A Measure of Mercy (27 page)

Joshua glanced at the article. “Guess all the railroads weren’t enough for him.”

“He’s one smart businessman, that’s for sure.” Thorliff turned to Hjelmer. “So you finally decided to show your face again.”

Hjelmer chuckled. “Spoken like my favorite nephew.” He pointed to the plate of cinnamon rolls. “Have one of these. Maybe it will put you in a better mood.”

“My mood always improves after the printing is finished. There’s something about a new issue that still gives me a thrill.” He smiled at Joshua. “You want to come work for me and become my press operator? Give me more time to do the writing and layout. Just getting to be too much for one man.”

“I thought you were going to go weekly.”

“I would if I could find someone dependable to work for me. Thinking of putting an advertisement in some of the regional papers.”

“If you concentrated on the paper and didn’t try to run a construction company at the same time . . .” Hjelmer started.

“If my partner would stay around and help me instead of off traveling half of North Dakota . . .”

Sometimes Joshua wasn’t sure whether the two were teasing each other or if Thorliff really was disgusted with his uncle. “You going to have any houses to sell this winter?”

“No. The two we’re finishing are already spoken for. Then we have Hjelmer’s. Why? You want one?”

“I do. You think we could get a basement dug and poured before winter sets in?” Joshua felt like looking over his shoulder to see who’d said that.

“You going to be here to do it?”

Joshua glanced at Hjelmer, who half shrugged. “We’ll be setting two windmills starting next week.”

“Where?” The men chatted awhile longer and finished off the rolls before Thorliff pushed back his chair. “We have a lot for sale if you want to go look at it. Fastest way to build is to buy a Sears and Roebuck house. We can all put it up. Like you said, get the cellar dug and poured before the ground starts to freeze.”

Hoping his stomach would quit bouncing around, Joshua took a deep breath. Did he have enough money to begin such a thing, let alone finish it? While he’d been putting everything he earned into an account at the bank, staying at the boardinghouse took a hefty chunk of what he made.

Thorliff paused. “You know, if you are concerned about money, you can talk to Valders at the bank. You have an account there, and that means you are eligible to apply for a loan.”

A loan. He’d never in his life borrowed money. His father had only done so once, and he’d never quit hounding his sons to not do the same. But then, his father never put his money in a bank either. Living in Blessing was far different from living in Iowa.

“If you want to look at it now, I can take some time to show you.” Thorliff gave a nod over his shoulder.

Joshua glanced at Hjelmer.

“We’re finished for now. Go look and then join me at the smithy. Mr. Sam and I have something we’re working on.”

Within the hour Joshua had measured out the lot with Thorliff, and they’d shaken hands on the deal. He could put half down and pay the rest as soon as he was able. If he helped on the construction crew this winter to finish off the houses they had roughed in, he could pay off the rest.

He walked into the bank, withdrew most of his savings, and walked back to Thorliff’s office to sign the papers. When he left, he owned a half-acre lot in the township of Blessing in the state of North Dakota. Or at least he owned half of it, with a commitment to pay off the rest. As soon as he possibly could. He huffed out a deep breath. There would be no more slack time. He thought to the invitation he’d received to play at a dance in Grafton. They’d offered to pay him and his train fare. Now he knew for sure he would take them up on it—and look for other opportunities.

He folded the pictures and floor plans for the Sears and Roebuck houses that Thorliff had loaned him and put them in his shirt pocket. He’d study them tonight. Which one would Astrid like? Her name had been in the back of his mind all through the negotiations and transaction. He wanted a house of his own to bring his wife to, to raise a family. And he wanted that wife to be Astrid. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was he’d made the right decision, in spite of what his father would say. What would Astrid think if he wrote to tell her about the lot and the house? He sighed. Writing letters was not one of his talents. As soon as he picked up a paper and pencil, his mind skidded to a stop like a stubborn mule. His sister Avis had chided him about that, saying his letters were so brief she wondered why he wasted a stamp. But he’d promised to write. What kind of a man was he to let a small thing like writing a letter bring him to his knees? Tonight he would write the letter. That’s all there was to it.

Conviction in hand, he headed for the smithy. What was Hjelmer up to now?

