Sophie's Dilemma (14 page)
G
RAY WEATHER WEIGHED like a stone chain around Sophie’s neck. It had been days since she’d seen the sun, although it had appeared a couple of the days she’d been here. Hamre had told her that October was usually a good weather month inWashington State and apologized for the clouds.
‘‘Breakfast is served,’’ Mrs. Soderstrum called up the stairs.
Sophie rolled over and pulled the quilt up to cover her ears. Three days with no return of the fishing boat that bore Hamre out to the sea beyond what he so lightly called the Puget Sound. After all his descriptions, she felt safer when he was fishing the sound rather than the open ocean. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if she could go walking, but like a cat, she hated to get wet.
The mournful hoot of the foghorn made her even more aware of the gray day. The foghorn didn’t call out on a sunny day. But the seagulls cried all day every day. At first she had enjoyed the squabbles, but now all she heard was shrieking.
She threw back the covers and hastily dressed. Better to visit with those downstairs rather than to hide under the covers.
I just need something
to look forward to each day
. She brushed out her night braid and bundled her hair into a snood. Never in her entire life had there been time to be bored. She could hear her mother as if she were standing right in the room.
‘‘One who is bored is most likely boring.’’
Sophie Knut-son had never been boring. Granted, she’d called some tasks boring, but right now anything looked better than doing nothing.
She’d had a good time the last three days shopping, though. Not that there were a lot of shops in Ballard, but she’d found a new bonnet. The feather on her other one never recovered from the drenching. Actually she’d gone looking for a new feather, but this hat was made of fur for the winter. And the umbrella was a necessity in this rainy country, as were a tablet, envelopes, pen, and ink. Surely Hamre wouldn’t mind her purchases. She kept reminding herself of that as she made her way down the stairs, trying to ignore his remarks about saving every penny for his own boat.
‘‘Oh, good to see you, dear.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum greeted her with a smile. ‘‘I’ll bring your plate right in.’’
‘‘Mange takk.’’ Sophie settled in what had become her chair and laid her napkin in her lap. She smiled across the table at the elderly man, Mr. Chambers, who clerked at a bank. He nodded and slurped his coffee from the saucer. A sniff from the pale and precisely plain young woman at the end of the table made Sophie want to roll her eyes.
Be polite
, she reminded herself, fighting to ignore the barbs of jealousy that she felt coming her way. Miss Benson, as Mrs. Soder-strum explained after their first meeting, had decided that she and Hamre would make a good match. Miss Benson was furious that he’d brought a wife back with him.
Sophie pasted a smile on her face and turned to smile sweetly. ‘‘Good morning, Miss Benson. I hope you slept well.’’ She received a glare in return.
‘‘Here you go, dear.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum set a plate of bacon and eggs with biscuits in front of her.
‘‘Mange takk.’’ Sophie poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the table. It felt so strange to be waited on like this, but when she’d offered to help, Mrs. Soderstrum shook her head.
‘‘You are a guest here,’’ she’d replied.
Sophie buttered her biscuit and soaked up the egg yolk with it. While several of the boarders were already gone for the day, those remaining were not overly talkative in the mornings. The quiet made Sophie think of the hubbub of home: the deaf students getting ready for school; Pa and the boys coming in from the milking; Ma and Grace, along with Ilse, getting the food on the table; Pa saying grace; the bustle to get those with sufficient signing skills out the door and into the wagon with their lunch pails and books. What a difference here.
She set her biscuit down and sipped at her coffee. First on her list for the day was to add to the letter she’d started to her family. Perhaps today would be the day she’d hear from them. Only one letter so far, and that so formal she’d wondered who wrote it. Was Grace missing her as much as she was missing her twin? She finished her breakfast and wiped her mouth with her napkin, tucking it back into the napkin ring to be used again for dinner and supper. Since the other diners were gone, she took her plate into the kitchen.
‘‘You didn’t need to do that.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum took the plate from Sophie and set it on the counter by the sink.
‘‘I know, but I wanted to. Do you have a minute?’’
‘‘Of course. You want to sit here at the table and I’ll bring more coffee?’’
‘‘That would be nice.’’ Sophie did as she’d suggested, glancing around the cheery room as she waited. Sunny yellow walls with white trim took away some of the gloom of the day. A pot of geraniums bloomed pink in the window; a purple violet bloomed in a pot on the table. The fragrance of baking bread took her home again. Was her mother baking bread today? Most likely. Did they have snow back there yet? So many questions and all with no answers.
