Sophie's Dilemma (24 page)

‘‘Pregnant? You are with child?’’ Kaaren’s face bloomed with joy.

‘‘You did not get my letter? I wrote and told you, before the letter about Hamre.’’

‘‘No, that one did not come. Oh, Sophie, no wonder you were so sick on the train. Did you have much morning sickness?’’

‘‘Morning sickness? I get sick any time of day or night.’’ Sophie lay back against the pillows, her eyes closing, too weary to keep awake. ‘‘I don’t remember you being so sick with either of the boys.’’

‘‘I wasn’t, for which I have always been grateful. The two of you were another matter.’’

‘‘Oh.’’

‘‘This will pass.’’

‘‘I hope so. The thought of months of this makes me want to run screaming.’’
Or throw myself under the wheels of the train
. Down in her middle, it started again, the roiling that worked its way up to her throat. She swallowed, hoping she could calm down before erupting again. Sometimes she succeeded but not this time. ‘‘Excuse me.’’ She pushed to the side of the bed and reached for the basin Elizabeth had placed there for her.

Kaaren held the pan with one hand and smoothed her daughter’s hair back with the other. When the spasms passed, she handed Sophie a warm, wrung-out cloth to wipe her face. ‘‘Have you kept anything down since you got here?’’

‘‘I don’t know. But there was nothing in my stomach to heave out.’’

‘‘I’ll bring some tea and toast. That sits better than most anything else.’’

‘‘Thank you.’’ Ah, the pleasure of her mother’s voice, the cool hand, the warm hug. Sophie slipped back into the gray land that she wasn’t sure was sleep or imagination. Either way, her body felt better when her mother returned with a tray holding two cups of tea and a plate of toast.

‘‘Tante Ingeborg sent this?’’ She had already swallowed three bites and some tea before talking.

‘‘How did you know?’’

‘‘Her bread tastes different, that’s all.’’

‘‘I think you are imagining things. We use the same receipt.’’

‘‘I can tell.’’ Sophie choked on the words, then inhaled and breathed out a sigh. ‘‘Mor, this isn’t the way life is supposed to happen.’’ She wiped her tears, knowing that fighting them was futile.

‘‘I know.’’

‘‘What am I going to do?’’

‘‘You could go back to school.’’

‘‘With child?’’ She stared at her mother, shaking her head all the while.

‘‘No, I suppose not.’’ It was Kaaren’s turn to sigh. ‘‘I will bring the sleigh back this afternoon so you can come home. Or perhaps I’ll have Grace bring it, and she’ll bring you home.’’

Sophie studied her fingertips. The silence stretched like a spider’s web caught on the breeze. Finally she voiced the words that were screaming in her head. ‘‘What about Pa?’’

‘‘What about him?’’

‘‘He . . . he never wrote. Does he hate me?’’ The words tumbled over each other, fleeing those coming behind. ‘‘Has he come to see me?’’

Kaaren shook her head. ‘‘No, he doesn’t hate you.’’

‘‘But?’’

‘‘But your running away like that after he gave what he thought was a wise answer hurt him. Though he doesn’t say much, he feels deeply.

Kind of like the river. It seems placid on the surface, but there can be deep holes and whirlpools.’’

‘‘I told him I was sorry in my letter.’’

‘‘I know. Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, though.’’

‘‘All I could think of was Hamre. I thought surely I would die if Hamre left me behind.’’ Her tears flowed through her fingers.
And I
wanted an adventure. Now Hamre has left me forever
.

‘‘I know. Young love can be so impetuous, but sometimes there are pieces to pick up later.’’

‘‘Like now? Here I am, seventeen, a widow with a baby on the way.

I could only think of coming home. Maybe I can’t do that either.’’

‘‘Have you prayed about it?’’

Sophie returned to studying her fingers. How to answer that? She’d prayed all right, prayed that she would get here before she died on the train. Before that, she’d prayed about what to do, and home seemed the only answer. If you could call
God, help me
a real prayer. Had she been down on her knees praying? No. Had she been desperate? Yes. And who else was there?

‘‘I’ve prayed, but not about what to do once I got here. I guess I figured everything would go back to the way it has always been.’’
At
least that’s what I suppose I was thinking
. ‘‘Actually, I didn’t think beyond seeing you again.’’

Kaaren blinked a couple of times quickly and sniffed. ‘‘I am so sorry for all you have lost.’’

