A Heart for Home (32 page)

“Yes, sir. And yes, that is the real name of the town. I am Daniel Jeffers, and this is Pastor John Solberg of the Blessing Lutheran Church. Since I have never met this Harlan Jeffers, it seemed a good idea to bring someone who had.”

“Very wise. Sit down, please.” He indicated the two chairs at the corners of his desk. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Something stronger?”

“No, thanks. Can we see the man?”

“In a moment. I need to write some notes here. Pastor Solberg, you knew a man named Harlan Jeffers in Blessing?”

“Yes, he came to town and bought the general store from Mrs. Hjelmer Bjorklund, who was moving. He had sufficient money to place a sizable amount down and signed a contract that said he would make regular monthly payments until the balance of the account was paid off.”

“And did he live up to his word?”

“For a time, but bit by bit he managed to offend the people of Blessing to the extent that they quit shopping there, so he had no money to restock. Then he started selling liquor from under the counter. We have a dry town in Blessing, and that further angered the townsfolk. But when he made unwelcome advances on one of our town daughters and then attacked her, he signed his time away in Blessing. People were ready to run him out of town on a rail, including tar and feathering. Mrs. Bjorklund agreed to take back her store, and we hustled him out before he was attacked, with a signed agreement that he would never return to Blessing.”

“He sounds like a real winner.” The sheriff turned to Daniel Jeffers. “Now tell me your side of this convoluted tale.”

“My father set out to find investors to help him produce a piece of equipment he had invented to improve the quality of seeding machines. All of a sudden, we, my mother and I, quit hearing from him. I journeyed out to see if he was injured or dead or to find whatever news I could. I kept hitting blank walls until I heard of a man in Blessing, North Dakota, by the name of Harlan Jeffers who had purchased a store there. Thinking that might be a clue, I went to Blessing, only to find that the man Harlan Jeffers, who had left by then, bore no resemblance to my father. But in an accidental way, the people of Blessing found something of my father’s taped to the bottom of the store’s cash register drawer.

“The man seemed to have disappeared, but I backtracked to a town in southern Minnesota, where they had found a man lying dead by the road with no identification. He seemed to have died of natural causes, so they buried him. I identified him as my father by a couple of scars and his unusual right thumb, which was missing half of it. But that is all we knew. The money and papers he’d had with him were never found, other than that piece under the cash register drawer.

“My friend and now business partner, Thorliff Bjorklund, who owns the newspaper in Blessing, sent out the information to see if anything would ever happen.”

“I see.” The sheriff looked up from his notes. “Let me take you back to talk with this man.” He unlocked the door to the row of cells and led them to the third cell, where a man lay sleeping on the cot chained to the wall. He banged on the bars. “Jeffers, you have company.”

The man turned his head, and his eyes widened. “Pastor Solberg, you gotta believe me. I didn’t kill nobody. I never killed no one.” He sat up, scratching and shaking his head.

“Guess that answers one question,” the sheriff said. “He’s your man all right.”

“Not my man, but he is the one we ran out of Blessing.” Solberg turned back to face the prisoner. “I think you would do well to tell the whole story, the true story, or you might be facing a hanging.”

“I didn’t kill him. He was dead when I found him.”

“So, you – ”

“Took all his clothes and his money and satchel and thought I was the luckiest man alive.” He shook his head. “Stupidest thing I ever done. Oh, and I took his name too. Found it on the papers.”

“But my father’s name was Daniel Jeffers.”

“Harlan is my first name. Thought I would do better if I had something of my own.” He stared down at his hands. “But I didn’t kill him. He were already dead but not too long. He was laying there by the road, all crumpled, is all I know.”

Daniel heaved a sigh. “Then that is the end of that. I could sue you for the money you stole from my family, but that would indeed be a waste of time. I’m sure you’ve broken some laws, but I am finished with you. Thank you for pasting my father’s plans under that drawer.”

Harlan screwed up his face, then snorted. “So that’s where it went to. Forgot all about that.”

Solberg looked at the sheriff. “Do you need us for anything more?”

“Nope. Thank you for putting some more pieces in the puzzle. He’ll probably do some time for swindling the good folks of Wichita, but since his story pretty much agrees with your story, he won’t be indicted for murder. At least not that one.”

