible.

Splinting the arm went quickly, although the shortest piece in their supply of wooden slats was still a bit too long. They left Emmy sitting in the chair beside Inga to watch over her, even though Inga had slipped into a sound sleep from the pain medication Astrid supplied. The three adults gathered on the back porch.

“She will heal just fine,” Astrid reminded her sister-in-law.

Thorliff grimaced. “Knowing Inga, this probably won’t be the last injury she has. In fact, we are probably lucky she’s not done something like this before.” He picked up the paper and showed them the headline. The large type screamed out at them BANK ROBBED IN GRAFTON. “Came in on the telegraph just before I printed the front page. I redid it to include the story. At least no one was injured, other than pride and feelings.”

Astrid scanned the story. “But the robbers got away.”

“I doubt they’ll get far. The sheriff there took a posse after them. Almost like old times with bank robberies and chasing crooks on horseback. The Old West.” Thorliff tapped the story with his finger. “Sure made me question what we would do if something like that happened here. We have no law enforcement of any kind. Someone would have to come from Grafton or Grand Forks.” He studied the paper, head nodding
slightly.

Astrid smiled up at Thelma, who arrived with the coffeepot without being asked.

“Inga is sleeping fine,” Thelma announced. “The cookies will be out of the oven in a few minutes. We must not forget to take some in to Emmy.” She turned to Thorliff. “Will there be anyone else for supper tonight?”

He looked up at her. “Not that I know of, but I have a meeting with the crew in a few minutes. It shouldn’t go late.”

“Are you meeting here?”

“At my office.”

“I will bring the coffee and cookies over in half an hour or so.”

“Takk.” He grinned at her, shaking his head. “You spoil us horribly, you know.”

A slight tip of her head was her only response as Thelma returned to the kitchen.

Astrid, coffee cup in both hands, sat back against the padded chair. “Nothing like a little excitement to get our hearts pumping. I need to walk like that more often. Taking a buggy makes me lazy.”

“I’m thinking of buying a motor car. A Duryea, maybe, or an Olds.” Thorliff dropped that bomb in the conversation and watched from under his brows for his wife’s reaction.

Elizabeth left her note taking and picked up her coffee cup, well laced with cream, as she liked it. “Should I say something like ‘over my dead body’ or would you prefer that I ignore you?” The twinkle in her eyes mitigated the bite of the words.

“You and Astrid could use it to get to your patients more quickly.”

“Don’t get me involved. I already told Daniel my views on the subject. Horses are far more dependable at this point. Especially in emergencies.” Astrid gave her brother a patient-sister look. “Remember when Hjelmer brought that monstrosity to town? Scared most of the horses into straight-out flight and then ran into the boardwalk. Nearly took out a citizen
or two.”

“They have improved the automobiles greatly since then. You’ll find lots of them in the cities, even in Grand Forks.”

“Fine, but there are suitable roads there. Not here.”

Thelma appeared and clunked a plate of frosted chocolate cookies down on the table. “Those newfangled machines are a waste of time and money.”

“It’s good of you all to support progress. Whatever happened to the man makes the decisions like this?” He stuffed a whole cookie into his mouth.

Three snorts were his only answer.

“Hey, how’s your little one?” Daniel Jeffers pushed open the gate and climbed the steps.

“Word does get around. She is sleeping, due to the pain meds,” Elizabeth answered. “Broken arm is all, and she is disgusted that she will have to miss recess and stay after school. Teacher’s edict.”

“Well, it’s only a week until school is out anyway.” Daniel took a cookie from the plate offered.

The smile he sent his wife made her heart skip. Had anyone told her love could be like this, she’d have scoffed. Astrid moved over on the settee and motioned for Daniel to join her. “I’ll be home after I do evening rounds.”

“Mother sent me to tell you she has supper all prepared.” Daniel had brought his mother to Blessing after his father died, and they had lived at Sophie’s boardinghouse until their house was ready.

“She didn’t have to do that.”

“You know that and I know that, but we also know how much pressure her help takes off you. And”—he reached for another cookie—“Thelma ought to go into the cookie-making business, like Ingeborg could supply us all with bread and cheese.”

