To Everything a Season (24 page)

Her room was in the shade by the time Miriam woke. The temperature had risen but was still not uncomfortable. Miriam could hear voices downstairs. One male and Mrs. Jeffers. What a nice woman she was. They all were. She washed at the basin and slipped into her one other dress, leaving the one she'd worn hanging on a peg along the wall. If only she had enough money to buy some cotton fabric and sew herself something for the summer. Her serge skirt had been hot enough on the train and good for traveling but not for wearing here. She tamed her hair as well as she was able to, confining it to a net at the back of her head and, after making her bed, left the room.

Admiring the furnishings, she made her way back to the kitchen to find Mrs. Jeffers and that young man who had delivered their luggage enjoying a bright red drink on the back porch.

“There you are, dear. I do hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you. What time is it?”

“Three thirty, and you must be famished. Do you remember Trygve Knutson? You met him yesterday at the train.”

“Of course. You argued with us about taking the trunks upstairs, and all we were trying to do was save you a backache.”

He smiled at her, a brilliant smile that caught her in midbreath. “And here I was trying to be polite, to welcome you to Blessing.”

Mrs. Jeffers returned with a plate of bread, cheese, little carrots, and some lovely lettuce. She set down another of the glasses with red liquid and ice. “This should tide you over till supper.”

Miriam sat down and stared at her plate.

“Is something wrong?”

“Oh no. It is just that this is so . . . so pretty. Are these things from your garden?”

“Yes, and tonight we are having the last of the peas. Good thing we planted plenty of potatoes, as I keep sneaking out the little ones for us to eat now. At this rate, we won't have enough for winter.”

Miriam could feel Trygve's eyes on her. She glanced up, bread with butter and cheese on it and a leaf of lettuce in one hand, and could feel a touch of heat moving up her neck. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not a thing. The drink you have there is called strawberry swizzle. I think you'll like it. But what I really came for—we have a soda shop in town, and I thought perhaps we could go for a soda and walk around town so you can get to know where you live.”

“I . . . uh . . . I . . .” She looked to Mrs. Jeffers for help.

“Oh, I think that is a fine idea. Let her finish her meal first, Trygve. You have to be at the hospital at seven?”

“Yes.” Go for a soda? Just like that? Were all the people in Blessing as nice and friendly as those she had met? She had
never gone with a young man for a soda. She only vaguely knew what a soda was.

He watched her intently as she sipped from her glass. Her smile widened as she set it back down. “That is delicious.”

She finished her lunch and rose to take her plate inside, but Mrs. Jeffers stopped her with a
tut-tut
. “You go enjoy yourself. You can help me another time.”

So before she knew it, she was walking down the street, with Mr. Knutson pointing out all the buildings, telling her about his sister Sophie, who owned and ran the boardinghouse; Grace, who recently got married; and his younger brother, Samuel; along with Mr. Valders, who ran the bank; and Mrs. Valders, who ran the post office. He pointed to Garrisons' Groceries, the Blessing Mercantile, and right over there, the Soda Shoppe. “Rebecca Valders owns the Soda Shoppe, and she specializes in good syrups, necessary for good sodas, I am told.”

“My goodness, but this is really a rather busy little town.”

“Yes, and it is growing faster than we can provide housing. All the houses being built are for the workers who have come here.”

“Hey, Mr. Trygve, you came to visit us.”

“I did.” He turned to Miriam. “Miss Hastings, I want you to meet Benny Valders. He came from Chicago too, when Dr. Bjorklund was going to school there.”

“Are you a doctor too?” Benny asked with a grin wide enough to break his face.

“No, I am a nurse in training.”

“At the big hospital in Chicago?”

“Yes.”

“That's where I met My Doc. She had to take off my legs because I got run over by a dray, and it crushed 'em. Then she brought me home with her, and now I have a family here. My
ma has a baby that's my little brother. His name is Swen, and he rides on my cart.”

Miriam grinned back at him. “You look like a pretty good driver with that cart of yours.”

“I am. Come in and have a soda. When I get bigger I am going to learn to make sodas for people.”

Trygve held open the door and whispered in her ear as she passed. “Benny is terribly shy, as you may have noticed.”

She laughed at him over her shoulder. He was staring at her like that again.

“Welcome,” a young woman said from behind the counter. “You must be one of the nursing students. I am Rebecca.”

“And I am Miriam Hastings. I have never had a soda before, so this is an adventure.”

“Well, Trygve brought you to the right place, especially for your first one. What flavor would you like?” She rattled off a list of six.

“I'll take the strawberry, please.”
Here I am in a soda shop with a
good-looking young man, and I just arrived. What whirlwind
caught me up?

C
anning never used to wear her out like this. They were only a week into August, so she would still be at it for weeks.

“You go out on the porch and join Haakan and Manny. I'll mix up some gingerbread for supper tonight. The pork chops are ready to put on, and the noodles are drying fine.” Freda made shooing motions with her hands.

“I'll take that last pan of beans to snap, then.”

“I thought to can them whole and pickle part of them. What do you think?”

