To Everything a Season (12 page)

“Jonathan always lives up to his word. It has been our great pleasure to have him with us in the summers. I'm sure that was hard for you.” Ingeborg glanced up to catch something in Mr. Gould's eyes. Gratitude perhaps? Relief?

Haakan cleared his throat. “I think I should go home,” he whispered.

She took one look at the exhaustion in his face and nodded. When Thorliff finished serving their guests, she touched his arm and tilted her head toward Haakan.

“I'll bring the buggy around right now,” he said.

With as little fuss as possible, within minutes they were on their way back home.

At the door, Thorliff and Ingeborg helped Haakan to the ground and up the steps.

Ingeborg smiled. “You did exceedingly well.”

“You could go back with Thorliff, you know.”

“I know.” If there were any way she could put Geraldine Gould at ease, she would go back. And how she would love to have a real visit with Mr. Gould, to show him the hospital,
the deaf school, and the other industries in town. He'd helped them from the very beginning, the latest being finding them immigrant workers. She wasn't sure how many investments he'd made through the years, but Thorliff would know.

Thorliff squeezed her arm. “Call the church if you want me to come back for you. I will, gladly.”

“Takk.”

He climbed into the buggy, picked up the lines, and drove away.

No, Ingeborg could not help the dissatisfied Mrs. Gould. And with a start, she realized why: That was not dissatisfaction on Mrs. Gould's face, it was an aloofness akin to contempt. Mrs. Gould did not want to mingle with these peasants, these simple farmers, and she was deeply disappointed that her dear son had just married one.

So sad.

What troubled Ingeborg most: What did this woman's haughtiness portend for Grace's marriage?

I
am thinking of staying in Blessing.” Trygve watched his mor and far for a response. They had given him their blessing to work for Hjelmer and not stay on the farm, but something inside him said it was time to stay here.

“Tired of living in a wagon?” Samuel, his younger brother, looked up from buttering a slice of bread. With the family gathered around the supper table, some of the conversation was by signing, especially since Ilse's husband, George, was deaf, and while he could read lips, he'd not learned to speak verbally. Ilse was his mother's assistant at the deaf school.

“Something like that.”

“What brought about this decision?” Kaaren set the bowl of chicken stew back in the center of the table.

“I'm not sure,” Trygve answered. “Just something in me says this is what I need to do. I understand that Onkel Hjelmer is counting on me, but Gus could handle a crew and Gilbert could too, if needed. They are both very competent.”

“At drilling and building, but how are they in dealing with the folks who order the windmills?” Lars sipped his water. “And you know you are always welcome here, at least during the summer.”

Trygve knew that when the deaf school reopened in September, every room in the house and school was put to use. “Takk. Grace and Jonathan said I could have a room in their house as soon as they move in.” They wouldn't return from their trip to New York and further wedding celebrations for another week.

“Right now they are waiting on materials for the interior. They brought in several carpenters who excel in finish work. They ordered all the cabinetry from a company in Minneapolis, and Hans and his men are doing a fine job. It just takes so much time.” Lars shook his head.

“They were so hoping they could move in as soon as they returned,” Kaaren said, finishing her husband's train of thought.

Trygve saw the look they shared. It reminded him of the way Grace and Jonathan looked at each other sometimes. Grace had always been a lovely woman, but since her engagement, she had grown even more beautiful. Strange to be thinking that about his sister, but Grace was more blond, like their mother, and Sophie was darker haired, like their far. The two girls were twins, but no two were more opposite than they.

Would that love look be possible for him someday too? “Perhaps I should start building a house this summer.”

“Put your name on the list. It is long.” Lars returned to eating. “I thought you were pleased with your job.”

“I am—er was, but maybe I'm like Sophie. I got out of Blessing for a time and now home looks more . . . more necessary.”

“Sophie traveled a whole lot farther than you did.” Samuel reached for the stew bowl, caught his mother's look, and said, “George, would you please pass the chicken?” He signed it at the same time.

Ilse smiled at him, the glint in her eye saying she'd caught his change of mind and passed the bowl.

