A Measure of Mercy (40 page)

31

M
ID
-F
EBRUARY
1904

T
wo weeks and her surgical rotation would end.

Astrid stared at the letter she’d just received. Another one from Africa. Why did it feel like the whole continent was sitting on her shoulders? A decision would have to be made—and soon. The question: Which way was the best way? Which way did God want her to go? Why couldn’t He make His marching orders more clear like He had for the armies and leaders in the Old Testament? He told them where to attack, when to march, and how many were needed. Of course, if they didn’t do as ordered, they died.

She set her coffee cup down on the table and sat down on the bench. She needed every bit of support she could get.

Dear Dr. Bjorklund,

Greetings from the other side of the world. I am sure you are counting the days until you can leave the hospital and return to Blessing. I know I would be. But as Shakespeare or someone famous said, “Hope springs eternal in the human breast: man never is but always to be blessed.” Maybe it was Alexander Pope. My dearest hope is that God is leading you to register for a short stint of school to prepare you for coming here for further on-the-job training.

The doctor who served this entire region had to return to the States due to declining health. We desperately need a young person, and I know of none more capable than you. What we can offer you is the knowledge that those you help here will be of eternal significance. Jesus said if you give the needy a cup of water in His name . . . Well, you know the rest.

Astrid laid the letter on the table and rested her head in her hands. Couldn’t she at least take a few weeks at home to think this through? She returned to the letter.

We are in the monsoon season now. As soon as the land dries, we will be able to reach some of the far-flung villages. Many of those tribes have never seen a white person. But I can promise you will always have strong men with you on those visits to keep you safe.

Now, that certainly made her feel secure. She finished the closing and folded the letter to put away with the rest she had received from him. Maybe if she had a more adventurous personality, she would want to cross lands and oceans, but all she wanted to do was go home to Blessing. She knew she could make a difference there too.

“Dr. Bjorklund?”

“Yes?”

“Dr. Whitaker is asking for you. He’s in operating theatre three.”

“I’ll be right there.” She rose and set her half-full cup on the counter. This was supposed to be Dr. Whitaker’s day off. She returned greetings from those staff members she saw on the way. In two weeks this all would be behind her.

She sniffed against the burn in her eyes that was leaking into her nose. She would miss them all.

She straight-armed the swinging door to the scrub room, where Dr. Whitaker was scrubbing up. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she told him.

“I know, but Dr. Franck slipped and wrenched his back. There’s no way he can stand for two hours during surgery. So here I am, and now here you are, and we start as soon as we can get in there.”

She donned one of the operating aprons and picked up the bar of soap and brush. “What are we doing?”

“A head wound. You’ve not done one of those before, as far as I know, so I thought you would find this interesting. After that we have another amputation. One of the burn victims. His foot has succumbed to gangrene. I was hoping to save it and him, but . . .” He heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I want you to do the actual amputation.”

Astrid swallowed. She’d done the one in class and another on the cadaver, but this would be the first on a living human.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir.”

Four hours later she dragged herself to the dining room, hoping there was some food left. Dr. Whitaker had complimented her on the smooth cut through the bone, even though she had hoped to preserve more skin to cover the stump. They took the foot off right above the ankle.

The head-wound patient was still comatose and could stay that way for days or weeks or . . . The
or
was too sad to contemplate. The woman had fallen down the stairs, or at least that’s what whoever brought her in had said. In her months there Astrid had seen too many injured women who’d said they fell. She now knew the signs of wife battering. And child battering.

At least in Blessing they would not have cases like these.

Another letter waited for her on her pillow, this one with well-recognizable handwriting and the stamp of Blessing. She sat on the bed to read Pastor Solberg’s reply to her plea for help.

My dear Astrid,

Sometimes I feel responsible for your situation since I invited my friend Reverend Schuman to speak here at our church. I never anticipated anything but his encouraging us to donate more to missions. That is what missionaries usually do when they are home on furlough. They tell people what life there is like so more money will be sent there for support.

I have been earnestly praying for your decision, and I have to say that God has not led me in either direction. I have included some of the Scriptures I’ve been pondering, and all I know to do is share those with you and leave you in His mighty hands. If God is indeed calling you to Africa, He will provide for all your needs.

I know that when I heard the call to ministry—I’ve told this story many times—and when I finally agreed, I felt a peace that carried me for weeks. Actually for years. The knowledge that we are walking in God’s will for us gives strength and wisdom, because He promised it would be so. I also know the desperate need of people who have never heard of God’s plan of salvation.

I remember when you were confirmed. You looked me right in the eyes and confessed your faith. Your “Yes, by the help of God” rang so true. I know you believe aright, but I also know you have much growing up to do. I have to remind myself that God will take care of it all, no matter where He calls you.

In His loving care,
Pastor John Solberg

She read the list of verses on the back of the page. She knew most of them by heart.
Go ye therefore, and teach all nations . . .
Another was the healing of the ten lepers. Would there be leprosy in Africa? Would they teach her about the diseases endemic to that continent when she attended missionary school?

THE NEXT DAYS passed in a fog. She cared for the remaining burn patients, birthed babies, held a child who died in her arms, then comforted the grieving mother. The day of exodus drew closer, but still she had no answer.

Two more letters arrived one day. One from the missionary school in Georgia, saying that her place was reserved and they were looking forward to her arrival. She read it again. All she’d done was to write for information. She hadn’t told them she was coming for sure. She reread the letter, finding a clause she’d missed on her first read. “If you choose.”