Sometime later the ringing of the church bell brought everyone out of the buildings on the run, scanning the horizon for smoke. Johnny Solberg galloped his horse down the street. “The threshers are home! The threshing crew is home!”

“Who rang the bell?” Mr. Valders demanded.

Johnny pulled his horse to a stop and stared down at his horse’s neck. “Sorry. I did. I thought everyone wanted to know.” He pointed to the south. “See, there they are.”

The smokestack of the huge steam engine belched enough black smoke to make one think there was indeed a fire or a monster clanking its way to Blessing.

“How did you see so far?” Mr. Valders continued his inquisition.

“I was up in the bell tower sweeping out the bird droppings, and I saw it. Pa said I should let everyone know.”

“Did he say ring the bell?”

“Well, no, but he said I could take Boone and come tell you all. He said to apologize for ringing the bell too. I’m sorry if I scared all of you.”

“Just remember, that bell is to announce noon church services or a fire.”

“Yes, sir.”

Since it would still be awhile before the ponderous behemoth arrived in town, folks returned to their activities, and Johnny trotted his horse back to school, where he belonged.

THAT NIGHT AT the boardinghouse, Miss Christopherson announced that there would be a party Saturday night at Andrew and Ellie Bjorklund’s barn to celebrate the end of harvest. Everyone was invited. She stopped at Joshua’s table. “I know they are hoping you will bring your guitar and join the musicians.”

“Of course. Who’s going to play the piano, or are we doing without?”

“Most likely Dr. Bjorklund. It would sure be easier if they had the party at the school, but of course the barn is bigger in case it rains.” She nodded to his coffee cup. “You want a refill?”

“Thanks, but I think not. I better go practice for a while. I don’t play often enough.”
That is something I intend to change,
he promised himself.
I need to talk to Thorliff again and see how I can fit other work
in.
Thinking on how much money he owed was turning his supper into a rock in the bottom of his stomach.

THURSDAY EVENING, AFTER having attached blades to the heads for the next windmills all day, he ate as fast as possible, took a lantern, and headed for the lot that now belonged to him. The night before he had decided which house he wanted to order, so now he paced off the ground, pounding in pegs for markers. Once that was finished, he strung string from peg to peg, and then taking the shovel he’d brought with him from the smithy, he shoved the point into the ground and slammed it deeper with his foot, grateful for the thick soles of his boots, which took the impact. He started on the north side of the site and worked his way from peg to peg, tossing the dirt well beyond the string.

The chill wind turned his sweat icy cold, but the digging kept him warm enough. He mopped his forehead when he stopped to lean on the shovel. Digging was not something he did regularly. He’d even let Trygve dig the anchor holes for the windmills they’d set. In spite of the heavy leather gloves, his palms burned and his fingers cramped. When the lantern flickered low, he hefted the shovel over his shoulder and returned to his room to fall onto the bed exhausted.

ON HIS WAY to work on Friday he glanced over to the mounds of dirt. Good thing he’d have more time on Saturday. They were only working at the smithy until noon. If the rest of the parts and the lumber came in today or Saturday, they’d head to the farms on Monday morning. The first farmer had agreed to feed them and let them sleep in his barn.

“Come on over to our house for supper tonight,” Hjelmer invited later that afternoon.

“No thanks. I need to get more digging done.”

“You have to eat.”

“Miss Christopherson is going to keep something aside for me. I was hoping to get a good part of the cellar dug before we leave.”

THE BAD THING about digging was that his brain wasn’t needed, so thoughts of his brother floated through his head. Even though he’d not wanted to stay on the farm, he resented the way Frank took over and treated Aaron and him like hired hands without pay. His brother’s officious attitude ate at him like chiggers from a summer lawn digging under the skin. If he never saw his pa again, he wouldn’t mind. The fear that he was starting to be like his father had driven him from the farm—both times. He knew now he never should have gone back. He’d tried to close his ears when Pastor Solberg talked about forgiveness and how critical it was to not carry grudges. Far as he was concerned, he wasn’t carrying a grudge, he was burying it under mounds of dirt.