Having a meal at home was a far cry from eating supper around the campfire with Gus and Gilbert.

“What will you do for work?” Lars asked.

“With Onkel Haakan still recovering, I figured perhaps you needed more help here.”

“We will during haying and harvest, as always.”

“You probably forgot how to milk cows.” Samuel grinned at his brother. Ilse, sitting beside him, gave him an elbow to the ribs.

“One never forgets how to milk a cow.” Trygve looked toward his mor, who was nodding.

“Not that your forever or never is very long at this point.” Kaaren smiled, an act that lit her face as if a candle flamed within. Could one miss his mother's smile to the point of desiring to return home and perhaps stay home?

Trygve laid his fork down. “I know there is plenty of work here in Blessing. I also know that I am needed for haying. Now, will someone explain to me what happened with Onkel Haakan?”

“He collapsed on the seeder one day and was unconscious for almost a week, but he finally woke up and is slowly regaining his strength. Other than weakness, we are not seeing other side effects, for which we are so thankful. We pray that soon Ingeborg will be trying to keep him from doing too much.”

Lars nodded. “He sees the work that needs to be done and expects that he can get back to doing that. Only God knows if that is possible, so having you here might ease his worry. I think you should go talk with him. If nothing else, he probably needs the company.”

The next morning, Trygve joined the others at the barn, where the cows were all lined up in the stanchions, waiting patiently
to get milked. Tails swished, as heads down, they devoured the grain poured before them.

“You start over there.” Lars pointed to a black-and-white cow with a fully distended udder.

“She's new?”

“We bought her last year. She just calved two weeks ago, threw a nice little heifer.” Lars unhooked one of the three-legged stools from the post and sat down at an older cow that Trygve recognized. Since all the stanchions were occupied, he knew they were milking twenty-four head.

After wiping the designated cow's udder, he sat down on his stool and placed the bucket between his knees. The familiar odor of warm cow, warm milk, hay, and grain overlaid with fresh manure felt comforting after his time away. With the milk pinging into the bucket, he let his mind wander. Many of life's questions and problems he had worked out with his forehead firmly braced on a cow's flank. With the bucket three-fourths full, he thought of stopping to dump it in the waiting cream can but, instead, decided she must be close to dry.

“Hey, Trygve!” Andrew called.

“Ja?” He turned his head and leaned back to see what his cousin wanted. For some unknown reason, like a lightning strike, the cow planted her right rear foot right in the middle of the bucket, tipping frothy white milk all over Trygve, the floor, and probably part of Blessing. He bit back an expletive as he leaped to his feet, the urge to yell at the cow pounding in his brain while the hoots of the other milkers heated his face.

“Sorry. I forgot to warn you about her. She gets a bit spooky at times.”

Two of the barn cats darted over to lap up the milk, both keeping a wary eye on the sputtering man.

“Is she dry yet?” Lars tried to hide his laughter, but Trygve saw through him.

“No.” He grabbed another pail, sat back down, and finished the job, only getting one swipe from the restless cow's tail.

“I usually dump the bucket when half done with her,” Andrew said as he strolled past on his way to the cream can, where a strainer perched, awaiting the next pour.

“Be a while before you live that one down,” Samuel said later as they were walking back home for breakfast.

“Rub it in.”

“You jump real quick.”

“So she has done that before?”

“Not with a full bucket, but yes.”

“Wouldn't kickers be a good idea?”

“We thought she got over it.”

Later that day Trygve walked over to the Bjorklund house, whistling as he went. Middle of June and there surely was no more beautiful place on earth than the burgeoning green of the Red River Valley. He could hear the hammering and other construction sounds coming from town, blackbirds singing from the riverbank, and a crow decrying the intrusion of a human in his territory. Nothing smelled better either, not that he'd been that many places, but today he was glad to be home.

Ingeborg held out her arms when she saw her nephew coming from the porch and wrapped him close. “Sit down, sit down. Haakan will be out shortly.”

