A Promise for Ellie (3 page)

She returned to her letter, the sun having dimmed slightly even though no cloud crossed the sky.

Pastor Solberg said to send you his greetings and to say that he is happy you are coming back to graduate with the rest of us. I asked him if he would conduct our wedding, and he said he thought I’d never ask. And if someone else came to do that, he’d have to do battle with him. Isn’t that typical of our Pastor Solberg?

Astrid has written a letter, and I will include it with mine. Don’t believe everything she says about the way I’ve been acting.

Your loving Andrew

Ellie read the letter again and put it back into the envelope. Maybe seeing Andrew would allay her fears. But what if it didn’t?

“E
ASY, OLD GIRL.
Just finish pushing that calf out so I can go back to bed.” Andrew stood from his kneeling position beside the birthing cow.

“Thought I’d find you out here.” Haakan leaned on the half wall of the calving stall, watching his younger son in action.

“She needed some help, is all. She’d been laboring too long.” Andrew washed his hands and arm in the bucket of water now gone cool. “I went in and straightened that front leg, and now they’re all right.” They watched as the calf slid out onto the straw, still encased in the birth sac but for the two front hooves now parallel to each other. Andrew picked up some straw and began scrubbing the sac away, clearing the calf ’s muzzle. It shook its head at the intrusion and bleated, coughing out phlegm. While it lay still for a moment, gaining strength, the afterbirth followed, and the cow surged to her feet, then turned to begin licking her baby. She glared at Andrew and shook her head, warning him to stay back. She was now in charge.

“This one’s yours, you know.” Haakan rested on his crossed arms.

“You don’t need to do that. You already deeded me the land for my house and barn.”

“I know, but your mor and I decided that the calf crop this year would belong half to you. What do you have there—a bull or heifer?”

“Bull.”

“That won’t help much with your milking herd, but he’ll taste mighty good when he grows enough.” They usually castrated the bull calves and fed them out for beef, unless one was of particularly good breeding and build. Then they sold it for a breeding bull. Some of the farmers to the west would often write and ask if they had dairy bulls for sale. The Blessing Cheese Company Ingeborg had started was known coast-to-coast for its delicious cheese, while the Bjorklund name stood for farming success due to hard work and good management. Twenty years earlier two brothers with their families homesteaded on the banks of the Red River of Dakota Territory. The town of Blessing, located north of Grand Forks and northeast of Grafton, grew after the arrival of the train lines that crisscrossed the fertile Red River Valley, hauling wheat east to the flour mills of Minnesota and supplies west to the prairie farmers.

Andrew shut the stall door behind him, satisfied now that the calf was nursing and the cow clearly wanting him to leave. Like his mother, Andrew had inherited the gift of healing, but most of his talents went to helping animals, not humans. People were Ingeborg’s province, or they had been until her older son, Thorliff, came home from college bringing with him a budding newspaper career and a wife, Dr. Elizabeth Bjorklund.

Father and son strolled back to the house, the star canopy arched above them. A thin sliver of moon hung in the west with a bright star dangling off the lower point, as if caught like a fish. The breeze carried the fragrance of spring—burgeoning earth, newly turned and seeded, and grass growing so fast as to be measured daily on a yardstick.

A few minutes later, when he slid back between the cool sheets, Andrew thought again of the letter he’d received from Ellie. Locking his arms behind his head, he let his mind play both backward and forward. Back to the last time he saw her at Christmas and ahead to their wedding and a lifetime together. Ellie, his Ellie, ever since the sick little girl was carried into his mother’s house in the dead of winter. Mr. Peterson had died, leaving his wife and two children to manage on their own. Andrew had never forgotten the look of her, all gray eyes in a face so thin and tiny that it seemed you could see right through her. As she grew stronger, he’d appointed himself her guardian and had never stopped. The family teased him when he’d stated that when they were big, he was going to marry up with Ellie.

He’d never changed his mind, not even after Onkel Olaf decided to move his family to Grafton, farther away from the banks of the Red River and the horrible floodwaters of 1897. He had all of her letters of these past two years tied with a leather thong and in a box under his bed. When he needed a shot of Ellie’s good common sense, he took them out and read them by kerosene lamplight.

Three more days until graduation, and then little more than a month until their wedding. If all went well, the planting would be done and the grass not ready to hay. The week after graduation, they were having a house raising on his own land. He’d ordered the house package from Sears and Roebuck, and it should be arriving on the train any day now. He’d used his savings and borrowed from the farm to buy the house. He’d use the one hundred dollars each graduate received for future schooling to pay back Mor and Far.

“Soon, Ellie, my heart, soon.” His whisper floated on the breeze coming through the window, playing with the white lace curtains all newly washed and starched after his mother’s annual spring cleaning. No dirt dared to reside in the Bjorklund home after the women scrubbed it inside and out. At least this year there had been no flood to leave all the dirt behind.

At school the next day Andrew took his final exams. While he struggled with some of the arithmetic equations and didn’t have the writing skills of his brother, Thorliff, he knew he’d passed with reasonable grades. Perfection in the field, with straight rows and weeds afraid to even peep out of the soil, was necessary, nay obligatory, but the same rules did not apply in the classroom. At least not according to Andrew.

