RR05 - Tender Mercies (18 page)

Soon the jingle of harness outside brought all of them back to the present day.

Mary Martha closed the book and stepped down from the high stool. “Class dismissed.”

“How come it is so much nicer to be read to than to read myself?” Anji asked.

Mary Martha smiled at the question. “I don’t know, but I agree.”

As she shut the door behind them, she wondered how the funeral service was going for the Bjerkes. How nice it would be if Pastor Solberg could come back to a warm home and supper ready to be put on the table.

Mary Martha MacCallister, don’t you go gettin’ any such ideas. That’s just not proper one whit
. “But it would be the Christian thing to do,” she said aloud.

“What would?” Manda swung up on the wagon seat beside her.

“N-nothing.” Mary Martha clucked the horse forward. Whatever was the matter with her?

Chapter 14

“Penny, surely you aren’t still fussing about Goodie.”

With a long fork in her hand, Penny swung from turning the ham frying for supper and shook hand and fork in her husband’s direction. “If you think I’m going over there first, you got another think coming, mister.”

Hjelmer tried melting through the back of his chair. Hands in the air, palms out, he shook his head. “Where did you ever get that idea from what I said?”

“I just know that’s what you’re thinking.”
And your tone of voice.Why didn’t you just pat me on the head?
She shook the fork again. “I didn’t do anything to her, and she called me a selfish hussy. I don’t even say that word. What’s got into that woman is beyond me, and I tell you right now”—she shook the fork a third time—“she’s acting crazy, that’s what.”

“Could you by any chance put the weapon down?”

Penny looked at her husband, then at the fork and back at Hjelmer. “Sorry.” She set the fork on the warming shelf and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Now, you were saying . . .”

“Ah, it’s not important.” She brushed a bit of hair back off her forehead with the back of her hand.

“Come here.” He beckoned with one finger.

“What?”

He motioned again.

She walked over to him, stopping in front of his chair. He took her hand and gently pulled her into his lap. “Now, start at the beginning, and maybe we can figure this out.” Together they went over the last few days, starting with the arrival of Mr. Drummond and his marvelous machine.

“So?” Penny leaned against his shoulder.

“I wish I knew. I’m sure it has something to do with the sewing machine. That’s all it can be. Maybe she thinks you are going to push her out.” He stroked Penny’s cheek with a gentle finger.

“I thought the same of her, but then I figured . . .” She fell silent for a bit. The ham sizzled on the stove. The pop of grease on the stove itself brought her to her feet. “Oh no, now I’m going to have more mess to clean up.” She pushed the frying pan to the cooler part of the stove and stood staring at it. “I thought about Goodie taking away my business, you know, if she put in cloth and such, and I started to get all het up about it. But then I figured that I’ve got enough other things here, so if she wants to sell the machines and all that goes with sewing, so be it.” She turned to face her husband. “I was going to tell her that, but I didn’t take the time, and . . . and then she didn’t—wasn’t home, I think, and now this.” She raised her hands in the air and dropped them again. “You think it could be such a simple thing as this?”

“Could be. It’s a shame to let business get in the way of neighbors and family. You want we should go talk with them?”

“But what if she—I mean, I . . .” She took some already cooked potatoes and began cutting them up into melted butter in another pan.

“If we’re going to go, we better go now.” He stood and folded the paper he’d been reading until she had smashed it in his lap. “Good thing I was done with that.”

Penny looked at the wrinkled paper and shrugged. “Sorry.” She pushed both pans to the back of the stove and took her shawl off the peg by the door. “I’m ready.”
Not really. All I want is things back the way they were before Drummond came. And I really like the sewing machine, but I hate all this
.

They knocked on the back door of the Wold home. And knocked again. But no one was home.

“Do you think they’re just not answering the door?” Penny asked as they strolled back home.

“No. There were no lamps lit.”

“But it’s suppertime.”

“So they are visiting someone else.”

“Who could they be visiting? They need to milk their cow. You can hear her bellering.”

“Maybe I should go do that for them.” Hjelmer leaned forward and opened their back door. “You go on in and finish supper, and I’ll go do their milking.” He turned to leave, then looked over his shoulder. “We got a bucket?”

“In the pantry.” She brought it back and handed it to him.
Why should he do this when Goodie acted so terrible, and at church even?

Supper was ready and waiting when Hjelmer finally returned. “I left the milk on their counter,” he said in answer to Penny’s abrupt question.

She set his plate in front of him with a little more force than necessary, then took her own place. Light from the kerosene lamp in the center of the square oak table left shadows in the corners of the room but a warm glow over the table. Heat from the stove kept the room comfortable, while the soft plop of a falling wood coal sounded loud. So did the clink and scrape of silverware on the plates. Even their chewing sounded loud. And the rustle of their clothing.

Penny picked up her plate and scraped the leftover bits into the slop bucket to throw to the chickens Hjelmer housed back of the barn. They didn’t keep a cow, depending instead on the Wolds or the Bjorklunds for milk and cream.

“Done?” At his nod she picked up his plate, scraped off the leavings, and set them both in the enameled dishpan. After pouring hot water over them, she slivered in some soap and set to washing and rinsing the dishes and silver. She did
not
ask Hjelmer to help her. And if she slammed the kettles a bit harder than necessary, he didn’t comment.

She could feel his stare on her back every once in awhile, but he sat in his chair, reading some banking information without a word.

Penny yelped, grabbed her finger, and held the end of it tight.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. The knife did.” She raised her finger in the air and watched the blood drip down the side. Several other words came to mind, none of them on the Christian woman’s approved word list. She was glad Tante Agnes wasn’t there to hear her.

“You need some help?”

