Sophie's Dilemma (18 page)
Four long months. And now she had to figure out what to do with her time. Basking in the lack of pain in her head, she laid the pillow on her lap and crossed her arms over it, her wrists sharing the warmth in the chilly room. First she needed to finish knitting that pair of socks she’d started. Grace was right; it was time she learned to finish the things she’d begun. After tipping her head from side to side to make sure the pain was gone and to stretch out her muscles, she huffed a sigh and threw back the covers. The time had come to get on with whatever she was going to do.
Her gaze fell on the Bible her mother had sent in the trunk not long after Sophie and Hamre arrived in Seattle. Vaguely she remembered praying during the headache—such an innocuous name for what she’d experienced—and after that she’d fallen asleep. Had God answered and had a hand in her recovery? She thought back, trying to clear away the cobwebs that veiled her recollections. Mrs. Soderstrum had brought peppermint and laudanum. Had God told her to do that? Tante Ingeborg would say so. She often said God sent her here or there and gave her wisdom in using her simples to help those suffering.
Sophie crossed to the dresser and brought the Bible back to her bed. Flipping open the cover, she found a letter from her mother. Why had she not opened the book before now to at least see the letter? ‘‘Ah, Mor, I am so sorry. So sorry for so many things.’’ Shaking her head, she unfolded the paper and read through misty eyes.
My dearest Sophie,
I cannot tell you how brokenhearted your father and I are at your leaving like you did. I am so grateful for your letter so that we know Hamre is taking good care of you and that you were married before boarding the train. Your father did not ask you to wait because he wanted to punish you but because he felt you were too young.
Ah, Mor, if you only know. Even Hamre now knows how young I
really am, although I think he figured it out some time ago
. She could hear him.
‘‘Sophie, don’t act like a child.’’ I have been such a foolish daughter.
How can anyone forgive me?
She returned to the page, wiped her eyes with the edge of the sheet, and read on.
And he wanted you to become more mature to be able to handle the trials a marriage always has.
We miss you so and pray that you are well and happy and that you will turn to the Lord for wisdom and guidance. Grace will write to you herself. I believe she has suffered more than any of us, but I am sure that she will come around eventually. I know that she loves you no matter what, as do I. You might want to write to your father separately.
Sophie read the last lines again. Grace had not forgiven her, nor had their father. At least at that time. She had received one letter from Grace, but it had been more like from a distant cousin than from her twin sister. She returned to the letter.
Give Hamre our love, and I pray you make a fine wife and the two of you will become the people God plans for you to be.
Love always,
Your Mor
Sophie sniffed, dabbed her eyes, and read the missive again.
So
what do I do now? Besides write a letter home, that is
. She felt her stomach grumbling. First thing better be to get something to eat.
A tap at the door caught her attention. ‘‘Come in.’’
Mrs. Soderstrum entered with a smile that showed the dimples in her cheeks. ‘‘You sound like yourself again.’’
‘‘I am, but I woke too late for breakfast.’’ She nodded toward the chair. ‘‘You stayed with me?’’
‘‘A bit.’’ She set the tray down on the bed and turned to go.
‘‘Thank you for taking care of me.’’ Sophie picked up the cup and inhaled. ‘‘Peppermint. This is so nice of you.’’ She sipped and inhaled again. ‘‘Please, can you take time to sit down?’’
Mrs. Soderstrum folded the blanket over the back of the chair and sat. ‘‘You look a mite pale yet but much improved over yesterday.’’
Sophie spooned jam from the little jar onto her toast and took a bite. ‘‘Ah, this tastes so good.’’
‘‘It must. You’ve not eaten for three days.’’
Sophie chewed and swallowed. ‘‘What I’d like is some . . . some advice.’’
‘‘About what?’’
‘‘About my finding a place to work.’’ There, she’d said it.
Mrs. Soderstrum rolled her lips together and nodded. ‘‘I know you had a bad experience at the cannery, but I heard that Oscar is hiring now. I’d say to try there again. They pay the best of anyone.’’