“That would be different.” Ingeborg stopped before opening the screen door and watched Haakan with Manny.

“You never had a knife before?” Haakan asked.

“Sure I did. But just whittled sticks and such. Didn't never carve nothing. Not like you do.”

“Who made the furniture for your house?”

“Papaw used to. But he died. Pa wasn't much for workin' like that. He grew tabaccy to sell for cash money. Din't have too good a luck with it. Nor much of anything, really. He did good with moonshine, till the rev'nooers like to strung him up. Busted up his still and one of his arms.”

Haakan kept on working the piece of wood he had rough-shaped into a soup ladle.

What kind of a life has that poor
boy led?
Ingeborg sat down on the chair Freda set behind her, relishing the breeze cooling her skin. Canning turned the kitchen into a steam bath. But they would most certainly appreciate the results in the winter. The shelves down in the cellar were already lined with canned raspberries and strawberries, jam, syrup, string beans, and some canned shelled beans. The leather britches were drying up in the extra bedrooms. The heat of the sun on the roof could dry most anything.

“So you would teach me how to carve like that?”

Ingeborg knew what great courage it took for the boy to ask that. Haakan did not let on his joy. He'd confided to Ingeborg that he wasn't sure if he was getting through to Manny. But he was.

“First, you need to keep your knife really sharp. I use a whetstone all the time.” Haakan picked up the stone, spit on it, and started working his knife around in circles on the gritty surface. “You do first one side then the other. Always in a circle. If you do so often enough, you'll hone a good edge on your knife, then keeping it up is far easier.” He reached down in the toolbox beside his chair and handed Manny one of the stones too.

“So where is your knife?”

Manny hung his head. “I . . . I lost it. Or one of my brothers took it. Not sure which.”

“First of all, you need a knife.” Haakan put his wood and knife down. “I'll go look in a couple places. I'm sure we have another one somewhere. We'll start you out on something easier than the one I'm working on. There are never too many wooden spoons in a kitchen.”

Ingeborg scooted her chair back to let Haakan come in.
She mouthed
I
told you so
when he went by, making him grin back at her. She felt like they were being conspirators, ganging up on a bruised and broken boy. One who needed all the love and attention they could give him, even though Manny had no idea what he needed or wanted. Right now the way to his heart was not only good food but a man who cared and showed it.

She watched as Manny studied the hand-carved pieces of his crutch. He ran his fingers over the crossbar and studied the holes the bar fit into. When Haakan returned Manny pointed to his crutch.

“Did you make this?”

“Well, me and Lars.” Haakan sat down beside him. “See, we started with a strong willow branch that was still green so that it could be bent. I tried using one and splitting it to make the two sides here.” He ran his fingers over the parts he wanted Manny to understand. “Then we carved a curved bar for the top, but that didn't turn out strong enough, so we went with two branches and bolted them together, then carved the two crossbars, one for under the arm, one for the hands. That's something about figuring out a project like this. We had to make it sturdy enough to last and smooth enough so you wouldn't get slivers. Next time, I'm going to use seasoned wood like—”

“What is seasoned?”

“Wood that's been dried. We put pieces we think might work for something up in the rafters of the machine shed. Good wood is a treasure. Did your Papaw have a place to store the wood he might use?”

“Don't know. I was too young to learn enough. And then he died and no one else liked to do wood like he did.”

“Seems you have an interest in it.”

“Maybe.”

Ingeborg watched Manny draw back. As if he might have said too much?

“I found you a knife, but it needs a good edge. Been in the drawer too long, I guess.” Haakan handed the knife to Manny, whose smile took off without his permission.

“For me?”

Haakan nodded. “It needs to be used. Tools are like people. They need to be used. And useful. So let's start getting edges on both blades. The little blade is good for getting into small places, but you will use the large blade mostly, so let's start sharpening that one.” He opened his knife blade, picked up his whetstone, and waited for Manny to do the same. “Now you just do what I do and we'll see how this goes.” Manny followed his every move, and within moments, they were both making circles on the grainy stone.

Ingeborg enjoyed just watching them. Seeing life in Manny's eyes was worth any kind of effort, and Haakan made it all look so simple.

“Okay, let's turn that blade over and do the same on the other side. Tilt your knife a hair more. After a while you develop a sixth sense that tells you when the knife is just right. Because yours is so dull, it will take plenty of grinding. Let me work with yours, and you see what a finer edge feels like.”

“But what if I mess up your blade?” Manny's eyes widened.

Was he afraid? Ingeborg added a specific prayer to her ongoing list. Someone wounded that boy pretty bad if he didn't do something just right.

“I'll be watching to make sure you keep on track. Manny, this isn't life or death. We're just sharpening our knives.”

The boy nodded, but his shoulders looked pinned to his earlobes.

Ingeborg wanted to go out and rub his back, his shoulders, give him a haircut, tease him into a smile or possibly a laugh. The only time she'd heard him laugh was when he was with Inga and Benny and the two calves in the barn.