“And what?”

“Oh, you know how much she needs to be needed. She can’t sit still any more than you can.”

“Humph” came from the kitchen, making them all share smiles. There were no secrets in the Bjorklund households.

“Here comes Hjelmer. We better get at it. Toby and Joshua should be along any minute.” Thorliff stood and stretched. “I’ll really appreciate bed tonight. You’d think with all the new equipment I have, getting the paper out wouldn’t be so wearing.”

“You’re not as young as you used to be either. Besides, you put out more papers now that Blessing has grown so.” Elizabeth laid down her paper and pencil as Thorliff went down the walk. “If you’d like, Astrid, I could do rounds this evening. You did them this morning.”

“You could, but I will.” She thought a moment, then waved at Hjelmer’s greeting as he passed. Hjelmer Bjorklund might be her uncle, but he was not all that much older than Thorliff—fifteen years? Something like that. And yet Thorliff seemed so much wiser. “I think we can discharge Mr. Morris in the morning. He has found someone to come in and help him.”

“He can walk well with the crutches now?”

“I’ll have him walk again tonight. The stump has healed well enough now that infection is no longer a problem. I wish we could find someone who would carve him a prosthesis. Maybe Far could carve something like that. I should ask him.”

Elizabeth nodded. “You know, one of the immigrants—oh, I can’t think of his name. I’ll ask Thorliff. I heard he is a master carver. Better not to put more pressure on Haakan at the moment. They’re out seeding anyway.”

“True, but they’re nearly finished. With the early spring, they were able to get out in the fields faster.” Astrid stood. “I’ll check on Inga and take some cookies to Emmy. Do you want her to stay here tonight?”

“That is a good idea. Takk. I’ll take the calls tonight and do rounds in the morning.”

“Do you realize how blessed we are to have telephones now? If you are in the middle of a birthing, you can call me and make new arrangements.” She put several cookies on a napkin. “Thanks for the ideas.”

After collecting a glass of milk and a plate from Thelma, Astrid took the treats down the hall to the bedroom that was still set up for patients to stay if needed. The family bedrooms were on the second floor, up the curved and carved oak stairway.

“I brought you something.” She smiled at Emmy, who was taking her assignment even more seriously than usual, and set the plate with glass and cookies on the bedside table. “Has she stirred at all?”

“Her eyes moved, but she didn’t wake up.”

“Good. That means she is not in pain enough to waken. Broken bones can hurt really bad.”

“Can she go to school tomorrow?”

“I don’t know yet. Would you like to stay here tonight?”

“And take care of Inga?”

“Ja.”

“I will. You call Grandma?”

“Dr. Elizabeth will. I’m on my way to the hospital. Do you need anything from home?” When Emmy shook her head, Astrid headed for the door. “Enjoy the cookies. There are plenty more when Inga wakes up.” She knew Emmy had a habit of saving food, which was not surprising, considering what her life was like before Haakan found the little girl sleeping in the haymow where her uncle had left her, hoping they would take her in. Last summer the uncle came for her but brought her back in the fall in time for school. Astrid was pretty sure it would be the same this year, if the old man was still alive.

On a whim, she stopped by Thorliff’s office, where a discussion was going on.

“Come on in,” Thorliff called. “What can we do for you?”

“Can you give me the name of that immigrant who is such a good wood carver? I want to ask him to carve Mr. Morris a comfortable prosthesis. The ones in the catalogue can be used as a pattern.”

“Ah, that would be Andrei Belin, the Russian. Thanks to Daniel’s mother, you can communicate with him somewhat. He’s on the crew adding to the boardinghouse.” Thorliff glanced at Toby Valders for confirmation. “What kind of wood do you think?”

Astrid shrugged. “Oak or walnut probably. Something tough. Check with Far. He has some large enough pieces stored in the machine shed, I think.”

“If he can do it out of one piece, it would be stronger.”

“Mange takk. I knew you gentlemen would have the answers for me.” Astrid waved good-bye and set off up the block to the boardinghouse, owned by her cousin Sophie. How does one explain a need like this to a man who doesn’t have a good grasp of the English language? Maybe instead of asking him, first she should talk it over with her mother-in-law, who was the man’s instructor. One more day surely would not make a big difference. Hospital first, then home.