Trygve took the chair she pointed to and studied the lay of the land. Cows and horses out to pasture, the garden growing so fast you could measure it on a stick, and birds gossiping in the cottonwood that shaded the porch. “Takk.” He took the coffee cup she handed him, and dropped his voice. “How is Haakan really doing?”

Ingeborg sat across from him. “Better. He is hoping to help with the haying.”

“I remember when he had that first attack.”

“Ja. He just never seemed to quite get all his strength back, no matter how hard he tried. Now this one's worse.”

The screen door squealed. “Well, gud dag, Trygve. Nice to have you visit this morning.” Haakan joined Ingeborg on the settee. “I hear you had an accident down at the barn.” His Bjorklund blue eyes twinkled even in the shade.

“Not an accident, far as I figure. That old cow did it deliberately.”

“Well, don't feel too bad. She got me once too. You just got to watch her.”

Ingeborg added, “But she gives as much milk as two of the others, only the cream content is not as good. And we need cream for the cheese.”

Trygve tried to study his onkel without appearing to do so. He had aged this year, no doubt of that. His lined face badly needed the sun. His hands were shaking, and even his speech had slowed down. Were his own mor and far growing old like this, or was it from Haakan's being sickly? Perhaps his staying home was indeed what he needed to do. For the sake of the others.

A
ll right, ladies, let's get to work on what we came for.” After repeating her suggestion twice, Astrid gave up. One had to admit the capture of the robbers was probably the biggest news to hit Blessing, besides perhaps the floods and fires of years gone by. And by such a fluke. This would indeed go down in history. And her own mor playing such an important role in it all! Of course Ingeborg attributed all to the Lord, which was by far the wisest of the many comments. Still, after nearly three weeks, the matter should have been laid to rest. Besides, according to Sheriff Meeker, the three thieves were now griping and complaining on their way to Kentucky, for that was where they had begun their robbery careers.

“Can you believe that the sheriff really told the little brother he was not responsible for the robbery since he only held the horses and was forced to do that?” Hildegunn fairly shook with her intensity. “And my hus—er Mr. Valders agreed with him. Why, that boy has never said a word about his brothers. He refused to give them up to the law. And yet he won't be hauled into court, not even as a witness.” Her jaw dropped and she shook her head again. “I never. I just—”

“His name is Manny, and he was very brave. He's only twelve years old, you know. And so sick now. His brothers caused this, and I am glad they will get to learn what life in prison is like.” Astrid fought to keep her voice even. A shouting match with Hildegunn was not on her list for the day. Or ever. How that woman had slept through the robbery was beyond imagination. “And besides, they rode off without him.” She couldn't resist that last bit of reminder.

“I am so grateful no one else was injured.” Penny caught Astrid's gaze. “Things could have been so much worse. Does the boy Manny have any relatives to go to?”

“I have no idea. Right now I just want him to get well. In fact, I need to get back to the hospital, so can we continue with our business to finish planning for the Fourth of July festivities?” She looked around to see heads nodding.

Planning the celebration always took far longer than the event itself did. They had already met twice, and she hoped this meeting would be the final one. After all, they had only a week to go. “Penny, you said you had a report on the governor's coming?”

“I do.” She shook her head. “Men!” She stood so she could see all their faces. “Our new governor, Mr. Johnson, had accepted our invitation to speak, but yesterday I received a telephone call saying that he had been unexpectedly called out of town and will not return in time to come to Blessing. He sent his apologies.”

“So we don't have a big-name speaker. I don't care much for some of his policies anyway.” Hildegunn Valders wore a frown fit to frighten small children. Or recalcitrant politicians. “I was planning on mentioning a few things to him.”

“Like providing better law enforcement for small towns?” Elizabeth, who had hurried her rounds at the hospital to join the meeting, quirked her right eyebrow. That robbery had indeed changed the tenor of the town. In spite of horror stories from
other towns, somehow they had always felt safe, as if there were a barrier around Blessing to shield them from the realities of the times. While Thorliff's newspaper included highlights—or lowlights, in this case—from around the area, still they had acted as if nothing could touch Blessing. Until too late.

