RR05 - Tender Mercies (28 page)

Her mother fingered the cameo. “Seems forever since I worshiped in the Lord’s house. Just not been up to it.” She sighed. “I’m glad you come on home.”

The queen of England couldn’t have received more attention than Pearl MacCallister did when they drove up to the front door of the white steepled church. The men vied over who would lift her down in her chair and carry her into the sanctuary. Women greeted her, some with tears in their eyes, and all had hugs for Mary Martha and questions about her adventures in Dakota Territory. They asked about Zeb and his family, about life in Blessing, and said how thankful they were that she came home. Her ma needed her.

“Pshaw. They fuss so,” Mrs. MacCallister muttered, but Mary Martha could tell she was moved by the greetings. The church glowed with candlelight, and the air was heavy with the fragrance of pine and cedar, which emanated from the branches that looped above the windows, around the pulpit and the altar, and festooned the ends of the pews.

Mary Martha sat with tears shimmering on her lashes at the beauty of the organ music. Old though it was, the minister’s wife brought out the best in it, and “Silent Night” with the organ and everyone singing in harmony had never sounded so lovely.

The scriptures were in English, as was the sermon. Mary Martha found herself whispering the Christmas story as the minister read from the Bible. “ ‘And it came to pass in those days . . . what wonderful words, “ ‘ . . . that all the world should be enrolled . . .’ ”
Father, please let all of us be enrolled in your heavenly kingdom. . . . “
‘And Joseph also went up from Galilee with Mary his espoused wife . . . ’ ”
How is my family out there? Is Katy well? Please keep her well. She wants to bear this child . . . “ ‘
‘ . . . because he was of the house and lineage of David . . . ’ ”
That would be a good name for their son, a strong name. I wonder what Jo-Pastor Solberg’s middle name is?
“ ‘ . . . the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.’ ”

Mary Martha took her mother’s hand in hers and smiled at her sitting so proudly in the old rocking chair. “I love you, Ma,” she whispered.
Thank you, Father, for making this possible. It means so much to her . . . and to me
.

They sang “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and “O Little Town of Bethlehem” before the pastor took his place in the pulpit.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, “we are gathered this night to celebrate the great love that our God, our heavenly Father, has for us, His children. Let us pray.” He waited for the shuffling to cease, and then his deep voice rolled out over the full church with grace and peace. “Come to us this night as you did to those shepherds so long ago. Come to us in the stillness as you did to Mary and Joseph. Come to us in grace this night. Amen.”

He looked over the gathered people, smiling at each one and nodding. “It is good that we are gathered here together, for He has said that wherever two or three are gathered together, He is right here, right in the midst of us. I see Him in your faces, I hear Him in your voices, I feel Him in the clasp of your hands, for we are His body here on earth, in this place and in this time. We do not know what tomorrow holds, but we know who holds today and tomorrow and all the days after that.

“He loves us so much that He sent His Son in the form of a tiny baby, not a towering king but a child. Jesus left the wonders of heaven and dwelled in a manger, in a small town in a small country. For you.” He waited. If God had scooped them up in His hands, Mary Martha would not have been surprised. He felt that near.

“For me. For us. He walked this earth for thirty-three years, and then He died. On a cross. For us. He died that we might live, live forgiven of our sins. And all He asks is that you let Him come live in your heart, for He said, ‘I will abide with you as you abide with me.’ ” He paused, then bowed his head, closing with a prayer. “Lord, come into our hearts to dwell there, to abide, that we might see thee face-to-face. Amen.”

Mary Martha wiped away her tears and handed her hankie to her mother.
Abide with me, dear Lord. Please abide with me
.

The organ soared again and took her heart right with it.

Mary Martha was glad she’d come home.

That same night in Blessing, the bustle stilled, the children were all in their places, the last light extinguished. Joseph Baard lifted his fiddle to his shoulder, and the sweet notes sang forth for the gathering. “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” As the final notes drifted away, light processed forward from the back as the children, starting with the smallest, carried lighted candles and filed up the center aisle, then took their places off to the sides.

“We come this night.”

“With candle bright.”

The sides took turns in unison.

“To praise the Father.”

“And thank the Son.”

Someone hummed a pitch, and they burst into song, all in the harmony Mary Martha had taught them, and in English.

Silence fell. Two voices could be heard from the back. “But, Joseph, when are we going to get there?”

“Soon, my dear, soon we will be in Bethlehem.”

With Joseph leading the donkey carrying Mary, they made their way down the aisle.

Anna, Andrew, Deborah, and Ellie stepped forward in the front.

“Unto us a child is born,” said Anna without a lisp. “Unto us a son is given.”

“And His name shall be called Wonderful.”

“Counselor.”

“Almighty God.”

“The Everlasting Father.” Anna, Andrew, Deborah, and Ellie took turns on the names, then together all four said, “The Prince of Peace.”

A sniff could be heard from the audience.

The child was born and brought out to lie in the manger. Anji, as Mary, treated the Amundsons’ month-old baby with loving care, and like the angel he looked, little Carl slept through the entire program. Hamre played “Away in the Manger” with such heart on his harmonica that even Mrs. Valders sniffed and dabbed at her eyes.