Since she didn’t have to make supper, Astrid settled into the office at the hospital. She would write the letter she’d planned on getting to for the last three days, her response to the supervising nurse at the Chicago hospital.

Dear Mrs. Korsheski,

Thank you for your letter of April 30, inquiring about when we will be ready for the first of the student nurses. You said that you would have three young women to send to us in August, and I believe that is a very workable plan. There is also the possibility that Dr. Red Hawk will be sending two students from the reservation. As I mentioned in the past, housing is a problem here in Blessing. I am not complaining about the exciting growth going on here, but housing remains a challenge.

Our medical program is growing, as Dr. Deming, an accredited dentist, has opened his office in the north wing of the hospital building, where our classroom is and future other offices will be located. As my brother Thorliff has pointed out, we should have designed a larger building.

I appreciate your offer to provide specialty teachers for the nurses on a rotating basis. When we dreamed of a hospital, the teaching side of medical care was not in our hopes and plans. But nurses are so needed in less populated areas, as are doctors, as you well know, and we are delighted to be able to provide training for medical persons in rural circumstances.

We are honored by your trust in us to help prepare for the future.

Sincerely,
Dr. Astrid Bjorklund Jeffers

Astrid reread the letter, sealed and addressed the envelope, and placed it in the mail basket. One more thing to cross off her list. Taking up the charts of her patients, she headed for the nurses’ station to start there.

“Dr. Bjorklund, I fear we have a situation developing with Mr. Lyme. He refused to eat his evening meal. Even his daughter cannot get him to eat. What else can we do?”

Astrid wished she had some other advice to offer. No one would be happy with what she wanted to say.

But she would say what must be said. Since when had she not said what she felt she should?

Ever since her dear father took up his stubborn fight against age and disability. And she had no idea how to deal with that.

Chapter 3

Artesian?”

“Perhaps.” Trygve Knutson nodded as he watched the windmill blades turning in the west wind. “We sure didn’t have to go down far.” They had dug this well in a damp spot that sported one cattail plant and a clump of water grass.

“I tried digging there, but it kept caving in so I filled it back in.” The farmer rocked back on his heels, took off his hat, and swiped his hand across the top of a shiny dome. “Water right here for the asking. Missus won’t need to spare every drop, and I won’t have to haul barrels from the river. Lord be praised.” He stared up at the spinning blades with a tail that pointed west. “Maybe we’re gonna make it here after all.”

“Pa, can I pump it?” His younger son was jigging in place with excitement.

“You don’t have to. See that tank filling? When the wind is blowing, the water will pump itself.”

The line of cows watching from behind the fence shoved and shifted around the gate, several announcing their displeasure at being kept from the water. Their plaintive moos and bellows floated on the wind.

Trygve studied the motion of the rotors to make sure all the mechanics were properly placed. Gilbert Brunderson and Gus Baard were loading their tools and gear back onto the wagons they traveled with—one covered, with stove and bunk beds for their living quarters, the other a buckboard they used to pick up the ironwork and other supplies at the nearest railroad drop.

“One more thing, Mr. Knutson. How about you show me how to grease this?”

“Good, because if you don’t keep those gears greased, this’ll freeze up on you faster than you can milk a cow.”

“Let me, Pa.” The oldest son, who’d been working right along with them since they’d unloaded the wagon, offered and, without waiting for a response, scampered up the ladder.

Trygve smiled. “You have a fine son there, sir. If he ever wants a job, I’d hire him.”

“I was beginning to think we were all going to be looking for jobs, along with a new place to live.” The man laid a hand on his younger son’s shoulder. “You go over and let those cows out before they tear down the fence.”

Trygve kept his eye on the young man on the platform greasing the gears. He learned quickly, seemed to have a natural bent for machines. “Good job. Just make sure that grease pot is always supplied.”

The clanging of the dinner bell caught their attention.

“The missus has dinner ready. We want you leaving on full stomachs.”

“We appreciate that, sir. Your wife is a good cook.”