“Where are you off to?” Haakan asked while keeping an eye on Manny and his circle-making on the whetstone.

Trygve leaned again the porch post, sipping from the glass of strawberry swizzle Freda had brought out immediately when Trygve greeted the others.

“I'm going in to retrieve the mail. You want to walk along?”

Haakan nodded. “Thought I'd wait until it started to cool down a bit, but . . .”

Ingeborg stepped out the door. “How about you help Freda and me for a while, Manny? And I was thinking, Miss Hastings is working the day shift today, so she might enjoy coming out here for supper if you would walk her out?” While she looked to Haakan, she kept an eye on Trygve. If he were a woman, would he be blushing? It was just as she thought. Their Trygve was finally smitten. She and Kaaren had been fairly sure, and they were both delighted. They'd not mentioned it to Haakan and Lars yet. Was this one of the reasons Trygve chose not to go out with the threshing crew? Although Andrew did need more help at home too.

Manny looked up from his careful knife sharpening with a nod. He handed his knife to Haakan. “What do you think?”

Haakan felt the edge with his thumb, then held the knife blade up to the light. “It's coming right along. You'll need to work on the tip more, but were you to cut that small block into slivers, this would work. The finer the edge the sharper, but it takes plenty of practice to feel the difference. Try cutting fine,
even slivers off that piece of wood. When you whittled as a boy you weren't trying for perfection. The smoother you shave and cut, the less sanding you will have to do. Keep all your shavings in a basket—makes good fire starter.”

“So right now that is my job? To make good fire starter?”

Ingeborg chuckled when Haakan snuckled. She loved that combination of a snort and a chuckle. Manny grinned. She could tell he was pleased to get that reaction from Haakan.

“We all started there.” Trygve set his glass on the table. “Thanks, Freda. That hit the spot. I'm ready when you are.”

“I'll call and talk with Miss Hastings.”

“Takk.” When Haakan started down the steps, Trygve reached around the post and handed him his cane. “You better use this. I don't want them coming after me.”

Haakan rolled his eyes but took the cane.

Ingeborg thanked Trygve and sent them on their way, being careful to watch Haakan so he did not realize she was doing so. Her “mothering,” as he called it, was not appreciated.

Turning back to the kitchen, she picked the earpiece off the oaken box on the wall, asked Gerald to ring the hospital, and smiled to herself both inside and out. Haakan would say she was matchmaking again. So what was wrong with that?

“Hello, Deborah, could I possibly speak with Nurse Hastings if she is available?”

“Of course. She is just getting ready to leave.”

“And who is working the next shift?”

“Nurse Wells. I am so thankful for our student nurses. Ah, Ingeborg, we are so blessed.”

“Indeed we are.” Ingeborg heard the thump of Manny's crutches and the slam of the screen door.

“This is Nurse Hastings. How may I help you?”

“This is Ingeborg Bjorklund, and I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course. How can I help you?”

“Trygve is walking in with Haakan to get the mail. I was wondering if you would like to walk back with them and come for supper. I would like your opinion on how Haakan is progressing. You know, we make sure someone is always with him, but he is chafing against that lately, and I asked him to go in for a checkup. . . . Well, you can guess his reaction.”

Miriam chuckled. “Thank you. Of course I will do that. Let me tell Dr. Bjorklund what we are planning, since her mother-in-law is so generous to feed us all the time.”

“Thank you. I look forward to your observations.”

“Is there anything specific you are looking for?”

“Pace, breathing, things like that. I am hoping they will go have a soda. Haakan does love a soda.”

“Don't we all?”

Ingeborg hung up and turned to share a secret look with Freda. Plotting could be a pleasure at times. “You want to bet that they will return with Inga swinging her grandpa's hand and making him laugh?”

“Haakan needs to laugh more.”

“What is it you wanted me to do?” Manny perched on the tall stool they had moved into the kitchen for him.

“You can scrub the potatoes and peel the eggs I boiled a while ago.”

“Women's work again,” he mumbled under his breath.

Ingeborg shrugged. “To eat, you have to work, and since you can't milk cows yet or weed the garden or . . .” Her eyebrows went up along with her comment.

Manny smacked an egg on the table in front of him, but she knew he wasn't really pouting. It was as if he needed to make sure he knew better but was being forced to do women's work. And yet he had asked. Ingeborg shook her head slowly. There
was never a dull moment, that was for sure. And once Inga got here, dull ran for cover.

“How come some eggs are white and some are brown?”

“Two different breeds of chickens.”

“They taste the same.”

“Yes. The difference is only on the shell. If you want to scrub the potatoes out back, I'll bring out the bucket.”

He scooped the shells into a bowl to dump in the bucket kept for the chickens. “How come you feed the eggshells back to them?”

“Some people say it makes the hens eat the eggs, but we've not found that. They need the calcium to make more shells. I read once that people who live by the sea feed their chickens ground-up oyster shells to help them produce stronger shells.”

“What are oysters?”

“A kind of shellfish. You find them attached to the rocks on the seacoast. I think they are best fried. Or smoked.”