RR05 - Tender Mercies (6 page)

The two did as asked, and John turned to three stairstep children standing before him, all looking so much alike except for their height that he’d have sworn they were cut from matching cookie cutters. They spoke only Norwegian, would have to have smile training, and the eldest, Mary, obviously didn’t want to be there. When John quizzed them in Norwegian, they answered in monosyllables. The Erickson sisters made reticent Hamre Bjorklund seem like a chatterbox.

By dinnertime, Solberg had cabin fever as bad as the children. Since Indian summer had given them a glorious day, he sent them outside to eat and run off some of their boundless energy.

Eight new pupils. How would he handle so many children with such a variety of ages and education? Or lack thereof? Last year had been easy in retrospect.

A girl screaming from outside drew him flying to the door.

Chapter 5

“Miz Bjorklund, there’s a drummer here wants to talk with you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Valders, I’ll be right there. On second thought, send him back for a cup of coffee. He can show me what he’s selling here.” Penny Bjorklund glanced around her kitchen, which turned into a restaurant for the noon meal. She had just served dinners to eight men who worked on the track repair gang for the railroad. Several of them had become regulars, two wondering when there would be a place in Blessing for them to sleep.

They really did need the boardinghouse or a hotel. She thought back to the months she’d worked in the Headquarters Hotel in Fargo while finishing high school. And waited for Hjelmer.

“Mrs. Bjorklund?” The man paused on the other side of the curtain between the store and the Bjorklund home.

“Yes, come on in.” Smiling, she looked up from clearing the last table. “How can I help you?”

A man not much taller than her five foot six inches edged through the door with his sales case first. Setting the carryall down, he removed his black bowler hat and glanced around the cheerful room. “Ah, now isn’t this like home?” Hat over his heart, he nodded and almost bowed at the same time. “The man out front said I was to talk with you. Not Mr. Bjorklund?” The tentative note in his voice showed as wrinkles on his broad forehead. While he didn’t appear older, his hair had begun to recede, making his prominent nose even more so.

“That’s right, unless you need to speak to the banker or the blacksmith. Hjelmer is both.” She brushed the last crumb into her palm and gestured to the straight-backed chair. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee. You take cream?”

He shook his head and sniffed the air. “Smells like home too. I ain’t been home for a long time, you see, and this . . . this room and . . . and you, why, my Emma would think she was looking in a mirror.” He slid into the chair Penny had pulled out and continued to look around, smiling at the things he saw.

While Penny poured him a cup of coffee and placed cookies on a plate, she followed his glance. Red-and-white gingham curtains at the window, a braided rug in front of the door and another in front of the cast-iron stove polished to a high sheen, woodbox newly filled, thanks to cousin Ephraim, white painted cupboards along one wall with a counter for her to work on. Two square tables and one round table with four chairs at each took up much of the room, leaving only a corner for Hjelmer’s rocking chair.

They really did need more space if the business continued to pick up as it had been.

She set the food in front of the man. “You know my name, but . . .”

“Oh, pardon me.” He half rose and ducked his head. “I’m Alfred Drummond, proud purveyor of Singer sewing machines, the latest invention to make life easier for America’s women.”

“Sewing machines?” Via some of the others who provided her with merchandise for her store, Penny had heard tell of some newfangled machine that could sew faster and stronger than anyone with a needle.

“Wait until you see how fast you can sew a seam.” He talked around a mouthful of molasses cookie. “Making a dress takes no time at all. And strong, just like store bought.” He slurped his coffee and dunked the crisp cookie again. “Why, you could carry a line of Singer sewing machines right here in your store, like you do the John Deere plows outside.”

Sewing had never been Penny’s favorite pastime, so when he said speed, he had her undivided attention. “How much are the machines?”

“See those curtains up there, why you could hem a houseful in a short afternoon.” He drained his cup. “If I could set one up and show you, I know you would be both surprised and pleased. Every woman in Blessing will want one.”

