More Than a Dream (10 page)
‘‘Good. I’ll concede one thing since this is your first time. I won’t knock you into the pond, the lilacs, or the rose garden, all right?’’
‘‘All right.’’ Thorliff tapped his ball through the first three wickets this time and overshot the first single by only a foot or so.
‘‘Very nice.’’
By the time they’d played half the course, they were fairly close in play. When she bumped his ball, she glanced toward the pond and grimaced.
Oh, how fun that would be. Why did I ever offer him
that promise?
She glanced over to see Thorliff watching her, a half smile on his mouth and a twinkle in his eyes.
‘‘Are you sure you’ve never played this game before?’’
‘‘As your father said, you are a good teacher.’’
‘‘You didn’t answer my question.’’ She heard the tendency her voice had to snap.
‘‘No, I have never played croquet before, but I did try golf once. We read about it, took sticks out in the field, and batted at the puffballs. They didn’t roll well, so Andrew carved us a ball out of a hunk of wood. That thing could fly, until it broke in half. Then we wrapped it with string, and it really flew. Right into the river. End of game.’’
Elizabeth studied him, questions racing through her mind like kids just out of school and just as noisy. What a creative family they were, those Bjorklunds. Did they really not have much of anything, as he had so casually mentioned? What was life really like on that North Dakota farm of his?
With a sigh, she tapped his ball a few feet out of the playing area and won the game by one stroke.
‘‘Is it proper to put your foot on the ball like that?’’
‘‘House rules?’’
‘‘Ah.’’ His eyebrows waggled.
‘‘My father said it was so, and so it was so.’’
‘‘Very well said, Miss Rogers.’’ Thorliff dropped his mallet back into the proper slot on the cart. ‘‘Thank you for a most enlightening afternoon.’’
‘‘Can you not find time to play another round?’’
‘‘Not today. But you can count on another match, perhaps Sunday after church?’’
‘‘A good time.’’ She looked toward the house when she heard a door slam. ‘‘See, Cook is bringing refreshments. Her timing is impeccable.’’
‘‘Of course, all she has to do is glance out the window when you crow in triumph.’’
‘‘I didn’t crow.’’
His eyebrows rose as one.
‘‘Well, perhaps only a little crow.’’
When they sat at the table with their lemonade, she asked, ‘‘You are coming to graduation, aren’t you?’’
‘‘I promised to cover it for the paper.’’
‘‘Is that your only reason?’’
He studied her as if trying to figure out what she wanted. ‘‘Why else?’’ At the glint in her eye, he added, ‘‘And to see you graduate, of course.’’
‘‘That’s better.’’ Her smile brought an answering one from Thorliff.
He reached for another cookie and sat back in his chair.
Elizabeth nibbled on her bottom lip. ‘‘Have you been thinking any more on the challenge Pastor Mohn gave that day?’’
Thorliff nodded. ‘‘And you?’’
Elizabeth continued to worry her lip before answering. ‘‘He has such a gift for striking one right in the heart. I tried to ignore it since I’m not coming back here to school, but it isn’t that easy.’’
‘‘I know.’’ Thorliff sipped from his glass. ‘‘I’ve gone through all of the Beatitudes and considered each one. After I figured out the real definition of each one, that is. They are not easy.’’
‘‘No, that is for sure. I went back and forth between mercy and pure in heart, finally settling on mercy. I thought that is something I need in the medical field. What about you?’’
‘‘I decided on pure in heart.’’
‘‘And?’’
‘‘And controlling my thoughts is not easy. Paul said the same, that we should take every thought captive.’’
‘‘But thoughts and heart, they aren’t the same.’’
‘‘They are if you go back to the Greek. Jesus did not offer an easy thing, and Pastor Mohn understands that.’’
And since he’s a
man, perhaps I could talk with him. Here, even just talking with Elizabeth,
my mind
. . . He shook his head.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Nothing. I need to get going.’’ He stood and nodded. ‘‘Thanks for the lesson.’’
That night at supper they discussed Thorliff’s new story and how the printing was going on
The Switchmen
.
‘‘I told Thorliff I think he needs a strong female character or two so that more women will want to read his story.’’ Elizabeth steepled her fingers under her chin, her elbows propped on the table. A look and a throat-clearing from her mother made her remove her elbows from the table.
‘‘You think women haven’t been reading
The Switchmen
? That’s who we heard from mostly.’’ Phillip leaned back in his chair and stroked his mustache.
‘‘That’s because men don’t usually tell you if something is good, only if it is something that doesn’t please them.’’ Annabelle raised the silver coffee server, but they all shook their heads.
Phillip studied his wife, then glanced at his daughter. He turned to Thorliff. ‘‘So do you have any ideas for such a character?’’
‘‘Or two,’’ Elizabeth added.
‘‘I can figure some out. Both young men are of marriageable age, and . . .’’ His voice faded.
Elizabeth watched him, having learned that the look on his face meant he was off in the world of his latest story. She and her father exchanged a smile, knowing that he did the same thing when writing his editorials.