‘‘D-don’t say things like that. It just makes me cry again. I wake in the night and think it was all a nightmare, and then when day comes, I know it is true. Hamre is gone.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘And he will never know his baby. I don’t even know if he got my letter. I doubt it. They didn’t go ashore very often. Mor, how am I going to raise a baby?’’

‘‘I don’t know right now, but there will be a way.’’

A pain pounded her heart at the words. If her mother didn’t know what to do . . .
All I want to do is go home and forget all this that has
happened. But what do I say to Far?

‘‘Grace will come for you. Do you need help getting dressed?’’

‘‘Just with the back buttons. Most of my things are in the trunk. I hope it got off the train when I did.’’ Sophie sighed. ‘‘Everything is so complicated.’’
And I don’t really want to be back here. I don’t want to be
pregnant. I don’t want to be a widow. I want Hamre and the life we were
just starting
. She finally forced herself to look at her mother. ‘‘How did you get here?’’

‘‘Trygve dropped me off and then took the others on to school in the sleigh. Thorliff said he would take me home.’’

‘‘Can’t I go with you?’’

‘‘If you want. I just thought you and Grace . . .’’

‘‘We’ll talk tonight.’’ Sophie swung her feet out from under the covers and started to stand.

‘‘So you think you’re well enough to leave and follow the doctor’s orders?’’ Elizabeth stopped in the doorway. ‘‘I think you’d better eat before you try to get dressed.’’

Sophie stood and immediately sat down again, blinking away the dizziness. ‘‘How did you know?’’

‘‘Remember, I’ve had a baby too, even though I didn’t get as sick as you have. But then I’d not been hit with all the tragedy you have either. I’ll have Thelma bring you some soup. You kept down the toast and tea?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘Then soup it is.’’ Elizabeth crossed to the bed and took Sophie’s wrist to count her pulse. ‘‘No fever?’’ She looked to Kaaren.

‘‘Not that I can tell.’’

‘‘How many monthlies have you missed?’’

‘‘One for sure, perhaps two. I wasn’t paying attention.’’ Sophie battled back the thoughts of Hamre and their evenings together. Never again would he hold her close or whisper in her ear, tickling the hair around it with his breath. She closed her eyes and fought the battle inside.

‘‘Sophie, listen to me.’’ Elizabeth tipped up her chin with a loving finger. ‘‘Crying it out is far easier on you than battling back the tears. Tears are healing. Fighting them just makes you hard and bitter. And hard and bitter is not good for your baby. That baby needs to grow in love, surrounded by all the love you have to give.’’

‘‘Amen to that.’’ Kaaren laid her daughter’s clothes on the bed. ‘‘You knew you needed home, and that was wise. I’ll go get the soup myself.’’

What if Pa doesn’t want me?
If only she could keep her thoughts at bay.

‘‘Bring a bowl for yourself too.’’ Elizabeth cocked her head. ‘‘Oh-oh.

I hear Inga. I’ll bring her in here and feed her while you two eat. That way we can visit longer.’’

‘‘You have other patients waiting?’’

‘‘Yes, but Inga comes first, or the entire town will think I’ve been beating her.’’

Sophie smiled back. Her stomach rumbled, making them all smile more widely. ‘‘It is so hard to believe that I really have a baby growing inside me.’’ The tears simmered again.
Hamre will never know his son
or daughter
.

‘‘You’ll believe it as soon as your clothes are too tight. Once this morning sickness is past, you’ll feel really good, I hope. Most women do. God designed us to carry babies, and we do it well. Then once you are close to term, you’ll feel like a tub with feet.’’ She rolled her eyes as a wail came from the nursery. ‘‘Be right back.’’

Later, as the sleigh with Sophie and Kaaren bundled under the warm robes stopped at the Knutson house, Sophie closed her eyes, holding her mother’s hand tightly. She was home, yet not home. Her father held the key to the future in his hands.

‘‘Easy now.’’ Thorliff helped her from the sleigh and kept her arm tucked in his on the way up the steps.

‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered when he stepped back at the door.

‘‘You take care,’’ he whispered back. ‘‘It’s going to come out all right.’’ He squeezed her hand as he looked into her eyes. ‘‘Many are praying for you.’’

She nodded, tears clogging her throat again.

He headed back to the sleigh with a wave.

‘‘Bye, Thorliff,’’ Kaaren called. ‘‘And thank you.’’

