RR05 - Tender Mercies (5 page)

All the while she kept a smile on her face and forced the clouds away from her eyes. Knowing in her head that God knew of His plans for her and convincing her heart were two different things.

The jingle of horse harnesses and a sharp bark from Thorliff ’s dog, Paws, announced the arrival of the wagon.

Andrew headed for the door, skidded to a stop on the braided oval rug, and spun around. He grabbed his lunch pail and slate off the table and headed back outside.

“Andrew.”

Another screeching halt. This time he ran back to his mother, gave her a peck on the cheek, suffered through a hug, and danced out to the wagon.

Thorliff, who had grown so over the summer that the two of them stood nearly eye to eye, looked to his mother and shook his head. “Andrew, he gets kinda excited.” With that he took his own things, tipped his head for a quick kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder, and joined Andrew in the wagon box behind their uncle Lars. Hamre, their twelve-year-old distant cousin who had come from Norway the year before with Bridget, sat on the seat beside the driver. The family resemblance was so strong that a stranger would have thought the three were brothers. While he nodded at their greeting, he, as usual, said nothing.

Bridget and Astrid came out of the springhouse to wave them off, and Ingeborg did the same from the top of the steps. A running figure caught the wagon before they passed the barns. Baptiste, dark hair flying as he leaped in great strides, swung into the back of the wagon as it kept on rolling. Grandson of Metiz, the French-Indian friend of the family, and Thorliff ’s best friend, Baptiste would rather be hunting and fishing out on the land he loved. He suffered school for his friend’s sake and because Metiz insisted that he learn to live in the white man’s world. Thanks to Metiz and her grandson, the settlers of Blessing—mostly the Bjorklunds—had learned to live off the land too. Metiz taught Ingeborg about the healing herbs growing around them and how to use them.

“He almost waited too long, huh?” Bridget said, her basket full of eggs, a crock of buttermilk, and a haunch of venison Baptiste had brought them two days earlier. Astrid carried an egg carefully in each hand.

“Ja, that rascal.” Ingeborg drew in a deep breath. Someone already had their smokehouse going—must be Metiz with the venison. This would be her first winter in the frame house Haakan and Lars had built for her on her three acres by the river. A haze lay across the land, blurring the edges of trees and the cattle out in the pasture. Geese and ducks sang their leaving song in the skies above, their V formations nearly clouding the sun at times.

Off in the field she could see Haakan waving at the passing wagon. Row after row of black soil rolled over from the blade of his plow as he and the team made their way back and forth across the wheat fields. All of the prairie land they owned was now broken to the plow except for the acres they kept for hay and pasture.

Ingeborg glanced up at the sky again. What she wouldn’t give to take the gun this afternoon and go bag some geese, both for the meat and the feathers. They never seemed to have enough down for pillows and feather beds, and roast goose would be such a treat. If she were lucky, she might even get a deer. With all the land settled around them, the deer had become more scarce so close to home.

All good reasons. With the boys back in school, they wouldn’t be able to hunt as they had lately, so . . .
so why not me? If Bridget is too scandalized by my britches, well, she . . . she can just live with it. So what if it isn’t exactly ladylike
.

Haakan would roll his eyes and tease her about her need to be out in the woods, but as long as she didn’t insist on working the fields, he’d allow her this. Kaaren would shake her head, but it would all be worth it to walk free in the woods and fields. Maybe she’d find a hazelnut bush or a bee tree.

She could feel the anticipation welling within her like a spring newly uncapped. Freedom! Freedom from the hot kitchen, four walls, and hampering skirts.

But in the meantime, she’d better get the bread to rising.

We’re going to need more desks
, Pastor Solberg thought as he counted the children lining up from the smallest to the largest in front of the school door. A bit of a scuffle ensued toward the end of the ranks where the bigger boys vied for position. A wagon coming from the north promised more pupils. He’d have to talk to Olaf Wold and see when he would have time to build a couple more tables and benches, but for now they’d have to crowd closer together.

“Children, quiet now. Please count off.” He nodded to Ellie Peterson Wold. “You begin—one.”

“One.” She glanced over her shoulder to Andrew Bjorklund.

“Two.” He looked toward the wagon. “Deborah will be three.”

Two girls jumped from the wagon and raced toward the lineup. “Sorry,” Manda Norton MacCallister panted as she skidded into her place in front of Thorliff.

“You’re three,” Andrew whispered to Deborah, loud enough for the crow flying above to hear.

“No, I ain’t. I’m five,” Deborah hissed back, stepping into place behind him.

“We’re numbering off,” John explained, hiding the smile that tugged at his lips. He’d learned early on that if he was strict and stern the first few days of school, he could relax and be himself later and not encounter any discipline problems. Sometimes that was hard, as right now. The little ones were so earnest. He glanced up to wave good-bye to their driver and was forced to try to hide his shock. Miss MacCallister had driven the children in. He finished his wave, grateful she couldn’t see the heat rising up his neck. He’d been so rude the other day. The guilt of it flamed him every time the thought returned. He’d been ungentlemanly, let alone unpastoral. While she visited here, she was part of his flock and deserved respectful attention. He would have to apologize.

“Twenty-nine,” called out fifteen-year-old Swen Baard.

“Thank you,” Solberg called back, hiding his surprise that the Baard boys returned this year. Joseph had grumbled last spring about needing his sons in the fields, that they had all the book learning they needed. Agnes must have put her foot down.

“Since we have more pupils this year, we will be somewhat crowded until we get new desks, so I expect you all to treat each other with good manners.” He dreaded the thought of having the older boys and girls sharing the higher benches, especially because of the teasing that went on with the Baard boys. He’d almost looked forward to their not being here this year.

He looked down at a tug on his coattails.