Penny glanced at the clock. Anner Valders, who did the bookkeeping for the bank and sometimes worked in the store for her when cousin Ephraim was needed elsewhere, had asked if he could go home early today. Since he never asked for favors, she had agreed.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time today. Will you be coming back through here again?”

“I can wait.”

“Until tomorrow?” Hjelmer had gone to Grafton on the morning train, or she would ask him. There was no one else unless Ephraim came back early too.

“I could set it up in a corner of your store, and then if any ladies come in, they could come and see what I was doing. Surely you have some tea towels or sheets or something that needs hemming.”

If he only knew
. Her basket of sewing and mending had been mushrooming lately. Somehow she just never got to it. And with all her dinner guests, she needed more napkins every day, as well as tablecloths. Even though she knew the railroad men ate in cookshacks at long trestle tables and were lucky if the plates were clean, she made sure they had a taste of home in her kitchen. If only she had room and time to set up more tables.

If Bridget doesn’t build that boardinghouse, I will. And hire her to run it
. The thought made her catch her breath. That’s what she would tell Hjelmer the next time the discussion arose. And since he already thought she had more than she could handle, he would be forced to agree to his mother’s petition for a loan.

“Miz Bjorklund.” Anner Valders’ call from the store brought her back from her musings. She looked up to find Mr. Drummond staring at her. He must think her addled.

“Coming,” she called to Anner, then nodded to the man at her table. “Come, I’ll show you a place and bring you some muslin to hem for napkins.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret this, you know.”

A long whistle blew south of town. As the train drew nearer, the floor began to shake, and the pots hanging above the stove rattled together. Since Valders was leaving, she would have to put the mail out too. And she hadn’t set the chicken to roast for supper yet. They might be having pancakes again. She could always serve chicken and dumplings tomorrow to the dinner crowd.

“Mail’s here,” sang out the conductor. She heard the sack thunk on the counter in the store.

“Come, Mr. Drummond, I am needed in the store.”

She showed the man where to set up his machine, provided the chair he asked for, and took over from Anner Valders in sorting the mail, inserting it into the slots with the names of the area families written below.

“See you tomorrow, then?” Valders untied his apron.

“Sure enough.” Penny reached into the peppermint stick jar. “And take these to Toby and Jerry to celebrate their first day in school.”

“I got me a feeling it’s going to take more than peppermint sticks to make those two like school.” He shook his head, stuffing the candy in his shirt pocket. Since he had lost an arm in a threshing accident, his pockets served almost as another hand. “Mrs. Valders’ been working with them two, but they ain’t much for book learning or even sitting still. I got to help them tonight with their numbers.”

Even though his tone grumbled, Penny knew he was right proud of his two adopted sons who’d come in on the train during the summer and got caught stealing food from the store. Near as anyone could tell, how the two had made it this far in the world was one of God’s special miracles, and that He’d brought them to Blessing when He did, another. Anner and Hildegunn had needed the boys as much as the boys needed a home.

Penny heard laughter and a buzz of conversation from the group gathering at the front door. She tossed several pieces of mail on the counter to be opened by herself later, then flipped the Mail’s In sign and stepped out of the way of the customers. Many of them would pick up other things on their way out, so while Penny didn’t get paid much from the United States Postal Service, she made out in the long run.

“Any cheese?” called Mrs. Johnson. “That Ingeborg makes the best cheese.”

“Right here.” Penny measured off three inches or so of the wheel. “This much?”

“About twice that.” Mrs. Johnson, her girth increasing again, leaned her belly against the counter. “What’s that man doing back there with some contraption?”

“He’s going to show me how to use his sewing machine.”

“Sewing machine? What’s wrong with a needle and thread?”

“He says it is faster and stronger. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Within minutes she was cleaned out of the last loaves of bread, the wheel of cheese was half gone, and the new order of headcheese spices sorely depleted. Butchering season was almost upon them. Good thing both Bridget and Hildegunn were bringing bread in the morning. And Bridget would stay to help her cook and serve the noon meal.

As the last of the customers visited their way out the door, Penny made her way to the corner with the sewing machine and the salesman, straightening merchandise as she went. The machine had a song of its own, but until she reached it, she wondered at the strange noises.

