More Than a Dream (40 page)
Lord God, please forgive me for yelling at Hildegunn yesterday.
But I cannot say I’m sorry. For I’m not. I am still so mad at her that
my hands shake. Yet I know that your Word says to forgive as we
have been forgiven. But why doesn’t she have to apologize? She is
so . . . so like the Pharisees, and even you called them names
. Ingeborg sighed and shook her head.
Why did I have to go and yell at
her like that?
The cat arched against her skirt as she sat in the rocker by the fire. Outside, icicles dripped merrily and the warm chinook wind called her to come out and play. Or at least to stand on the porch and feel the warmth after such a long, cold, and dark winter.
She’d heard the change in the wind sometime during the night when she was arguing with a silent God instead of sleeping.
By the next morning, after even less sleep, guilt weighed around her neck like one of the millstones the Bible referred to.
‘‘Lord, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to talk with Pastor. I don’t want to go anywhere.’’ Speaking aloud in the quietness, she clenched the sides of her skirt. ‘‘But I don’t want to carry this burden around any longer either. Is there no other way?’’
She took down the bowl with the rising bread dough and, dumping it out on the floured board, pushed her hand down into its yeasty softness. Within three strokes, she changed from kneading to pummeling, pounding the air into it, flipping and turning the dough as if it were alive and had desecrated the memory of her dear dead friend.
Tears dripped as she locked her elbows and leaned on the table. ‘‘Lord God, I cannot stand this. I give up.’’
She formed the bread dough into a round ball again and set it back to rise once more.
‘‘Such irony, beat up the dough to get the lightest bread—when I would rather be beating up that woman. No wonder Andrew uses his fists at times. It must feel immensely satisfying, like the bread dough. How can I ask him to not do so when I almost did?’’
Was that a chuckle she heard or the dropping of ashes in the firebox?
After serving leftover beef barley soup for dinner along with fresh bread still warm from the oven, she took a loaf and a wedge of cheese, loaded a basket, and headed for the barn to harness the horse. The snow was too wet for skiing.
Half an hour later she stopped the horse and sleigh in front of the Valderses’ home and tied the horse to the hitching post. Surely she saw the curtain twitch shut in a front window, but no one came to the door. She knocked and waited, then knocked again. Hildegunn Valders opened the door and stood there, arms locked across her chest.
‘‘I have come to beg . . .’’ Ingeborg swallowed and began again. ‘‘I brought you a peace offering and came to beg your forgiveness for the things I said the other day at quilting. I am truly sorry.’’ Her words finally finished in a rush.
Will she not even invite me in?
Ingeborg held out her basket. ‘‘I just baked today. I thought—’’
‘‘I forgive you only because our Lord says I must, but I shan’t forget what you said.’’ Hildegunn closed the door without another word. The click of the catch cracked like a rifleshot in the stillness.
Ingeborg took a step back, the urge to bang on the door swelling within her like the rage of the days before. Instead, she closed her eyes.
Lord, I have done what you commanded. Now what?
Turning, she walked down the unshoveled steps and out to the waiting horse. After settling herself in the sleigh, she backed the horse and, turning, headed home. She thought of going on out to the Solberg place, since she was already out, or stopping by the store to see Penny, but instead she headed on home.
‘‘Back so soon?’’ Haakan met her at the barn door.
‘‘She said she’d forgive me but would never forget and slammed the door in my face.’’
Haakan’s jaw tightened. ‘‘That’s not forgiveness.’’
‘‘Not the way I understand, but I learned something. I did what I had to do, and now I leave the rest in God’s hands. Come on up to the house for coffee. I’ll heat up that gingerbread and whip some cream.’’
‘‘Done.’’ He took the bridle off the horse and led him into the barn.
‘‘And, Haakan, don’t you go getting your dander up over this. One of us has to sleep nights.’’
She heard his chuckle as she turned toward the house, her basket on her arm. Amazing how much brighter the sun shone now than on her way into town.
The funeral service for Metiz and two others occurred as soon as the ground thawed enough to dig the graves, as usual. Ingeborg looked around at the other mourners, and the only one missing besides Bridget was Hildegunn Valders. Even her two closest friends, Mrs. Magron and Mrs. Odell, were present. Pastor Solberg caught her gaze with a slight nod. He’d already visited one day and commended her for her efforts.
‘‘I should never have acted like that,’’
she’d said to him.
‘‘No, you shouldn’t have, but you did right in going to her. Now it
is up to you and the rest of us to pray for her that she can truly learn
what forgiveness means, the way God forgives, He who remembers
our sins no more.’’
Ingeborg brought her attention back to the three graves dug in the prairie sod.
‘‘Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, we commend the souls of these brothers and sister to the care of our almighty God. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.’’
Ingeborg mopped her tears and glanced over to the graves of Agnes and Joseph Baard, of Swen, and two other very small graves. Her chest tightened and yet felt empty as more tears followed the earlier ones.
Penny placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘‘Sometimes it seems the Lord does more taking than giving, but we know that is not really true. Bridget asked if you would come by the boardinghouse. She had planned on coming, but a group of people got off the train and needed dinner.’’
‘‘Of course. Is she all right?’’
‘‘No different than usual. She doesn’t say much, but she has really missed Metiz too. Says she and Henry are now the oldest living in Blessing, which is true, but it would be hard to guess by looking at her.’’