“Pathtor Tholberg, I brung you thith.” Slender to the point of emaciation, Anna Helmsrude held out a bright red apple for him. “I picked it juth for you.”

He wanted to gather the little girl into his arms and shield her from all harm. “Thank you, Anna,” he said, his face as serious as her own. The Helmsrude family had more pride than possessions, but Anna insisted on bringing him presents. How would he ever find time this year to help her get over her lisp when he had so many students?
Dear God, help her get through another winter. She is so frail
. Praying for his pupils, as well as his congregation, was as natural as breathing. Listening for the answers took more doing.

He turned and led the way into the soddy classroom that was formerly the church and school combined. As the children passed the line of pegs along the back wall, they hung up their coats and set their lunch pails on the shelf built for that purpose, then made their way to the benches. Just as he feared, there were more boys than girls in the upper grades.

Baptiste and Swen eyed the same seat.

Thorliff raised his hand. “I can sit on the floor today and bring a chair tomorrow.”

“I can stay home.” The giggles that answered Baptiste’s reply showed how the children had come to accept him as one of their own.

“Thank you, Thorliff, but why don’t you go over to my house and get a chair from there for today? We’ll work something else out tomorrow.” Actually he’d thought of having Thorliff help him with the younger children. The boy learned quickly and was so far ahead of the others that keeping him busy took plenty of forethought.

As Thorliff left the room, the others settled in.

John Solberg glanced around the room. Most everyone had slates, and several had new books they raised with pride when they saw him looking. Those who read well were already studying the bookshelves, one of which held all new books he’d ordered over the summer. Other books had been sent by his mother, who had impressed the ladies of her church to consider Blessing School their mission for the year. He hoped to have boxes for the children to open and delight over once in a while.

“We will now stand for the Pledge of Allegiance and our morning Scripture reading, after which we will ask our heavenly Father to bless this school year.” The older children got to their feet, and the younger followed suit.

Pastor Solberg pointed to the American flag hanging in the corner and put his hand over his heart. The older girls helped the younger children get the right hand in place, and they all stood erect.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag. . . .” John spoke slowly and clearly so that the children could follow easily. At the end he turned back to his class. “Very good. We’ll work on memorizing that for all the new ones here.” He picked up his Bible and waited for the rustlings to cease. “Today we are reading from Matthew, where Jesus is talking to His disciples and a large crowd. ‘He said, “Suffer the little children come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” ’ ” John looked up at the serious faces before him. “You see, Jesus has a special place in His heart for little children, but we are all His children, some of us just older than others.

“Shall we pray?” He waited again until all heads were bowed, eyes closed, and hands folded.

“Heavenly Father, we thank thee for the life and death of thy son, Jesus the Christ. We are glad that He is here with us right now to bless our school and our hearts and minds so that we might learn quickly and behave in a quiet and godly manner. Be with us now, in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

Lifting his head he looked at his students and breathed a quiet prayer that God would give him the wisdom needed to guide these lives entrusted to him.

“You may be seated,” he told them.

He took up his pad of paper and newly sharpened quill pen to write the children’s names and ages, later to fill in their grade according to their level of learning. Some still spoke little English, but he had resolved to no longer talk Norwegian in the schoolroom. These children would learn to speak English if he taught them nothing else. It wouldn’t be long before the weekly language classes for their parents would begin again also.

“I would like all of our new pupils to come forward and line up beside my desk. The rest of you may choose a book from the shelf and read to yourselves until I am finished.” He ignored the two groans, feeling fairly certain which throats they came from. Baptiste would never say a word, but the Baard boys were not so reticent. He knew for certain who it was when their younger sister Anji hissed at them. He had a fair idea that Agnes would deal with them when they got home.

One by one he wrote down the names of the four youngest, asking them their ages and how to spell their names. He looked at Ellie. “It is Peterson or Wold now?”

“Wold.” Her smile lit her face.

“So the adoption is final?”

She nodded. “Pa said so.”

All but one passed with flying colors, and that was because he only spoke Norwegian. When John translated, the little boy did fine.

“Very good. Now, can you recite your alphabet?” At their looks of confusion, he said, “your
ABC’s
?”

Andrew led the way. “A.” He glanced at the other boy. With only minor prompting from the teacher, they rushed through to the end. “Z. That’s the sound the saw makes. Zzzzzz.” Andrew flashed a grin up at the teacher.

“You’re right. And that’s the sound of bees buzzzzing too.” John smiled at each of them. “Now, how far can you count?”

Ellie went the furthest with twenty-nine. She’d shut her eyes to remember the last numbers, so when she opened them, the teacher smiling at her made her cheeks turn red.

“Very good. Now, you four may take your seats and write your letters on your slate. Anji Baard will help you if needed.” As they filed away, Toby and Jerry White, soon to be Valders, stepped forward.

“We ain’t had no schoolin’—”

“ ’Cept what our new mama gived us.” Neither of the boys looked too excited about it now either.

“Can you spell your names?” They shook their heads. “How old are you?” Shrugs. John had talked with Hildegunn Valders, and they decided the boys were about seven and nine, Jerry being the eldest.

“I . . . I can count.” At the teacher’s nod, Jerry scrunched his eyes closed and rattled 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-10 without a breath.

“Nine.”

“Huh?” His eyes popped open.

“Nine. Nine comes before ten.”

“Oh, I forgot.” He shut his eyes again, rapid fired through eight, added nine, and his eyes flew open again. “Ten!”

“Very good.” Pastor Solberg looked up, hoping to catch Thorliff ’s eye, but the boy had his nose in a book. The whole soddy could blow down before Thorliff would know it. John had learned it did no good to call the boy’s name. He wouldn’t hear. So he laid a hand on Toby’s shoulder and pointed to the boy on the chair. “You go ask Thorliff to help you and Jerry with your numbers and your alphabet.”