Sophie's Dilemma (10 page)
‘‘Blessing Boarding House—good beds, good food. You can’t beat it. It’s right next door.’’ He indicated to the south.
Since Garth had been sitting on the other side of the train, he hadn’t seen much but farmland and farm buildings, but he nodded and walked toward the door.
He stepped out of the station house, looked to the south first, and saw a warehouse, a grain elevator, and the flour mill dwarfing all the other buildings. On the same side of the street as the station stood a three-story building with several additions, painted gray with white trim and a long porch facing the street. Although right next to the train tracks, the building had been recently repainted, and tieback curtains made it look right friendly.
Up the other way he saw several stores and a fairly new building that flew a United States flag in front. That must be the post office. A sign said
Bank of Blessing
on another corner of the building. A church steeple pointed above the stores a block or two away. While Blessing wasn’t a big town, it looked prosperous. He took the steps to the boardinghouse with a lighter stride than he’d used of late. A cheery woman of indeterminate years, but for sure plenty, greeted him from behind a low counter.
‘‘How can I help you?’’ Her Norwegian accent could not be missed.
‘‘I’d like a room for one night, maybe more.’’ He returned her smile. She reminded him so much of his grandmother, he almost greeted her as Bestemor.
‘‘Ja, I have a room. Meals are included, and that will be one dollar— pay in advance.’’ She pushed a ledger toward him. ‘‘Please sign here. Where you from?’’
‘‘Minneapolis. I’ve come to interview for the manager of the flour mill.’’
‘‘Ah, my son and grandson built that. We’’—her
w
as
v
made him smile again—‘‘in Blessing have a co-op that owns the mill.’’
‘‘What a good idea. More communities should do that.’’ He signed his name and address as he chatted. ‘‘It looks like Blessing is growing.’’
‘‘Ja, that we are. You will meet my son Hjelmer Bjorklund and my grandson Thorliff Bjorklund. I am Bridget Aarsgard. Aarsgard.’’ Her smile showed her pride, as well as several missing teeth. She wore her snow white hair in a braid that circled her head. Pleasantly rounded with her apron as white as her hair, she came around the desk. ‘‘Come, Mr. Wiste, I will show you your room.’’ She led the way upstairs and opened the third door on the right. ‘‘This be good?’’
‘‘Ja, it will. Mange takk.’’
She beamed at his response. ‘‘Supper at six.’’
He set his bag on the floor, sat on the bed, and stared out across the fields framed by white curtains that looked like they’d been washed and starched just the day before. The patchwork quilt on the bed reminded him of his mother’s house. Maddie would have loved it here. The thought stabbed like a well-aimed spear.
He fled the house, heading for the mill and, he hoped, a new life.
‘‘
A
RE YOU ANGRY AT ME?’’ Sophie asked, turning from the train window.
Hamre shook his head, but he didn’t turn to look at her.
It feels like it. What’s wrong? Why are you sitting there like a wooden
statue?
He’d been like this ever since they found their seats on the westbound train at Grafton. It felt like hours ago, but in reality was probably less than an hour. Sophie caught herself rubbing her hands together as if she were cold. She turned to stare out the window again. Houses, barns, cattle in the fields, all passing at an alarming rate. Here she thought she would love riding the train, but with Hamre so silent, her joy had seeped down through the floor and was flattened by the clacking wheels.
What would Mor do in a situation like this?
The thought caught her by surprise. First of all, her mor would never get herself into a situation like this. Secondly, she would say pray.
I did pray, and I sort of thought
that God thought it’s all right
. Then she remembered some things Pastor Solberg had said about God’s will and . . . She had the tiniest but very certain feeling he’d said something about never crossing God’s Word. The words in her mind keeping in clack with the wheels on the rails repeated the fourth commandment:
Honor thy father and thy mother;
honor thy father and thy mother
.
‘‘Hamre?’’
When there was no answer, she glanced up at him. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open. He was asleep! Here she was worrying over what she’d done, and he was sound asleep. A slight snore confirmed it. Her fingers clenched each other, as if seeking comfort from the familiar. But there was nothing about sitting on a train heading west that was even vaguely familiar.
I am married. I am now Mrs.
Hamre Bjorklund. Sophie Knutson is gone forever
. She had gotten her dream. She was on an adventure. She’d left Blessing. And if her brand-new husband was sound asleep . . . Well, he’d driven the buggy all night while she slept. He was exhausted.