When Mrs. Soderstrom left, Sophie stared at the wall for a while and then threw back the covers. First the letters and then finish the socks.
Within three days she’d finished her list and had even gone to visit Mrs. Jorgeson, the woman whose husband owned and captained the boat Hamre worked on. Mrs. Jorgeson, gracious amid her beautiful large home above the harbor, had reassured her that she could write to Hamre in care of the
Sea Lily
, and when the boat docked in Ketchikan, mail would also be sent home. She’d also invited Sophie to join their church and get to know some of the other families.
Sophie had not confessed the guilt that gnawed at her for the way she’d behaved that last night that Hamre was home—not to Mrs. Jorgeson, nor her mother or sister. No one need ever know that secret.
The next day Sophie returned to the canning factory, hoping this time for a better reception.
‘‘Can you begin tomorrow?’’ Mr. Trondheim, the manager, asked, his eyebrows raised in a question mark. ‘‘This is hard work, you know.’’
‘‘I know, but it can’t be any harder than farm work, and I grew up on a farm in North Dakota.’’ Sophie repeated what she’d told the other man when she’d tried to get the job before.
‘‘Your husband is off on Jorgeson’s boat?’’
‘‘How did you know that?’’
‘‘I know all the boat owners and most of the men. Hamre Bjork-lund worked here for a time before he got hired on a boat. He is a good worker. He’ll soon have that boat he wants so badly.’’
Sophie nodded. ‘‘And I plan to help him get one.’’
That’s the least I
can do after the way I treated him
. Even now, the thought of that night made her neck warm.
‘‘Be here at seven. We start at daylight. And wear warm clothes. You do have boots, do you not?’’
‘‘I do.’’ What would she wear for a coat? If only she had brought her chores coat with her.
After the interview she climbed the hill to the boardinghouse and entered, hanging her coat on the hook by the door. ‘‘Mrs. Soderstrum?’’
‘‘Back here.’’ The reply came from the sewing room.
Sophie tucked scarf and gloves into her coat pockets and, inhaling the good fragrance of fresh baked bread, made her way to the sewing room.
‘‘Did you get the job?’’
‘‘I did, but I have a favor to ask. Do you have an old wool coat I could buy from you? Or borrow until Mor can send me my chores coat?’’
‘‘I do, but it is so raggedy that I am ashamed to offer it.’’
‘‘I could patch it.’’
‘‘Then, dear girl, you may have it and be blessed.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum rose from her chair in front of the sewing machine and went to a trunk in the corner. ‘‘Good thing I didn’t throw it away. Thought I could use the good parts for patches myself.’’ She dug in the trunk and pulled out a black wool coat that had indeed seen better days. Giving it a shake, she handed it to Sophie. ‘‘Try it on. Good thing you aren’t a slip of a girl, or it would fall right off you.’’
Sophie donned the coat, and while she could pull the two front pieces halfway around her, a belt would take care of that. ‘‘Do you have any scraps I can use for patches?’’ At home her mor always had leftover pieces from garments she’d make or good pieces left from a garment that had been so worn that what was left could only be patches.
‘‘Look in that basket over there. I throw all the odds and ends in that.’’ Mrs. Soderstrum tsked and shook her head. ‘‘Won’t be fashionable, but it should help keep you warm.’’
After spending the afternoon and evening sewing torn seams and patching both elbows, along with sewing a new belt and mending the pockets, Sophie fell into bed and closed her weary eyes. ‘‘Ah, Hamre, maybe I should just stay here and take in sewing or something.’’ But she’d said she’d be at the cannery to work tomorrow. And she would keep her word.
But you told Hamre you’d stay here
. The little voice made her roll her lower lip over her teeth. Too bad. When she showed him her full pouch of money for his boat, he’d not bother to yell at her. And if he did, well, she’d deal with that when the time came.
‘‘
I
DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU,’’ Haakan said, his voice breaking.
Ingeborg left off washing the dishes and came to stand behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. ‘‘Would it help if you came with us?’’
‘‘I don’t know. How can I leave all the work here?’’