“If I choose? I’m not doing the choosing. This is not my choice. If I do this it will be because I believe God is calling me to obedience. In this case the most painful obedience I can imagine.”

She laid the letter on the small desk at the end of her bed and opened the second one. Surely a letter from Sophie would be more entertaining.

Dear Astrid,

How we miss you. I am counting the days until you return to Blessing. We had a girls’ night on Friday. I guess perhaps we should call it a young women’s night, but we laughed and giggled just like we have all of our lives. If you and Grace had been here, the circle would have been complete.

Rebecca and Gerald are besotted with Benny. And he with them. Haakan has carved him new crutches that fit better, and Ingeborg and Dr. Elizabeth are figuring out better ways to pad the wooden legs. He is such a game little boy. He plays with the other children, and Inga and Emmy have taken him on as their special friend. They have not put him in school yet, but Rebecca is teaching him at home until he at least knows his alphabet and numbers.

I have a bit of news. We are expecting another child come fall. I cannot believe that I will be the mother of five children. Astrid, I am not old enough for this. Five children happen to others, not to me. But Garth is excited, and Grant is telling the others he is going to be a big brother again. Remember how we all used to play together in the barns and the woods? All these little kids are like puppies tumbling around. Speaking of puppies. Inga’s puppy—she named it Scooter—is now nearly three months old and is chewing on everything. Elizabeth says he has to stay out of the surgery, that’s all there is to it, and it is Inga’s responsibility to keep the doors closed. I’d rather have another cat myself.

Oh, and some other news. Mr. Landsverk left for Iowa before Christmas. That’s all for now. I’m sure you are too busy to write but know that we all love you and are looking forward to your coming home. There’s a secret that I’m not going to tell you. Now, isn’t that just like me to tease like that?

Your cousin,
Sophie

P.S. Grace did write to tell you she and Jonathan are engaged, did she not? S.

P.S.S. Oops. I wrote this and forgot to mail it. Sorry. S.

Astrid finished the letter in a state of shock. Mr. Landsverk left Blessing without even letting her know. Not that he’d written often, and she couldn’t complain because she hadn’t either. She undressed and pulled her flannel nightdress over her head. Tonight she was not supposed to be called, so she should be able to catch up on some sleep.

Did he come back? Should she write and ask? Where could she write to? Surely someone would have his address in Iowa. Did she want to write to him? Was this just one more of the ways God was providing for her? Removing one of the stumbling blocks to her leaving?

The next afternoon she hurried to her meeting with Dr. Morganstein. While she should have been rested and refreshed, her eyes wore the grit of sleeplessness. To go or not go? A Blessing life or an African village life?
God, you have to make this clear!

Dr. Morganstein had the tea service in place in front of the sofa and motioned her to sit down. “I have been so looking forward to our time together.”

“Thank you. I have too.” Astrid sank down on the sofa, then straightened her spine and sat upright like her mentor. She said one lump in response to the age-old question and shook her head at the offer of milk. She accepted her cup and saucer and picked up one of the dainty cookies trimmed in colored sugar. “These are so delicious. I should get the recipe for Mor.”

“What about for you? You are going to have a home of your own soon, are you not?”

“I have a recipe box in my hope chest, along with linens and household things, but I still don’t know what I am supposed to do next.”

“You’ve heard from the missionary again?”

“Oh, several times. But I have not come to a decision.”

“I would hope you will be in Blessing when we all work to build another hospital there. I know you will be a big asset, and down the road I think one of the trainers for the interns we send there.”

“I think that will be more Elizabeth’s job. She is an excellent teacher.”

“I know. She sent us you.”

Astrid shook her head. “I’m afraid I failed far more often than I thought I would. Panic is not easy to deal with.” And homesickness. “I hate making mistakes.”

“Now
that
I understand, but sometimes we need to make mistakes to help us learn. To develop compassion and forethought. I have your reports here. You scored a ninety-eight out of one hundred in the anatomy class.”

“I did?” Surprise widened her eyes. She’d known she did well on the final, but Dr. Franck had seemed to resent her so often that she felt sure he would mark her down.

“I observed you in surgery this last week. Dr. Whitaker agrees with me that you have good hands and eyes for this branch of medicine. I would love for you to go back East for further training, like Elizabeth did when she finished here. But you have met a good many of the needs for surgery here. Because of all your experiences before coming here, you are well trained in all fields of medicine.”

“Thank you.” Astrid sipped her tea and nibbled a cookie.

“There are many changes coming in our field of medicine. You would be wise to get yourself back here or to other places in the East on a regular basis.”

But what if I am in Africa?
Astrid looked up to find Dr. Morganstein studying her.

“I have learned through the years that sometimes God seems mighty slow in acting, but He is never late.”

“I hope you are right.”

“You could go home for a time and continue to think on this.”

Astrid nodded.
But if I go home, will I ever leave again? And if that
is the case, is that my answer?

“Do you have any other questions?”

Pausing, Astrid searched her mind. “Other than will someone please tell me what I am to do, I don’t think so.”

“And that, my dear, is between you and God.”

Astrid swallowed. “There is a question.”

“Yes?”

“What if I’m just afraid? So afraid that I cannot hear the answer?”
And how much does my answer depend on the fact that Joshua, Mr.
Landsverk, might not be in Blessing like he said he would?