Taking that into consideration, why, then, did she just want to hide her head in her mother’s lap and cry until the tears that threatened to drown her were no more?
If I had paper and a pencil, I could at least write a letter home
. But she’d not thought to put such mundane things into her bag.
You didn’t
think about a lot of things
, a little voice whispered.
But now you have to
make the best of it
. What did one do on a long train ride? Look out the window to see plains, farms, a small town once in a while. Just like home only not as flat. Haystacks, grain elevators, stops for water and coal, people getting on, others getting off. A woman across the aisle was knitting. Another was reading a story to two small children. A man puffed a cigar, the stink of it making her wrinkle her nose. Could she ask him to put it out?
Hamre woke with a start. He yawned and turned to smile into her eyes. ‘‘Sorry. I didn’t have much sleep last night.’’
‘‘I know.’’ Not that she did either. Sleeping in a swaying buggy was nothing like her bed at home, curled next to Grace.
Grace—does she
hate me?
She forced a smile to answer his.
‘‘Are you hungry?’’
She nodded.
‘‘We can eat in the dining car, you know.’’
‘‘Really?’’
‘‘Yes. Come on.’’ He took her hand, and all of a sudden her world felt better and her smile came back.
She touched the sides of her hair, smoothing loose strands back into the upsweep. She fluffed her fringe and turned her face up for him to inspect. ‘‘Do I look all right?’’ When he didn’t respond right away, she peered at him from under her eyelashes, only to find him staring at her. ‘‘What?’’
He cleared his throat. ‘‘You are so beautiful.’’
Her heart skipped a beat, and her lips trembled on the way to a smile. ‘‘Thank you.’’ Sliding her arm through his, she leaned her cheek against his shoulder. She could do that now. They were married.
He patted her hand. ‘‘Let’s go eat, Mrs. Bjorklund.’’
In his voice the name gave her an even greater thrill. ‘‘Yes, let’s.’’
He motioned her to go ahead of him. She kept reaching for a seat back to keep from being swayed right off her feet and landing ignominiously in someone’s lap.
Hamre pushed open the door at the end of the car, and she stopped stiff at the sight of the roadbed flashing beneath their feet, the grate looking far too flimsy to be trod upon.
‘‘Keep going.’’
‘‘I can’t.’’
‘‘Of course you can. It’s perfectly safe.’’
‘‘But it’s moving. Look.’’
‘‘The plates overlap so they cover the couplings between the cars.’’ He nudged her with a hand to her back.
‘‘You go first.’’
‘‘All right.’’ With both hands on her waist, he squeezed around her and, taking one of her hands, led her over the moving floorboards. ‘‘See, I told you.’’ His smile once they were in the next car allayed her fears that he thought her young and silly.
Tables dressed in white linen cloths with fancy silverware and stemmed glasses that caught beams of sunlight from the windows and sparkled at her made her catch her breath. A flower in a bud vase centered every table, and white folded napkins lay under polished silverware. Here was the life she’d dreamed about, with Hamre by her side. Thoughts of Blessing faded away to the accompaniment of clacking wheels.
‘‘Are you sure we should eat here?’’ She tugged on his hand and kept her voice low.
‘‘Yes. It comes with the ticket.’’ He pulled out a chair for her and motioned her to sit down. A black man in a white buttoned-up coat smiled at her.
‘‘I be your server,’’ he said.
‘‘I see.’’ She looked to Hamre as he sat down across the table from her. They had never talked about what money he had, only about the fish he caught. She’d seen pictures of fancy table settings, and Bestemor had white tablecloths at the boardinghouse. But here there were two forks, lying on top of a starched stiff napkin, on one side of her plate and a knife and spoon on the other. A small knife lay at the top of the plate. Whatever was that for? The small plate to the left was maybe for desserts?
Their server set a leather-bound book upright in front of each of them. ‘‘Your menu.’’ He picked up her napkin and, giving it a shake, laid it across her lap. ‘‘Would you care for coffee, tea, ice water to start with?’’
Sophie stared at the man across the table from her. Wasn’t her husband supposed to be the one to guide her? Right now she needed real guiding. Hamre glanced up over the top of the menu he was reading and winked at her.
I can do this
, she decided and smiled at their server.
‘‘I’d like a cup of coffee, please.’’
‘‘Cream and sugar?’’