“I never killed nobody. Never.”

Daniel turned back to the bars. “What is your entire real name?”

“Harlan D. Jones.”

“Please stop going by Jeffers. I hate that smudge on our family name, Mr. Jones.”

The thief nodded. “All right.”

“Do you have the law after you by your real name?” Sheriff Connally asked.

Harlan shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. That was a long time ago.”

The three men sighed as one and stalked down the hall.

That night on the train bound for Kansas City and the Twin Cities after that, Daniel wrote the entire tale up for his mother and a briefer version for Astrid, sealing them in separate envelopes. For his mother, this would mean an end to her speculation. For Astrid? He wasn’t sure if he would give the pages to her when he returned to Blessing or somewhere down the road. It would depend on which road they took. At least he still had his father’s trunk and all the wealth of his ideas.

Was it time to seriously pursue something he’d only dreamed of – a wife? For the first time in his life, he thought he’d found one he wanted. Now all he had to do was convince her of the idea.

28

“I guess Emmy not coming back, huh, Grandma?”

“Don’t give up yet. School isn’t quite here,” Ingeborg consoled her morose little granddaughter.

“But her kitten is near grown, and she doesn’t even know her. And school starts next week.” She glanced down at her new pinafore. “I get to go to school too.”

“Only in the mornings.”

“I know.”

“Emmy goes all day. Carl’s too little.” Inga nibbled on the edge of a ginger cookie that she had decorated with three raisins. “I miss Emmy.”

“Me too.” Every day she kept watch for a man walking across the land with a little girl following him. How would he know when it was time for school? Had he really nodded or had she been living a pipe dream all summer?
Lord, I have to trust you on this. Not only
because there is nothing I can do, but because I want to. I want to trust
you in all things.

Of course she was trusting Him with Haakan too. How easy it would be to come up with all the bad things that could happen to the men on the threshing crew.
Why is that so hard at times like this?
She thought for a moment.
Well, any hard time for that matter. Lord,
I will trust you. Lord, I am trusting you. I am.

“Grandma, you look sad.”

“I know, Inga. But I am asking God to help me look happier.”

“Will He do that?”

“He says He will.”

Inga swung her legs, knocking her bare feet against the leg of the chair, the look on her face one of pondering also. “Will He make me happier too?”

“If you ask.”

“I asked Him to bring Emmy home, and she is not here.”

“Yet.”

“Ja, yet.” She picked off a raisin and ate that alone, then nibbled on her cookie again, going all around it, one little bite at a time.

Most children, Carl for example, just gobbled a cookie down and asked for another. But not Inga. She had always had her own ways of doing things.
Lord God, what do you have in mind for this child I
love so dearly?

“Do you want some coffee with your cookie?”

Inga’s face brightened. “You too?”

“Me too, and if that is who I think it is coming up the lane, we will have someone else for coffee.”

Inga bailed off her chair and ran to the door. “Tante Astrid is coming.” She slammed open the screen door and charged down the steps and the walk to meet her aunt at the gate and throw her arms around her.

Ingeborg watched from the doorway, not sure which of the two was happier. Astrid swung Inga around in a circle, and the two walked up to the house with locked hands swinging and smiles that dimmed the sun
. Lord God, what gifts you bring to me. You made me happier
in an instant. And look at Inga. She’s radiant.

“What are you doing out here on a workday?”

“Elizabeth is taking care of patients, and I had to get away from that stack of catalogs and books and pictures and . . .” She shook her head, tipping her wide-brimmed straw hat slightly to the side. Reaching up, she pulled out the hatpin and removed the hat to lay it on the table on the porch. “There. Now it can’t slip any further.”

“Coffee?”

“And cookies,” Inga added. “I helped bake them.”

“We had a telephone call from Pastor Solberg and Mr. Jeffers. They identified the man in jail as Harlan Jeffers, but his real last name is Jones. He did not kill Mr. Jeffers, the father. He found him lying crumpled beside the road. So now the Jefferses can know that all is finished. I’m sure he called his mother too. He and Pastor are on their way back.” Astrid set the cups on the tray, and Inga added a plate of cookies.