Mrs. Soderstrum set the coffee cups on the table, followed by a plate of molasses cookies, and took her chair. ‘‘Black, right?’’
‘‘Ja, thank you.’’
‘‘Now what is on your mind?’’
How do I ask this without sounding ungrateful?
‘‘I know this might sound strange, but do you know of any jobs around here? I mean, I have all day with nothing to do.’’
‘‘About the only place hiring is the fish cannery. At least that I know of.’’
‘‘Do women work there?’’
‘‘Oh yes. Someone has to process all those fish men like your Hamre bring in. And while men do the heavy work, women work on the line, sorting, cleaning, and gutting. I worked there one season and took the money I made to buy this house.’’
‘‘You made that much money?’’
‘‘Not really. I put a down payment on my house. The bank and I own it together.’’
‘‘Maybe I could help Hamre with buying his boat.’’
‘‘I don’t think you would like working there. It . . . well, it smells pretty awful. And cold, oh my.’’
‘‘It can’t be any colder than North Dakota. The blizzards there do their best to drive the farmers out, or bury them.’’
‘‘Well, you are young and strong. If Hamre wants you to do this, you just go down to the wharf and in the side door at the cannery. Ask to see Mr. Oscar Trondheim. He used to board with me before he worked his way up to manager. Tell him I sent you.’’
‘‘Mange takk.’’ Sophie picked up a cookie and bit into the rich flavor of ginger and molasses. ‘‘My mother baked such good molasses cookies too.’’ She ignored the comment
If Hamre wants you to
. Of course, how could she know he didn’t if she didn’t ask?
I’ll surprise him
with the extra money so he can put it in his boat fund
. She smiled back at her hostess. ‘‘What happened to your husband?’’
‘‘The fishing boat he was on went down.’’
Fear made Sophie’s mouth so dry she couldn’t swallow. After a mouthful of coffee washed the crumbs down, she reached over and patted Mrs. Soderstrum’s hand. ‘‘When did that happen?’’
‘‘Oh, long time ago—six, seven years.’’ She squinted her eyes to think. ‘‘Seven. How the years pass so swiftly when in the beginning you think a day will last forever. Sorrow does that to you.’’
‘‘I’m so sorry.’’
‘‘Ja, life changes in a blink sometimes, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Good thing God helps us go on in spite of what happens.’’
‘‘And you never married again?’’
‘‘No, and no children. The babe I was carrying came too soon. Some say the shock of losing Arnet caused it. I don’t know, but I’m grateful I have my boardinghouse. It’s like having a bigger family.’’
‘‘We have one in Blessing. Bridget Aarsgard—we all call her Bestemor—owns it. I’ve worked for her some.’’
‘‘Well, if I didn’t have my girl to help me, I’d hire you. But you can earn a lot more money at the cannery.’’
‘‘You said his name was Mr. Trondheim?’’
‘‘That’s right.’’
Sophie drained her coffee cup. ‘‘Mange takk.’’ She pushed her chair back and rose. ‘‘You’ve been a great help.’’
Sophie danced up the stairs. She’d finish the letter home and then go call on Mr. Trondheim. After making up the bed and dusting the windowsills and the top of the dressers, she dusted the small table Mrs. Soderstrum had given her when she mentioned needing something to write on and sat down. After finishing the first letter, she took paper, pen, and ink from her purchases and wrote.
Dear Grace,
Why have you not written to me? I know you all got my letter, for Mor wrote back. I could tell that she is still angry, as is Far, but you are not, are you? You know how much I love Hamre, and since I didn’t want to go to school anyway, I couldn’t let him go back to Seattle without me. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. Please forgive me.
She nibbled on the end of the pen for a bit. How to include everything without using all the pages she had.
This country is so different from Blessing, I cannot begin to describe it all. Hills that go straight up and so many kinds of trees. The fir trees are the biggest. Perhaps next summer you can come to visit, and I will show you Puget Sound and the mountains, snow-topped year-round they say, but so often hiding behind the rain clouds.
Hamre’s boat has gone out to sea but not to Alaska yet. He should be back by Sunday. I miss him so. Mrs. Soderstrum, who owns the boardinghouse, was so kind to me this morning, and we talked over a second cup of coffee. I am going to seek work at the local cannery so I can keep busy when Hamre is gone to Alaska. He leaves around the middle of November. I hope to have enough earned to help him buy his own fishing boat. That is the dream of his life.