“Hjelmer Bjorklund, if you value your hide, you will stay in that chair.” Her teeth were clamped so tightly she could barely speak. She wrapped a rag around her finger and headed for her sewing basket, where she kept strips of leftover fabric. Right now muslin would be the thing or an old sheet. She turned her basket upside down with her left hand, muttering all the while. Some calicos, wool, dimity, but no muslin, no old sheeting. The entire thing fell on the floor, sending buttons and balls of fabric strips ready for rug braiding rolling across the floor.

She looked up to see Hjelmer standing in the doorway. “Go away! Just go away!” She fought the tears burning the backs of her eyelids and plugging her nose. She fought the blood no longer as it ran down her finger and stained whatever it touched.

She fought Hjelmer when he gathered her into his arms.

She lost all around. The tears rolled as he bandaged her finger, and she couldn’t quit crying. She cried for the hurt from the morning, she cried for the snubs the day before, she cried for the cut finger and her bad language.

And when the tears kept on falling, she knew she was crying because she’d started her monthlies again, and there was no baby in store for the Hjelmer Bjorklund family—if two people could be called a family. Why had God deserted her like this?

Tuesday passed in a whirlwind of cooking, serving, finding things for store customers and ordering supplies. By late afternoon when the mail came in, Penny felt as if three days had passed instead of one. She sorted the mail into the slots and handed it out again to those who stood waiting. The good part of having people waiting for the mail was that they usually picked up something to purchase. The not so good part was that sometimes they were impatient.

“Mail was late today, eh?” Mrs. Valders laid some lace on the counter. “Seems to me they ought to be able to keep the trains on time, don’t you think?”

“That would be better. How much of this did you want?” Penny held up the lace-wrapped card.

“Can I get my mail? I gotta get home for chores,” Mrs. Johnson interrupted, the note of impatience in her voice grating on Penny’s nerves.

“Let’s see, I need it around the neck, the arms, and I think I’ll do a trim around the skirt too. What do you think?”

“Excuse me a moment, Hildegunn, let me get the mail. How full is the skirt?” She reached for the mail slot as she asked. Handing out mail for three of those waiting, she smiled at the others in the line.

“Let me go get someone else to help here.”

She checked in the bank room. No one there. Had Valders already gone home? She went out the door and to the blacksmith. While there was no Hjelmer in sight, Ephraim was sweeping up straw and horse droppings.

“Can you please come help me? The store is full, and I can’t keep up.”

“Sure enough.” He leaned the broom against the wall.

“You better wash first.”
If you move any slower, you’ll be going back-ward
. She knew better than to say such things, but oh . . . She pasted a smile on her face and hurried back into the store. “Sorry.”

“Now, Hildegunn, how much did you decide?”

“I think I’ll wait on it until I measure. Hate to buy too much, you know.”

Penny gritted her teeth and kept on smiling. “All right, then that will be twenty-five cents for the needles.”

Mrs. Valders dug in her bag for the change and counted it out a nickel, a dime, and the rest in pennies.

A sigh came from farther back in the line, and several shuffled their feet.

“Thank you. Now, who was next?” As the lady turned to leave, she greeted those behind her and wished them a good day.

Ephraim tied on his apron and slicked back his damp hair as he joined her behind the counter. “Who do you want me to start with?”

“I’m next.” Mr. Johnson plunked a box of shells down on the counter. “And I need five pounds of nails.” The two men headed for the end of the store, where all the tools and such were displayed, to weigh nails out of the keg on the floor.

Within the next few minutes Penny sold all the remaining cheese, several candy sticks, the last loaf of bread, and the final can of allspice.

“I have to finish the headcheese, you know.” A customer nodded and studied the row of spices. “Why don’t you give me the bay leaf too. Sometimes I wonder why we don’t grow some of the things ourselves. You think they don’t grow here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if we got the seeds, we could try it next year. I’ll look in my catalogues for herb seeds and see what I can find. I know Ingeborg planted parsley this year. She got some seeds from someone. I asked her to let it go to seed so we can all get some.”

“Some things do better with starts. Why, my rose, the red one you gave me a start off, was just beautiful this year.”

Penny sent an apologetic look to those behind her current customer. The line seemed to be growing rather than getting shorter.

Hans Peterson Wold waited for his turn. “Can I get our mail, please?”

“Sure enough. How’s your ma?” Penny almost didn’t ask.

Hans shook his head. “She’s sad, I think, but I don’t know why.” He eyed the jar of peppermint balls.

“You want one?” Penny lifted the lid.

“I don’t have any money.”

“That’s okay, here’s one for you and one to take home to Ellie.” Penny tucked them both into a folded paper.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bjorklund.” Eyes shining, he darted out between the grown-ups still waiting.

“That was a kind thing to do.” The older man smiled at Penny.

She returned his smile and waited. Not too many strangers came in at this time of day when there was no train coming or going.

“I saw some folks going out with cheese and bread. That’s what I’d like.”

“Sorry, but I’m plumb cleaned out of both. I have crackers in the barrel, but no bread until tomorrow. I’m not sure when Ingeborg will bring cheese in again.”

“You have anywhere in town a man might get a meal and a bed?”

She shook her head again. “I serve dinner but not supper. You can ask Olaf Wold over at the sack house about spreading a pallet in by the grain sacks.” She glanced at the cigar in his hand. “But there won’t be any smoking allowed there.”

“That’s all that’s available?” One eyebrow disappeared under the brim of his limp fedora.

“You could ask at the soddy by the church. Pastor Solberg sometimes takes a person in. Otherwise, one of the farmers might let you bunk in his barn.”
We’ve got to get that boardinghouse built
. She wished she’d been keeping track of all the requests.