For his young sister, Astrid, that was a different matter. She upheld the tradition that Thorliff started of all straight A’s and threw extra in for good measure.

Andrew handed in his final exam.

“Thank you. You may be excused.” Reverend Solberg laid the papers on a growing pile.

“You mean I’m done for the day?” Andrew kept his voice to a whisper so he wouldn’t disturb those still writing.

“That’s what I mean, but I expect you back tomorrow morning to help with cleaning the building. Must have a clean school for graduation.”

“Everyone will be cleaning?”

“Some will be finishing their tests. I thought you seniors could start on the outside, cutting the grass around both the school and the church, washing the windows—those kinds of things. Bring cleaning supplies.” Reverend Solberg smoothed his thinning hair back with one hand. He sometimes said he was not only turning gray but was losing hair over the antics of some of his students.

Andrew clapped his hat on his head as soon as he exited the school and leaped the two steps to the ground. He felt like yelling “I’m done” loud enough to scare the birds and reach the heavens, but that was surely the antics of a child. And he no longer considered himself a child—hadn’t, in fact, for several years. Ever since Thorliff left home to go to St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota, Andrew had been the oldest of the children at home. And he had long done the work of a man—milking cows, doing fieldwork, helping in the cheese house, whatever needed to be done. He’d rather work outside than study any day of the week.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and set off for the general store owned by his tante Penny, whistling as he went. Perhaps his house had come in on the train, although you’d have thought they’d come ask him to help unload it. Buying the Sears and Roebuck house package so that his and Ellie’s house would go up more quickly had seemed a stroke of genius on his part. No longer were there enough trees available to cut their own logs for a sawmill that Haakan used to run. He needed to buy the lumber for his barn too. Had he been wise in starting with the house? They could have raised a soddy, but the thought of taking his new wife into a soddy made him shake his head. He’d thought long and hard on it. Ellie needed sunlight like a sunflower did, not the dank darkness of a soddy.

At least the ground had dried enough that the gumbo no longer weighted down his boots. He kicked off any dirt on the store steps and scraped his soles over a scraper by the door. Tapping on the window, he caught Tante Penny’s attention as she rearranged the window display.

“How come you’re not in school?” she called back.

“Finished.” He pushed open the door, setting the bell above to jangling. “That looks right nice.” His compliment made her smile widen.

“Andrew, you always say the nicest things.” Penny climbed over the small picket fence made to protect her window display and gave him a hug. “I can’t believe you are really graduating—so soon. I close my eyes and you’re still a little guy dragging after Thorliff or down playing with whatever animal babies there were.” She stared up into his eyes. Bjorklund blue eyes, they were called. “You and Paws.” She sniffed and locked her arm through his. “Here I go getting all weepy. It’s not like you are moving away or anything.”

“Just from one house to another.” He squeezed her hand against his side. “You have any mail for me to take on home, and did my house come?”

“Sorry, no house, but do you think that dear Ellie would let more than a couple of days go by before writing to you?” She went behind the counter to the wall of cubbyholes and pulled out a newspaper and several pieces of mail. “I’ll bet half of these are cheese orders.” She held one envelope back. “Except for this. What am I offered?”

Andrew shook his head. “Have to pay for my own mail?” He scrunched up his eyes. “What would it take?” He opened his eyes and shook his head. “Please don’t say you need wood chopped.”

“Now that you volunteered . . .” She laughed and handed him the letter. “I’d be truly grateful if you’d fill the woodbox for me. I’m baking something special for Hjelmer so that he remembers how good things are at home.”

His onkel Hjelmer, youngest of the Norwegian-born Bjorklund brothers, had been elected to the state assembly and now spent more time on the road than he did at his blacksmith and machinery sales businesses. Old Sam took care of the one and Mr. Valders the other, as well as being the bank manager when needed.

“I will.” He folded the letter carefully and put it in his breast pocket, right over his heart, where he usually carried Ellie’s latest letter. Never would he have dreamed that he could be such a faithful correspondent.

“So when are the Wolds coming?” Penny asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“They going to stay at the boardinghouse?” His grandma Bridget ran the boardinghouse just up the street.

“I doubt it. Mor offered them a room upstairs.” He headed out back to bring in wood. Instead of being stacked neatly against the woodshed, it was tossed in a pile, and there was not much of it. Should he split some now or come back later? Like his mor had said more than once, it was great having Onkel Hjelmer helping run North Dakota, but when his family needed him, he wasn’t often around. Like now to chop wood. Andrew took off his shirt and hung it on the clothesline so he could be free to chop. He set a butt up on the block and brought the ax down right in the middle.When it took a second swing, he shook his head. The ax needed sharpening. His pa had been a lumberjack before coming west to help his relatives and had drilled into his sons the necessity for a sharp ax.

Keeping one’s ax sharp was a good metaphor for life, one that Andrew understood clear to his heart. He took the ax over to the blacksmith shop and sat down at the stone wheel to grind an edge on it again. Haakan always set a good example, taking care of his tools and machinery, fixing anything that came loose or cracked or showed wear. Sparks peppered Andrew’s bare chest as he peddled the wheel and held the ax bit against it until the edge was sharp enough to shave with. Or at least that was the joke. Since he’d only had to shave a couple of times in his whole life, he didn’t want to try doing so with the ax bit.