How are things there? Please write and tell me what all is happening.
Sophie reread her letter. She’d had to be careful not to mention feeling so blue on these gray days or being tired of the rain already.
I know things will be better when we have a place of our
own. I’ll have plenty to do then.
If Hamre isn’t back on Sunday, I think I’ll go to church with Mrs.
Soderstrum.
The woman had invited her, but Hamre said he wanted to
take his Sundays off to show Sophie around. Strange how easy it was
to get out of the habit of church on Sunday. Another one of those
things she’d better not mention. Her mother would be fit to be tied.
I love you and miss you dreadfully.
Your loving sister,
Sophie Knutson Bjorklund
She addressed the envelope and put it in her reticule. She’d buy stamps today too. Glancing out the window, she was grateful that she’d bought that umbrella. Mist and more mist.
‘‘Do you have anything you want me to mail, or pick up for you?’’ she asked Mrs. Soderstrum a few minutes later as she was about to leave the house.
‘‘Would you be so kind as to take those things in the box on the hall table?’’
‘‘Of course. And I’ll be walking right by the store if you need anything from there.’’
‘‘I just ran out of vanilla.’’ The older woman hurried back into the kitchen and returned with several coins. ‘‘That should be enough.’’
Sophie opened her umbrella before stepping off the porch. It was a good thing she had sturdy boots and had found the grease stowed in Hamre’s dresser. She’d spent a couple of evenings greasing her boots and letting them set over the heat vent in the hall for the grease to soak in before adding another coat. No matter what she did, it brought up thoughts of home. From boot greasing to molasses cookies.
Please
answer quickly, Grace. I need to hear of home
.
She strode the four blocks to the cannery and found the side door just as Mrs. Soderstrum had told her. The door opened into an office area, but even so, the smell of fish permeated the air. It was not fresh fish she smelled either. She felt like putting a perfumed handkerchief to her nose, but the man at the desk was already giving her a strange look.
‘‘How can I help you?’’
Ordering herself to be brave, she stepped forward. ‘‘I’ve come to see Mr. Trondheim.’’
‘‘And your purpose?’’
‘‘Mrs. Soderstrum said to ask him about a job.’’
‘‘
You
want to work here?’’ His inflection on the word
you
made her square her shoulders.
‘‘Yes. May I talk with him?’’
‘‘It won’t do any good. We’re not hiring right now. Come back in two weeks.’’
‘‘Oh. Shouldn’t I leave my name or something?’’
‘‘Have you ever worked in a fish cannery before?’’
‘‘No, but I grew up on a farm in North Dakota, and I know how to work.’’
He cocked an eye at her, clearly doubting her words.
‘‘Sorry, miss, but we don’t have any cows to milk here.’’ One of the men behind him chuckled.
Her eyes narrowed, but she kept a formal smile in place. ‘‘It is Mrs. and I would like to talk with Mr. Trondheim.’’
‘‘Look, he’s not here right now. And he would say the same thing. If you would like to write your name and address on this piece of paper, I will give it to him.’’ He pushed a piece of paper forward.
She took the pencil and wrote down what he asked for. ‘‘I will come back in two weeks, then.’’
‘‘Let me give you a hint, miss’’—he looked at her signature and cleared his throat—‘‘Mrs. Bjorklund. Women who work here dress in warm work clothes, not—’’ His glance caught her new fur hat, her fitted black wool coat, and the edge of her wool skirt that peeked from below.
‘‘I see. Thank you.’’ She turned and let herself out the door before collapsing against the wall under an overhang. Was that what looking for a job was like? Why, he’d been barely polite. She stared down at her clothing. Of course she had on a nice coat. It was her only coat. She’d left her chores coat at home in Blessing. And she’d worn her new fur hat. She touched the soft fur with a gentle finger.
Perhaps she’d better ask Mrs. Soderstrum what women wore to work at the cannery. She’d been hoping for a glimpse of the work line to give her an idea what the work would be like. Putting up her umbrella, she stepped back into what had progressed from mist to a heavy drizzle, with drops big enough to splash into the puddles. She could hear it plunking on her umbrella as she walked to the post office to buy stamps and mail her letter. She picked up vanilla at the grocery and went into the dry goods store with determination. Then, knitting needles and yarn in her bag, she headed back to the boardinghouse to begin knitting a scarf for Hamre to take with him on the fishing boat. She didn’t have time to do socks and gloves, but a scarf would both keep him warmer and remind him how much his wife loved him.