“I've been thinking . . .” Kaaren laid her knitting on her lap, looking at those around her. “What if we did an honoring and thanking program? Maybe it is too late to put a really good one together, but Anner Valders showed real heroism, as did Annika Nilsson, and I think they should be given a public thank-you.” She smiled at Hildegunn. “If we do this, I'd like it to be a surprise. Can you keep a secret, Hildegunn?”

“Uh . . .” For Hildegunn to be caught speechless was an event in itself.

Soft chuckles swept the group. Everyone had known for years that “I will ask Mr. Valders about that” was Hildegunn's response to anything that came up.

Astrid reminded herself that putting Hildegunn on the spot was not conducive to building community goodwill. “How about if we decide on this without telling you the particulars? If that would be easier.” Astrid caught her mother's nod and smile of approval.

“Thank you.” Hildegunn's look of relief made Penny reach over and pat her hand. “Sometimes not knowing is far easier than knowing too much.”

When Hildegunn turned her hand over and clasped Penny's, Astrid and Ingeborg shared a look knit of joy and surprise. Someone else cleared her throat, and a sniff or two joined in.

“So, on to the rest of our business. The food is all in order?” Astrid glanced at Sophie, who nodded.

“We are going to roast half a steer over a slow fire like the folks in Texas do. It takes all day, so the men will be putting it
on a spit before daylight out beside the ball field, where they will first dig a trench. Mr. Sam followed the diagram my friend from Texas sent me, along with all the instructions. They call it a bar-bee-cue. She said it was really, really good.”

“If it's like fishing, you better have another plan, just in case.”

“What if it rains?”

“Well, a heavy downpour would cause a problem.” Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I'm sure we'll have plenty of food beside the steer in that case. Of course, we'd have to move into the school for the speeches and such. And”— she raised her hands in the air dramatically—“no ball game or races.”

“Please, Lord, no rain,” Ingeborg said softly.

“Any other news on food?”

“I heard the boardinghouse team is planning on winning again.” The year before, the contest for the best and quickest hand-cranked ice cream had gotten quite hot.

“And the baseball teams are practicing?”

“Jonathan Gould is back from his honeymoon and attempting to train his team, if he can get them together at least a couple of times. He said he played some in college, although most of his free time was devoted to the rowing team the year before he came to North Dakota.”

The two teams were fairly evenly divided, so the afternoon's entertainment was looking to be exciting. Part of the fun was that so many of the new men in town had turned out for the choosing of the teams. The women planners had decided this Fourth of July celebration was going to include everyone in town and the surrounding area. Thorliff had printed posters that were up everywhere, and everyone was getting excited. A celebration like this could well transcend language barriers. The amazing thing was that even the most recent immigrants knew some form of the game.

“And the prizes for the winning teams in both contests—ice cream and baseball—are set?” Astrid looked to Penny, who had promised to come up with something memorable.

“You know the prizes are not easy with so many people involved. I would welcome any suggestions.”

“They get to eat first? That would work for the baseball players. They'll be finished before we serve the food.”

“Well, we won't be making ice cream until after the meal.”

“That's going to be mighty late. People have to go home to chores.”

“I know, but like we decided, folks will return for the dance and fireworks.”

“Don't mention fireworks to Thorliff and Daniel. They are sure we'll burn the town down.”

“Don't be silly. They're being shot out over the river. Trygve is all in favor of fireworks. He says the men he bought them from assured him they are perfectly safe.”

Astrid looked around the room. She saw doubt on other faces too. Were they doing the right or best thing to introduce fireworks into the celebration? Other communities were sponsoring fireworks. “We can cancel that part of the program, you know.”

Hildegunn clasped her hands and twisted. “I would not be averse to that. Mr. Valders is against it. He says we've had enough excitement here without a possible fire. I'd die of guilt if that happened, in spite of what those experts say. Accidents do happen, you know. The wind comes up so quick.”

For a change Astrid felt swayed to agree with Hildegunn. Looking around the group made her decision. “I suggest we vote on this. Do you want paper or hands?”

“Hands are fine.” Sophie sounded a bit impatient. After all, the fireworks were her idea.