‘‘Andrew and Lars can handle it. You could visit machinery lots while you were there.’’ Perhaps that extra enticement would sway him. His shoulders felt as tight as hers. The thought of having him along painted her picture of the ordeal in lighter hues. Besides, Elizabeth would have baby Inga, and that baby loved her grandpa. The feeling was mutual. ‘‘And perhaps you could help with Inga.’’
A smile tickled the edges of his eyes along with his mouth. ‘‘How long?’’
‘‘Two weeks if all goes well.’’
‘‘There is the rest of the plowing, and we were hoping to get some pasture fenced over to Andrew’s.’’
‘‘Ja, and Astrid could stay with either of her brothers or with Kaaren.’’ She could tell from the way his eyes narrowed that he was seriously contemplating the trip. She leaned forward, resting her cheek on the top of his head. ‘‘I would like you to come.’’ Her words fell softly in the evening stillness.
Two days later the four of them boarded the train for Chicago.
‘‘You let us know how it all goes,’’ Thorliff made his wife promise.
Ingeborg hugged Astrid one last time, both of them sniffing and mopping tears. ‘‘Don’t you go worrying now.’’
‘‘I won’t.’’ Astrid stepped back to Thorliff ’s side, her smile wobbling but still there.
Ingeborg smiled at her son, who held his little daughter as if they were trying to snatch her away. She reached over and took the baby. ‘‘Now you two can say good-bye, and we’ll get us all settled.’’ Haakan helped her up the steps and followed with their two valises. Thorliff set two cases up on the top of the steps and turned back to his wife.
Ingeborg watched through the window as Thorliff held Elizabeth close and said something to make her smile before handing her up the stairs. Ingeborg waved again to Astrid and blew her a kiss. The conductor’s call echoed, and the train wheels screeched and groaned as the engine drove them forward.
Please, God, take care of all of them while we are gone, and you know
how much I want to come back home here
. Ingeborg sniffed and wiped her eyes, grateful that she was not leaving Haakan behind but had him right beside her. She heard him clear his throat. This was no easier on him than on her.
Every time a worry tried to weasel its way into her mind, she repeated
Fear not, for I am with thee
, and
Whatsoever things are true . . .
whatsoever things are lovely . . . think on these things
. The verses flowed through her mind and heart, calming both mind and spirit. If only her stomach were as agreeable. At least the bleeding had stopped again. One more thing to be thankful for.
The train ride passed without fanfare. Inga’s happy grin enchanted a pigtailed little girl, along with a snow-crested dowager and the conductor, who made many more trips past them than seemed necessary. Caring for the baby helped take Ingeborg’s mind off the upcoming surgery, and her laughter poured joy into all of them.
But the closer to Chicago the train drew, the more Ingeborg repeated her Bible verses—and strangled Haakan’s hand.
Trust me
. The voice in her heart kept time with the clacking wheels.
Trust me. Will
you trust me?
Of course I trust you. And, Lord, you know I’m ready for heaven any
time, but no offense, I would like a lot more time with my family here on
earth
.
The views outside the window failed to hold her attention—or Haakan’s.
She nearly gagged on the smells that assailed them when they dismounted from the train. Smoke and fuel, garbage and unwashed humanity. The noises made her want to clap her hands over her ears, setting her longing for the sigh of the breeze and the birdsongs of home. She stared at Elizabeth, who was waving at a man striding through the crowd, his top hat riding high above the shifting mass of humanity.
Two days later Ingeborg floated up from the sea she’d been drifting in to find Haakan sleeping beside her bed, his chin on his chest, his right hand clasping hers even in slumber.
So I am still alive on earth, not
in heaven
. The thought made her smile, at least inside. She squeezed his hand, her eyelids already fluttering closed.
‘‘Inge?’’ His voice brought her back.
She nodded, or she hoped she did.
‘‘Oh, thank God. Thank you, Father.’’
She could hear the tears in his voice. Had there been worry that she would go on to her heavenly home rather than return to this one? The thought slipped away before she could respond to it, and she drifted back down.