Ingeborg glanced over to the Valderses’ house. Actually Hilde-gunn, with her sober mien, looked older than Bridget with her welcoming smile. Even though Bridget probably had twenty years on her.
Ingeborg linked arms with Penny. ‘‘Let’s get the coffee poured and everyone served at the church. Then I’ll go see Bridget, and after that you show me the new bolts of cloth you have. I feel the need to make a new dress of my own. And Astrid is growing so fast I’ve let down her hems as far as they can go. I better get some sewing done before the garden is ready to plant.’’
‘‘I already started some tomatoes. Do you think it is too early?’’
‘‘No, I guess it is about time already.’’
The two climbed the three steps to the church, and others followed.
‘‘When do you think Anji and her husband will be back?’’ Ingeborg asked Knute as she served his coffee.
‘‘Soon, I hope, although from her letter, I think she is having a good time in Norway. She said she is missing home and the plains here, where you can see forever. Says the mountains are beautiful but give her a bowl of sky any day.’’
‘‘Good. And her new daughters?’’
‘‘She said they call her Mor and are ready to come to America.’’
Ingeborg caught his glance toward Dorothy, who stood with her baby on her shoulder, patting his back while she visited with Martha Mary. Young Swen had made his arrival between snowstorms and with little fanfare.
Hmm,
thought Ingeborg,
so that is the way the wind blows. Perhaps
Penny was right and we might be needing another wedding ring
quilt by summer
.
May 1896
‘‘Will Thorliff be coming home this summer?’’ Penny asked.
Ingeborg shrugged. ‘‘I doubt it. He hasn’t said anything about it.’’ She nodded toward the coffeepot on the back of the stove.
‘‘No, thanks.’’ Penny put her hand over her cup. ‘‘I’m coffeed out. But you have no idea how I appreciate your taking me under your wing like this. A whole afternoon of not waiting on anyone in the store, not answering to little voices calling Ma-a-a, and not even having to make supper.’’ She tipped her head back against the chair. ‘‘Between you and Astrid . . .’’ Penny’s voice faded.
‘‘I’m glad we could do this for you. After all, it was Astrid’s idea.’’
‘‘What a special daughter you have raised. Would that mine would grow up to be just like her.’’
‘‘The years go so fast.’’ Ingeborg picked up her knitting from the basket at her feet. ‘‘Astrid is asking if we can go to Northfield to see Thorliff.’’
‘‘Why don’t you go?’’
‘‘The expense and the time needed. Who would cook for the men? And the weeds would take over my garden. Besides, it wouldn’t seem fair to go off and leave Haakan and Andrew like that.’’
‘‘Haakan went to the Grange meeting in Grand Forks.’’
‘‘Only over one night though. We’d need to be gone a week or so.’’ Ingeborg kept her fears to herself. They’d have to change trains in Grand Forks and again in St. Paul. Hjelmer said the Twin Cities had doubled or tripled in size since the time she came through there on her way west to Dakota Territory. And then she’d had Roald to keep her safe.
After Penny left, Ingeborg took out Thorliff’s last letter.
May 15, 1896
Dear Mor,
How swiftly this year has flown. It is hard to believe I am truly finishing my third year of college. They have asked me to be editor of the college paper next year, but I believe I shall decline the honor. I get enough newspaper work every day, and I want to use every spare minute I have on rewriting this book I am working on. I thought to have it finished by now, but playing baseball took up a lot of my time. I play the game, then replay it when I write it up for the paper. I do truly enjoy the sport. Who ever would have thought that those games of stickball in the pasture would have taught me how to hit like I do. There is a certain satisfaction in hearing the solid connection of bat and ball and seeing that ball lift in an arc and fly away. Hearing the spectators cheer does one’s heart good also.
Elizabeth is not looking forward to another summer in Chicago. But once this one is done, she will officially be a licensed medical doctor and can practice anywhere she wants. Her mother is still hoping she will return to Northfield and join Dr. Gaskin in his practice. I am hoping for that too.
Thank you for your letters. I beg your forgiveness for not responding more faithfully.
This promises to be a busy summer with Mr. and Mrs. Rogers going to Chicago to see Elizabeth and then going on to New York to a newspaper convention. They will be gone for three weeks the latter part of June and into July, and the thought of being in charge for that long a time is both exciting and terrifying. Although I will have help from my friend Benjamin, and Mr. Ingermanson has said he will help if I need him. Mr. Rogers says he has complete confidence in me, but I’m glad I have my confidence in our heavenly Father instead. I covet your prayers that I will have all the wisdom I need.
Greet everyone in Blessing for me. I need to answer a letter from Pastor Solberg too. Give Astrid an extra tug on her braids to remind her that her elder brother has not forgotten her. There is a package coming for her one of these days. I’m glad you all enjoy our newspaper, even though the news is old by the time you get it.
I remain your loving son,
Thorliff
Ingeborg took out her paper and pencil.
May 30, 1896
Dear Thorliff,
I know you will do well with the paper, and that answers my question as to whether you will be coming home this summer. It also answers Astrid’s plea that we come visit you. Late June is the only time I could think of being away, and from the sounds of things, you would have no time for company then. Perhaps you could come home for Christmas this year.
She laid her pencil aside and went to the window to see what the dog was barking at. Astrid ran up the lane, braids bouncing.