“All in favor of not doing fireworks this year—keep in mind
our decision is for this year only—please raise your hand.” After counting the votes, she announced, “We will cancel the fireworks for this year. I suggest we follow closely the success or problems other communities have with their fireworks displays.” She checked her notes and looked around again. “Anyone have something to add? No? Then we are finished for today.”

Sophie wore only a slight frown. “I sure was looking forward to seeing the sparklers over the river. Oh well, maybe—”

Inga and Grant charged into the room at that moment, Grant carrying a huge toad. “We made two toads race like that story Teacher read about a frog race.”

“Come see!” He held the toad out to his mother, Sophie, and it immediately released a stream of urine down his arm. “Oh, ugh!”

Astrid saw the look on Sophie's face, and laughter bubbled up and burst, sending the others, at least those who weren't horrified, into spasms too. “You should see your face, Sophie!” Everyone was tittering like schoolgirls.

Ingeborg wiped her eyes. “Maybe next year we should have a toad jumping contest.”

“Grant Wiste, take that thing outside right this minute!” Sophie pointed to the door. “And then go scrub yourself.”

“But it's not so bad.” Inga looked to Astrid for help but only got a laughing face in return.

“Now!”

The children turned and dragged their feet to the door.

“And let that creature go back under the bushes.”

“Yes, ma'am,” they droned wearily.

Helga Larson appeared in the arched doorway to the dining room. “Coffee is ready in here. I'm setting up a table outside for the children. Can I get you anything else?” Helga was Garth's older sister, who had started helping out a couple of years earlier
as a favor, but she now worked for Sophie full time at the Wiste house. Ingeborg envied her speed and efficiency. Helga was already a member of the family, and from the look on her face, she had seen the whole thing.

Astrid motioned the others to make their way to the dining room. The coffee Helga had set out was most likely more of a lunch.

Tittering seemed to be contagious.

“Angie Moen is coming back to Blessing,” Ingeborg announced a couple of days later, waving a letter in the air.

“Really?” Astrid looked up from writing in the log she and Elizabeth kept for the hospital. “And gud dag to you too.” She blew on the ink on the page so it wouldn't smear. “I thought after her husband died that she was going to remain in Norway with Mr. Moen's family.”

Ingeborg nodded. “I thought she and the children maybe would want to stay near his family. But they did spend part of the time here in Blessing too.”

“When is she coming back?”

“She said before school starts.” Ingeborg squinted her eyes in thought. “I'm trying to think how old Mr. Moen's daughters would be now. I imagine Melissa is close to eight now and how old are the other children? Goodness, I can't even remember their names.”

“Well, I think you're right that Melissa is eight, and his two girls were already in school when they married.” Astrid closed the leather-bound journal. “I'm done for the day. Let's go have a soda.”

“What a marvelous idea. Inga too?”

“Why not.” The two walked arm in arm down the street.
What used to be a three-block street now stretched much farther, since all the growth had to go west or south of the railroad tracks. The Red River bordered the east, and the Little Salt River the northern edge of the Bjorklund/Knutson property, which was north of town.

The ring of hammers and the hum of saws kept pace with them. Toby Valders waved from the new wing of the boardinghouse. His crew was painting the exterior at the moment. “Our team is going to win!” Toby shouted, setting his crew to cheering.

“Good luck,” Astrid called back.

“Look, Grandma!” Inga shouted and waved her newly freed arm. Swinging on the gate, she shouted again. “Please come see me. I can't leave the yard.”

“Uh-oh. She's in trouble again.” Ingeborg grimaced.

“So much for inviting her for a soda.” Astrid sent her mor a warning look. “If she is being punished, we can't ask her to come.”

“I know.” Ingeborg raised her voice. “We'll come by later.”

“Where you going?” The gate slammed shut, and Inga ran the fence line to be closer to them but still in her prison.

“We have people to talk to,” Astrid called back with a wave. “You be good.”

“I am.” The plaintive cry would wring any grandmother's heart, let alone her tante Astrid's. Scooter, Inga's constant and furry companion, yipped too, as if adding his plea to hers.