That hadn’t been the case at the last place they’d been to. The three men had taken turns with the cooking after just one meal at that farmhouse. It had been the fastest setup they’d done. Anything to get out of there.

The farmer clapped him on the shoulder. “That boss of yours owes you a bonus for the fine job you do. Missus will pack you food for tonight too. You know you’re welcome to stay on and leave in the morning.”

“Thank you, but we have one more well to drill before heading back to Blessing. Be good to get home.” Even though they’d only been on the road since the ground thawed, Trygve was ready for a break.

Onkel Hjelmer kept them plenty busy. This was Trygve’s second season drilling wells and building windmills. While he got great satisfaction out of seeing those blades begin to turn and the water flow, he felt an urge to get home. Last year he had looked forward to new horizons, new people, and new challenges to face, but this year . . . So far they had had only one dry well. It was a good thing Hjelmer did not guarantee water.

They arrived at the next farm at dusk, introduced themselves, and after supper around a campfire, fell into their beds in the wagon. The woman at the other farm had provided them well with food.

In the morning, even before the sun burst over the horizon, Trygve was out walking the land. This farmer claimed he had paid someone to witch the farm. Trygve had never taken much stock in water witching. A fellow who claims to be able to identify the best location for a well walks about gripping a forked branch, and the branch points him to water? Maybe. Trygve trusted his own ability to read the land more than a hazel stick.

Where the witcher had driven a stake, Trygve saw nothing that indicated water below. But toward the east, he found a tree that had been struck by lightning. A new shoot had sprouted from the burnt stump, green against the black. He nodded and surveyed the land around it. This tree could only have grown this large right here because it tapped water. He stared back toward the house and barn. Not close.

The owner had assured him that the man said that where he had pounded in the stake was the best place to dig the well.

Trygve could hear Onkel Hjelmer reminding him that it was his job to dig wherever the farmer said, not to argue. But he’d dug enough wells now that he had a sense when one might be easy or not. He had a feeling this was going to fall in the not category.

Back at the barn, the farmer was watching him. “Whatcha doing out there?”

“Just checking the area.” Trygve waved an arm. “I think water is much closer to the surface out by those cottonwoods.”

The farmer scowled. “No. I paid the man good money to locate the best place, and we’re gonna dig there.” He paused. “And, you know, you’re running late. That Bjorklund fellow said you’d be here over a week ago.”

Trygve sighed. He did not explain that they could not put up a windmill during lightning storms and they’d had at least two of those plus heavy winds. He wasn’t sending his men up or going up himself when the weather went against them. But when they built a windmill, it did not blow over. They’d seen one lying flat and the farm abandoned. He fought to ignore his feeling and just do what he was told. After all, the customer was always right. Or so he’d been told.

“We’ll dig where you say, but I’m reminding you that if we come up dry, we’ll have to charge extra for another drill.”

“Maybe I should just get someone else in here.”

“Up to you.” But Trygve knew there were few drillers in the region, and a couple of them were more shyster than dependable. He waited. Finally he turned and started back to the wagon, where Gilbert and Gus were watching for the order to unload.

“Wait,” the farmer called to his back. “No. You go ahead.”

“Okay, men, unload.”

By the third day of drilling with no water emerging and running out of pipe, Trygve called a halt.

“It’s drier ’n a bone,” Gus said. “This is a waste of time.”

Trygve brushed away a persistent blackfly, out early this year. Sure, they were south of Blessing, but not that far south. Sometimes he hated being right.

“Why you stopping?” The owner stomped his way up to the wagon, strutting up to the site like a banty rooster they’d had one time. That little rooster had taken on the reigning rooster one time too many.

Trygve swallowed his irritation. “It’s a dry bore. We’ve about run out of pipe and—”

“But I paid that man good money, and he said there would be water here.” He stabbed at the ground with a gnarly and filthy finger.

“I can’t help that.” Pointing toward the drill, Trygve said, “Go see for yourself.”

As he stomped over there, the man muttered something about lazy workers that couldn’t be trusted.

Fists clenched, Gus started after him, glanced at Trygve, stopped.