RIGHT AFTER DINNER on Saturday he headed for his someday house, shovel and gloves in hand. He’d been digging for about ten minutes when he looked up to see Trygve and Haakan, both carrying shovels, stepping over the string that marked the eastern boundary.

“Thought you might like some help.”

“But . . . but . . . I can’t pay you.”

Haakan’s eyebrows tickled his hatband. “Son, you have a lot to learn about living in Blessing. Here, we take care of our own.”

Trygve winked at Joshua before digging the first shovelful. “Besides, we got to save your hands for tonight. We need your guitar.”

Take care of our own
. The comment stayed with him. Had he proven himself to Haakan? He’d detected some coolness back when he’d asked if he could court Astrid. He figured it was because he was a stranger. And Astrid was the man’s only daughter.

THAT NIGHT AT the dance as Dr. Elizabeth plinked out the notes, he and Lars tuned up their instruments.

“I see you started on your cellar.” Always a doctor, Elizabeth nodded toward him. “How are your hands?”

“Oh, just a blister or two. It’s the rest of me that’s sore. Haven’t dug this much in my whole life. Back home, my younger brother got to dig the drainage ditches. And our house was already built.”

“Don’t let those blisters get infected.”

“I won’t.”

Lars nodded and drew the fiddle bow across all the strings, the signal they were ready to play. He tapped his foot. “One, two, three, four.” And they swung into a rollicking polka, with couples taking the floor and others clapping from the sidelines.

At the first break, Gus Baard, with Maydell Gamble by his side, stood up as soon as the music ended. His cheeks were red enough to light the room.

“Go on, boy, what you got to say?” someone called from the back.

Gus started to talk, choked on his words, and shook his head. Maydell nudged him in the side.

“I . . . ah . . . we . . . um.” He sucked in a deep breath. The words tripped over each other. “You all know I asked Maydell to marry me, and—”

“Ja, that was at the last dance.” The comment sent chuckles flitting around the people.

“Well, she said yes, and we were going to get married right after threshing, but now we decided to get married right after Christmas, and we want you all to come.”

“Well, I should hope so.” Pastor Solberg led the clapping and cheering. “Let’s pray the Lord’s blessing on these two young people and on the food that’s about to be served.” As the quiet fell, he raised his arms. “Lord God, we thank you for this evening, for the good times we have and for all the good things you have given us. We ask for your blessing on these two young people. Teach them how to love each other and build their coming marriage on your strong foundation. Bless the food so lovingly prepared for us, and protect us all from the attacks of the enemy. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

“Food’s on,” Penny called. “Save a place for the ice cream that Rebecca and Gerald are providing.”

Since the musicians were invited to go first, Joshua filled his plate and sat down on one of the benches.

“Mr. Landsverk?”

He turned to see thirteen-year-old Johnny Solberg on the bench beside him. “Yes?”

“I . . . I wondered . . . I mean, well, my pa said I should ask you.”

Joshua waited a moment, taking a bite out of the drumstick he’d picked up. “Ask me what?”

“You know how I want to play the guitar and you said you would teach me come winter?” The boy’s eyes pleaded more than his words. “Could we maybe start now rather than waiting for winter?”

Joshua thought about his house and all the work it would take. He chewed carefully. Shame he had to say no. He started to decline, and then a thought hit him. That’s what his father would do, saying that what Johnny wanted wasn’t important, only building the house counted. Joshua shook off the thought. “Of course we can start now. When would you like?”

“Pa said maybe for a while after service on Sundays?”

Nodding, Joshua set his chicken bone back on his plate. He wiped his hands on a napkin and extended his right. “I’d say that’s a very good idea.” They shook hands. “Now, do you have a guitar?”

“Pa said I will get one if you will teach me.”

“You let me know when you have it, and we’ll meet at the church like you said.”

“Thank you.” Johnnie ducked his head.

“You have to promise to practice.”

“I will.” The boy leaped to his feet and ran off to tell his friends.

Joshua looked up to see Pastor Solberg smiling and nodding at him.

During the next break Joshua was standing by the punch bowl drinking his second glass when he heard two women talking. Recognizing Mrs. Valders’ voice, he started to walk away, but the mention of Astrid caught his attention.