The angels sang to the shepherds, and the shepherds found the baby just as they were supposed to. Joseph, played by Swen, greeted the visitors and showed off his son as if he was his own, and Mary smiled sweetly.

The songs were sung, and the parents wept, and John Solberg had a lump in his throat, so proud was he of his pupils and so wishing Mary Martha were here to listen to them sing the song she helped them create.

Jesus, Savior,
Love divine,
Live within
this heart of mine.

Teach me how
to love my brothers,
Sisters, fathers,
and all others.

Give us joy
and bring us peace.
May our worship
never cease.

Jesus, Lord,
Emmanuel,
Almighty God
with us to dwell.

The plaintive tune stayed with him as he bid everyone God jul. “Wonderful program, Pastor,” Haakan said, shaking his hand.

“Ja, it should be. Your son wrote it. He chose most of the music too, and who should play what part. As I’ve said before, he amazes me.”

“Oh. Well, in that case . . .”

“In that case, it was still a wonderful program.” John clapped him on the shoulder, laughing at the consternation on his friend’s face.

“You’ll come for dinner tomorrow?” Ingeborg laid a hand on Pastor Solberg’s arm. “All the family will be at our house, and we want you there too.”

“How can I refuse? Mange takk.”

When the last sleigh jingled off, he made sure the fire was banked and then shut the church door. Taking his lantern, he made his way back to his soddy, stopping at his door to rejoice in the brilliant flare of the northern lights. The stars shone so brightly, he blew out the lantern and stood in awe. If only he had someone to rejoice in this night with him.

“Father, care for her please and keep her safe.” He could see his breath hang on the air in front of him. The night of the Savior’s birth. What a wondrous night.

Entering his soddy, he took off his coat and hat, hanging them on the pegs inside the door. He lit his lamp from the coals in the stove and, taking out paper and pen, began to write.

“Dear Miss MacCallister. The program is over, and you would have been so proud of these children.” He described the service and the program and how Mrs. Helmsrude had cried in her joy at Anna speaking so clearly. He told how the song she and the children composed sounded and found himself humming it again. After all, he’d heard it more times than he could count. He told how the angel’s halo had slipped off and how Astrid called out “Andew,” making everyone laugh.

He didn’t tell her how much he missed her, but he signed the letter “Your friend, John Solberg.” When he blew out the light and climbed into a bed warmed by the heated stone he’d placed there, it was already Christmas morning.

Springfield, Missouri

When Mary Martha started her letter that night after tucking her mother into her bed, she planned to write only a short note. But by the time she told him of the awe and wonder she’d felt at church, how thankful her mother was to go, how at home she felt, the page had filled.

“And to think,” she wrote, “that our Father has a heavenly home all prepared for us, so much brighter and more beautiful even than the stars I saw tonight. I felt I could reach up and touch them.”
And wondered if you saw the same
. She told him that her sister and family were coming for dinner on Christmas day and of all the things she had prepared. She thanked him for the wonderful letter from him and the children and asked him to thank each one of them personally from her.

She didn’t say “I miss you,” but she signed her letter “As ever, Mary Martha MacCallister.”

Extinguishing her lamp, she climbed into bed, the warm glow of the Christmas Eve service still lingering in her heart.
Thank you for letting Ma go to church tonight. And thank you for being there too
. She snuggled down under her quilt.
And please watch over Pastor Solberg, since he has no one but you
.

She didn’t say “I wish I were there,” but she knew God could see in the depths of her heart even better than she.
So much could happen
, she thought as she shivered.

Chapter 23

Blessing, Dakota Territory

“Merry Christmas. God jul!”

“Andrew, not so loud.” Ingeborg made a shushing motion as she spoke.

“But it’s Christmas!”

“I know, but Astrid is still sleeping.”

“No, she isn’t.”

Ingeborg heard hesitant footsteps padding down the stairs. He was right as usual. Astrid was awake.

“Where’s Pa and Thorliff?”

“Out milking. Christmas or no, the chores need to be done.” She sliced the julekake, the fruit-studded Norwegian Christmas bread, and arranged it on a plate. “You get your coat and boots on and go feed the chickens. Pa said there’s cobs of dried corn in a bucket by the oats that you can rub together. Give the hens a treat of corn kernels.”

She looked down to see Astrid trailing her blanket from a thumb that seemed permanently attached to her mouth. The other hand tugged on her mother’s apron.

“What is it, baby?”

Astrid lifted her arms, the corner of the blanket dusting across the floor.

“I know you want up, but can you not see I am busy?”

“Ma-a-a.” The plaintive cry tugged at Ingeborg’s heart. Astrid was getting so big she didn’t ask to be picked up much anymore.

“Brr, it is cold out there.” Bridget came through the door from her room out in the soddy, stamping the snow off her boots on the enclosed porch. “But thank the good Lord we have no blizzard. People will be able to visit around without fear.” She took off her boots and slipped her feet into the knit woolen slippers she kept by the door. “Here, why don’t I finish with the breakfast, and you go get her dressed.” She chucked Astrid under the chin. “Our little girl needs some extra hugs this Christmas morning.”