A soft answer turneth away wrath. Was it his mother’s voice or a trick of the breeze? “Let it lie.” Trygve nodded to the site. “Pull it out.” He looked over to the cottonwood stump barely visible above the green grass. Shame. It was a shame.

“What are they doin’?”

“Pulling the drill. We’re done.”

“But that Bjorklund, he promised me water, well water. Right here.”

Trygve shook his head. “Be right back,” he said and headed for the wagon, where he pulled the contract out of the box. Sure enough, the man had signed with an X. Hjelmer had printed in the man’s name next to it. Great, the man could not even read.

Returning to the fray, he handed the farmer the paper. “I’m sure you have a copy of this, since Mr. Bjorklund always makes certain the customer gets a contract. That is your name, right?”

The man peered at the line where Trygve was pointing. “A man’s word is a man’s word. Don’t need no fancy paper.”

“Then let me read this to you.” Finishing the reading, Trygve said. “You can see there is no promise of water. We do our best, but no guarantees.”

“How do I know you read it all?”

“So you are calling me a liar?” He was using a soft answer all right, but this time it was laced with steel.

“No, no. Don’t get all het up. What you gonna charge to drill again?”

“Half what you paid for the first drill, sir.”

“That’s highway robbery. You can’t do that.”

“Sorry.” This time Trygve omitted the sir. “We’ll be on our way, then.” He motioned for the loading to continue.

“But I need this well. I was counting on it.”

Trygve looked toward the pipe being drawn out of the ground. He counted to ten. And twenty. “Tell you what. You pay me now and we’ll move over to the stump out there and drill again.”

“But that’s too far from the house.”

“Better’n hauling water in barrels. You could probably move your house over there.” The barn didn’t even look strong enough to be moved. Surprising that a bad windstorm hadn’t already blown it over. Lord, give me patience. I’ve never struck a man, but . . .

“You promise me water?”

“No, sorry. We never do that. But since those cottonwood trees out there found some, I’m pretty sure we will too.”

“You dig and I’ll send Bjorklund the money.”

“Can’t do that. Has to be cash on the nose.” Trygve knew this wasn’t exactly the way Hjelmer did things, but didn’t want to gamble on this man not paying up.

But Hjelmer always told him to use his own judgment. For some reason, Trygve waited. Finally he shook his head. “We’ll load our supplies and be on our way.” Surely they could get loaded and on the road before dark. He did not want to spend another night there.

“Look, I don’t have cash money to pay you, but I got a yearling steer I can trade.”

Trygve stared down at this boots, then into the man’s eyes. “Show it to me.”

 

They found water fifty feet down, put up the windmill, and were on their way two days later, a very unhappy steer walking along behind the wagon, a rope around his horns leading to the rear of the wagon.

“What’s Hjelmer gonna do with this here steer?” Gus asked when they stopped to eat and sleep. “He doesn’t even have a pasture.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll turn it out with our cattle. He can either sell it or butcher it when the time comes.”

“I was surprised you gave in.” Gilbert stirred the contents of the kettle hung over the campfire.

“Guess I just wanted to see if I was right. Cottonwood trees don’t lie. Besides, I felt sorry for him. Ignorance can be corrected. Bullheadedness, no.”

“Why you s’pose that other man told him wrong?”

“I bet he didn’t pay no other man. He just figured he knew and wanted a well close to the house.”

Gus added some more wood to the fire. “I felt sorry for his children, a pa like that.”

Trygve nodded. “Me too.”

The next day they found a town on the railroad, and Trygve made arrangements for them to load up in a boxcar the next day and get back to Blessing faster.

Even though he’d been right about the water, the whole scene had left a bad taste in his mouth. Had he made the right decision? Was taking the steer the best choice? He slept under the wagon that night, like the others, since it didn’t look like rain. Good thing they were taking the train. The rims on the wagon wheels all needed to be reset, and sleeping in a real bed, eating his mother’s cooking, and scrubbing until he was actually clean all sounded real good.

Besides, they’d not had any news of Blessing in too long. What might have gone on at home by now? Trygve was more than ready to live for something besides water.

To Everything a Season: Song of Blessing, Book 1
by by Lauraine Snelling