The man sat hunched over a shiny black machine that was trimmed in gilt and set on an oak cabinet. The intricate cast-iron legs were joined by a flat treadle that he pumped with one foot. The stitching portion hummed along as the hemmed muslin square flowed out behind it.

“Well, I never . . .”

Mr. Drummond picked up the napkin, snipped the threads with a small pair of scissors he wore on a ribbon around his neck, and handed her the napkin. “There you go.” He nodded to a neat pile of squares lying on the board attached to the right side of the cabinet.

Penny examined the even stitching of the hemming. Both sides looked exactly the same. “How—I mean—what . . .” She shook her head, eyes widening in delight. “This is amazing.”

“So it is.” Mr. Drummond smiled, showing one blank space where a lower front tooth should have been. “I can guarantee that quilts, curtains, dresses, children’s clothing—anything you do now with a needle and thread—will be done easier, faster, and stronger.”

“Even sewing on buttons?”

His face melted into sadness. “Sorry, no.”

“Blind stitching a hem?”

He nodded. “Yes, it can, but that’s not a skill for beginners. However, when you own a Singer sewing machine, you will finish most of your sewing so quickly that those finishing touches will take only moments in comparison. Can I show you this from beginning to end?”

Wait until Ingeborg sees this
. Penny shook her head slowly, one index finger on the point of her chin.

“But, dear lady, you’ve only seen one product. When you understand how easy this little gem is to operate, why, you must try it yourself.”

“How much?”

He named a price that made her blink.

“But the beauty of this is that you only have to pay a little bit down, and the rest is only pennies a month. This plan makes it possible for every woman in America to have a Singer sewing machine in her own home. Think what this will do to ease the burden on your friends and family.”

Penny held up a hand to stop his spate of words. “Easy, Mr. Drummond, easy. I see how this machine can help the women. I can see a hundred uses for it, but I can tell you right now that the people of Blessing are a thrifty lot and don’t take too easily to new things.”

“Do the men buy plows and mowers, binders and threshers?”

Penny had to agree.

“But not things like that for the home?”

“There haven’t been things like that for the home.”

“Ah, but they are coming, and this little beauty”—he laid a reverent palm on the wheel of the machine—“will revolutionize the way women sew clothing for themselves, their families, and their households.”

“I know. Now I have to figure out how to do this.”

“If you order one today, it will be shipped directly from the factory and be here in two weeks. Then I will return and train you how to use it so you can teach others.” He rubbed a hand over his balding pate. “I saw those women eyeing me when they came in for the mail. Having a machine set up like this will increase your business and provide a much needed service for the women of Blessing and parts beyond. You will be the first store north of Grand Forks to carry the Singer sewing machine. Why, down in Fargo a woman is opening an entire store just to sell sewing machines. Can you believe that?” He stroked the machine as if it were a favorite horse or dog. “Of course she will soon be selling the latest silks and cottons, wools and linens. I can just see it—The Sewing Emporium.”

The tinkling bell caught her attention. “Excuse me, Mr. Drummond. I have another customer.” She hustled toward the front of the store. “Goodie, how wonderful to see you. Why, here you live almost next door, and it seems like forever since I’ve seen you.”

“I . . . ah . . . haven’t felt good the last couple of days.” Goodie Peterson Wold dropped her gaze to her hands. “I lost the baby, you know.” Her fingers twined around one another, as if by moving they would right the wrong that tore at the woman’s heart and soul.

“No, I didn’t know. Oh, Goodie, I’m so sorry.” Penny put an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Did you call for Ingeborg and Metiz?”

“No, it happened too fast.” Goodie sighed. “One minute I was rejoicing, and the next I felt this terrible cramp, and it was gone.” Her head wagged from side to side, more perpetual motion. “I just want to give Olaf a son. He is so good to me and mine.”

“But you will, surely.” Penny forced a note of cheer into her voice. She who would give anything to be expecting, and God seemed to be looking the other way. “Is that why you missed the quilting bee?”