‘‘No thanks.’’ So many choices. He appeared again at their table, a silver coffee server in hand. Tipping her fine china coffee cup upright, he poured a stream of rich brown liquid without spilling a drop on the tablecloth. Wondering how he did that, she shook her head slightly and trapped a chuckle inside. She smiled and stumbled over thank-you, nearly saying mange takk, which he probably would not have understood at all.
‘‘And you, sir?’’ he asked Hamre.
‘‘Yes, please.’’ Hamre leaned forward a bit to read the copper nameplate on the white uniform jacket. ‘‘Jason?’’
‘‘Yes, sir.’’ A different accent softened the
r
to sound more like
ah
.
‘‘I think we’ll have the roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy, and we’ll decide on dessert later.’’ He smiled at Sophie. ‘‘Is that all right?’’
When the man left, Sophie leaned forward. ‘‘How did you learn all this? You grew up the same as me, and we don’t eat fancy like this.’’
‘‘No, but we sure ate good food. I missed that on some of the boats I’ve been on. Especially when the seas are rough and they don’t allow the stoves to be lit.’’
‘‘But this . . .’’ She indicated the table setting with a sweep of her hand.
‘‘I worked in a hotel for a month or two between fishing seasons. Had to set the table like this and clear away. You learn a lot by watching.’’
‘‘You did?’’
‘‘Ja. I don’t like to go hungry.’’
Sophie picked up her coffee cup to have something to do with her hands. This man was one surprise after another. And she was married to him. A frisson of delight climbed her spine. She sipped the coffee, watching him over the brim. ‘‘What else have you done in the years since you left Blessing?’’
He thought a moment. ‘‘I’ve scrubbed boats to rid the hulls of barnacles.’’
‘‘Barnacles?’’
‘‘Kind of cone-shaped little armor-plated creatures that grow on rocks and anything under water. They slow the speed of the ship if not removed. So once a year we scrape them off.’’
‘‘I see. What else?’’
‘‘I can mend nets or sails.’’
‘‘You know how to sew?’’
‘‘Different from any sewing you’ve done, but I got good at it. You need to know how to do it if you are going to own a fishing boat of your own.’’
‘‘You said you wanted a three-masted schooner.’’
‘‘You remembered.’’ His smile warmed her clear to her toes.
‘‘You drew me a picture of one once.’’ She thought back to the letter. ‘‘You drew it very well. How come when you were in school in Blessing, you never said anything, and now you can talk about so many things?’’
Except when you go silent on me? Why is that?
‘‘I was a boy who didn’t want to be there on the farm. I guess that’s my only excuse. When I left Blessing, I learned that if I didn’t ask and answer, life got really lonely, and I missed out on too much. Out on the boat, though, when you’re the only one in the dory, the fish don’t answer back.’’
‘‘Excuse me.’’ Jason had returned with small plates of pickled green beans, carrots, and beets to set before them, along with a basket of rolls that made her mouth water. The delicious bread smell sent her mind skipping back to her mother’s kitchen.
Pushing away the memory, she waited to whisper until Jason had bowed and left. ‘‘I thought we were having roast beef.’’
‘‘We will. This comes first.’’
She tasted the beans and grinned in delight. ‘‘This is delicious.’’
‘‘I know.’’
Two plates later, brown gravy filled a hole in the mashed potatoes and swirled over onto the slice of meat. Green beans with bits of red sat off to the side of the plate, and a bright green piece of something decorated another.
‘‘What is this?’’ she asked, pointing to the green sprig.
‘‘Parsley. Taste it.’’
She did as he said and nibbled the curly leaves. ‘‘It’s good.’’
‘‘It’s an herb.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ She took a fork of potatoes and gravy. It was good, but to be honest, her mother’s was better. The intrusive thought made her throat clog. What were they doing at home? Were they furious with her? How was Grace?
‘‘What is it?’’
She glanced up to see Hamre studying her. She shook herself. Looking back did not help, but this would be even more delightful if Grace were here to share it with her. She straightened her shoulders and sniffed. ‘‘I’m fine, just . . . just thinking of home. For a moment.’’ She cut another piece of meat and ate.
Do not think of home. Blessing is
no longer home. My home is now with Hamre. And I am on an adventure,
the biggest adventure of my life
. She sent Hamre a wide smile along with a look from under her eyelashes, the kind of look that always brought a smile from the man across from her. Her husband. How she loved that word.