‘‘Ah, thank you for supper.’’ Thorliff stood and sketched a slight bow. ‘‘I will see you at the ceremony tomorrow.’’
They watched him leave before Annabelle rang for Cook. ‘‘We’ll have tea out on the verandah, please.’’
‘‘And I challenge you both to a game of croquet.’’ Elizabeth stood and took her father’s arm. ‘‘Come along, you need the exercise. Mother?’’
‘‘I, ah . . .’’ Annabelle sighed. ‘‘All right, if you insist, but if either of you knocks my ball into the roses, the lilacs, or the pond, I shall quit. Immediately.’’
The sky darkened with thunderclouds just as people were gathering for the graduation ceremonies. With guests filling the chairs and the faculty lined up to parade in front of the sixteen graduates, Reverend Mohn took his place at the podium.
‘‘Before we begin let me announce that if the rain doesn’t hold off, we shall recess inside to the auditorium. But in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we shall begin with the processional.’’ He nodded to the band instructor, who raised his arms, and marching to ‘‘Holy, Holy, Holy,’’ the procession began.
Elizabeth looked at the young woman marching beside her. Both of them tightened quivering chins and stepped out on the right foot, just as they had practiced.
The last diploma was handed out, and Professor Mohn, usually rather loquacious, had quickly concluded his speech before the clouds warned them with a sprinkle. By the time they’d all made it inside, the last ones looked a bit damp. Thunder growled and lightning slashed, but the exuberance inside the auditorium drowned it all out.
Thorliff observed all the graduates with their families. He watched as Professor Ytterboe drummed up financial support to keep the college going. Would it be that way in two years for him, with his family gathered around, rejoicing? Would he even make it through the next two years, or did God have something else in mind for him?
June 19, 1895
Dear Thorliff,
I hope you are enjoying your summer in Northfield. We are sure missing you here at home. Our big news is that Metiz gave Andrew a puppy. He is the funniest thing. Andrew was wishing you were here to help find the perfect name. He—the puppy, not Andrew—has one white paw, and the rest is black and gray and brown all mottled together. He is so small we cannot let him outside by himself yet in case a coyote would grab him. Oh, Mor named him after all. His name is Barnabas—Barney— because he follows us all over. He loves to chew on anything he can get his mouth on. Far says he will be better when he gets his permanent teeth. I didn’t know that puppies had baby teeth and then got their big teeth just like we do. I know about kittens though, since we have so many. I hope his new teeth aren’t as sharp as his baby teeth.
Mor and I got to take care of little Gus and his baby sister yesterday. Tante Penny says Gus can run faster than a jackrabbit. He is such a happy little boy. He will be two in October and can say all kinds of things now. He is so smart. He calls me ‘‘Astid’’ because he cannot say his
r
’s yet. And little Linnea looks just like a doll. She’s such a happy baby. I wish you could see them both.
Mor says we will come to visit you sometime this summer. I cannot wait. I want to see your school and the newspaper and have ice cream at Mrs. Sitze’s like you wrote about. I wish Far and Andrew could come too, but they said there is too much work to do here for everyone to be gone at the same time. I will have a surprise for you when I come.
Please write to us more often. I miss you so much. Are you writing another continuing story for the newspaper? Did Elizabeth graduate? Is she going to medical school? Don’t you do anything for fun?
Your sister,
Astrid
Leaning against the column in front of the post office, Thorliff read the letter a second time. Yes, he should write home more. He promised himself he would do that in the evening and headed back to the newspaper office, the mail for the business under his arm. Getting the mail was one of the jobs he had taken over for the summer.
‘‘Hey, Bjorklund, you have time for a soda?’’
‘‘Sorry, not now. I’m working.’’ He waved back at one of the students he knew from school. Between his writing for the paper and playing baseball on the St. Olaf team, he’d become quite well known in Northfield.
‘‘Another time, then?’’
‘‘Sure. You know where to find me.’’ He waved and picked up his pace again. Living in town was certainly different from on the farm, Mrs. Sitze’s Ice Cream Parlor being one of the niceties of town living.
The bell jangled overhead when he entered the newspaper office.
‘‘Thorliff, how long since you’ve seen Mr. Stromme?’’ Phillip asked in greeting.
‘‘Three, four days. Why?’’
‘‘Doc just called. He says Henry is asking for you, as well as he can ask. You better go on over.’’
‘‘You’ve figured out how to finish setting up the binder?’’
Phillip waved the booklet he was reading. ‘‘I will soon. You’d think they’d send someone out with a machine like that to make sure it is set up right and to give us some instruction.’’
They’d spent one day cleaning out the storeroom to have a place to set up the new machine, moving the old printer and various other castoffs to the unused side of the carriage house at Phillip’s home.
Phillip had patted the archaic printer and smiled at Thorliff. ‘‘When the time comes, I will give you a real good deal on this old lady. Of course you’ll be so spoiled then with the one we have now that it will feel like going backward, but I know what it’s like starting out. There’s never enough money for all the things a new business needs. Besides, there’s a lot of good wear left in the old girl. If you haven’t forgotten how to pick type, that is.’’