“That will be a huge relief for Amelia, although she knew her husband had not been killed, or at least it didn’t appear that way. She says that moving here was the best thing to happen to her in a long while. There were just too many memories in their house. Her daughter and her family moved into it when Mrs. Jeffers came here. So the house stays in the family.” Ingeborg poured the coffee and set the pot back. “Let’s go outside. You know, I’ve been thinking that we should screen in the porch, since we live out there so much. Get rid of the flies and hornets. Cut down on the mosquitoes too.”

Astrid picked up the tray. “Open the door, Inga. We’re coming out.”

“I am. Hurry. The bee is trying to come in.” She slammed the screen door shut, then opened it again. “Ha!”

“Did you get him?”

“No, but he didn’t get in.” She held the door for Astrid and Ingeborg, then went inside to fetch the flyswatter.

Astrid and her mother sat down in the rocking chairs after setting the tray on the low table. “I am happy for them,” Astrid continued.

“Me too. Amelia is so enjoying her teaching, and the students enjoy her. I hear them laughing, the women anyway.”

“Mor, when are Far and the rest of the crew coming home?”

“Probably another week. Why?”

“You just don’t seem yourself. Are you feeling ill or anything?”

“No, Dr. Bjorklund, my health is fine. I would ask you to check me over if I thought there was something wrong.” She paused. “I just miss Haakan more than I ever have.”

“And Emmy too.” Inga was obviously listening, even though she kept watching the hornet. When it landed on the table, she slapped the flyswatter down right on it. “I got it. I killed him.” She started to reach for the still critter.

“No!” Ingeborg grabbed her hand. “It can still sting you.”

“But he’s not moving, not even his wings.”

“I know, but if you touch that stinger, you’ll get stung.” Ingeborg used the swatter to flip the hornet over the porch wall.

“I killed him. I did.”

“Have another cookie.”

“To dunk in your coffee? Mine is all gone.”

Ingeborg held out her cup. “I just love cookie crumbs in my coffee.”

“You do?”

Astrid snickered. “She’s teasing you.”

“We need to plan a party for when the men come home.” Ingeborg set her rocker to singing. “We didn’t have a Fourth of July celebration, so we need a harvest one for sure.”

“We always have a harvest celebration.”

“I know. What if we have a box dinner auction? We need some new textbooks for the school. And we’ll need new desks if Blessing keeps growing.”

“Mor, did you know Mr. Sidorov has a family in New York City? We telephoned Mr. Gould, and he said he would look into it, but so far we’ve not heard a thing. Any ideas?”

“Do you have people praying about this?”

Astrid shrugged. “Pastor Solberg knows, so I assume so. What if they are wandering the streets of New York with no place to stay and no money?”

“Why didn’t he just be honest and tell them he had a family?”

“I’m sure because he wanted the work so terribly. No one can talk to him and find out if there are relatives or anything.”

“Walhalla. There is a group of Russians settled up there. I don’t know any of them, but Haakan has threshed for some of them. Maybe we could get someone from there to come here to talk with him, or we could take him up there.”

“How do we contact someone?”

“Maybe Mary Martha knows if Pastor Solberg knows someone. The ministers of this area have gotten together a few times.” Ingeborg rose. “Some days, like right now, I am wonderfully thankful for the telephone.”

When Mary Martha picked up the receiver and said hello, Ingeborg chuckled.

“Ingeborg, how are you?”

“Good. Astrid is here, and she just told me that Mr. Boris Sidorov has a family that he left in New York when he got this job.”

“How did they find that out?”

“One of our Norwegian immigrants was able to understand him with a combination of motions and pictures. I was wondering if Pastor Solberg has mentioned knowing anyone up in the Walhalla area.”

“Ja, he knows a pastor up there.”

“But no telephones.”

“No, I don’t think so. Let me think a minute. We could write a letter and send it.”

“I know, but like Astrid says, what if his family is penniless and with no help?”

“And Mr. Gould?”

“We’ve heard nothing back.”

“A man could ride to Walhalla in one day and come back the next. If we send Mr. Sidorov up with him . . .”