Sophie shut the door behind her and stared around the kitchen. Nothing had changed. The big cookstove, shiny as ever, took up one wall. Braided rugs on the dark brown-painted wooden floor, yellow-and-white gingham curtains in the windows, a pot of red geraniums on the windowsill. But the smell was what she had remembered in her dreams of home. It had to be apple pies that lined a shelf, ready for supper. The nutmeg and cinnamon mingled with smoke from the kerosene lamps, a tang of woodsmoke, and surely there must be molasses-ginger cookies in the jar. They’d had bacon for breakfast, and bread had been baked either this morning or yesterday. Home—she breathed it in, allowing the fragrances to soothe her soul.

‘‘Are you all right?’’ Kaaren had removed her coat and hat and was donning her apron.

‘‘Ja, I am. Where’s Ilse?’’

‘‘In the schoolroom. We have three new students who are still learning to sign so they can go to school with the others.’’

A wave of weariness washed over Sophie as she hung her coat on the peg and crossed the room to sit down in the rocker. ‘‘Where’s Pa?’’

‘‘Most likely down at the machine shed. He and George are doing something to the tractor.’’

‘‘Does he know I am home?’’

Kaaren shook her head. ‘‘I didn’t know if you’d be able to come.’’

At least he didn’t say I couldn’t
. Sophie knew she was searching for comfort anywhere she could find it. Surely her pa wasn’t the kind who would throw his pregnant daughter out. She heard the jingle of the harness and boys laughing as the schoolchildren arrived. Samuel and Trygve did manage to make a lot of noise considering the others were silent.

When the students filed in, they smiled at her and went to their rooms to put their things away. Samuel burst through the door. ‘‘Mor?’’ He slid to a halt, staring at Sophie. ‘‘You’re home.’’

Sophie nodded. What do you say to your little brother after all that had gone on? Samuel looked an awful lot like Hamre. She’d never noticed that before.

‘‘You talked to Pa?’’

‘‘Not yet. We just got here.’’
Please, Samuel, look happy to see me
.

‘‘I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. Where’s Ma?’’

‘‘She was here a minute ago. I don’t know.’’

He headed to the counter for the crock with the fitted wooden lid and took out four ginger cookies. ‘‘You want one?’’ He almost smiled.

‘‘Yes, please.’’

He handed her one, and they took bites at the same time.

‘‘My favorite.’’

‘‘I know. You haven’t been gone that long.’’ He handed her another cookie and headed for the stairs to change clothes. ‘‘You helping us milk tonight?’’ he called over his shoulder.

Sophie sighed. One down. But where was Grace?

Trygve came through the door, saw her, and looking the other way, headed for the stairs, his shoulders rigid, his boots heavy on the stairs.

Sophie left the haven of her chair and crossed the kitchen to put wood in the cookstove. She wasn’t a guest, and she’d better pitch in to help—or go upstairs and not come down again. ‘‘Where’s Grace?’’ she asked Samuel when he came back down in his barn overalls.

‘‘She went home with Astrid. They were going to Dr. Elizabeth’s to visit you.’’

‘‘Why didn’t you tell me?’’

‘‘You didn’t ask.’’ He grabbed another handful of cookies and headed out the door.

When Grace finally came through the door, Sophie was sitting on a chair by the stove peeling potatoes. She looked up with a smile that died as Grace stared back at her. Sophie could feel the tears forming, burning the back of her eyes. She rolled her lips together, blinked, and sniffed. Laying the knife down, she rose slowly to her feet. She tried to speak, but no words would come. Clearing her throat, she tried again. ‘‘I-I’m sorry, Grace. I . . .’’

Grace’s tears were welling to match Sophie’s. The two took three steps each and met in each other’s arms, needing no more words. Kaaren came and wrapped her arms around both of them with mother murmurings as familiar and soothing as the heat of a fire on a cold night.

‘‘Are you all right?’’ Grace spoke carefully, around her tears.

Sophie nodded. ‘‘For right now.’’

‘‘Good.’’ She tapped Sophie’s wrist three times, their signal for talk later.

When Sophie carried the bread and butter into the dining room, she checked to make sure everything was the same as when she’d left— the schoolroom on the other side, sofas and chairs around the stove, lamps on the small tables where everyone gathered in the evening, Mor’s spinning wheels, the shelves and baskets of wool to be carded, wool to be spun, and yarn for knitting. All of the girls who came to the school were required to learn the steps of wool preparation and knitting, plus how to use the sewing machines in the sewing room. After supper the long table would change into a desk for doing homework. One of the boys was starting a fire in the fireplace. He looked up and smiled at her. She turned at the sound of someone coming down the stairway against the wall that led to the bedrooms upstairs.

Later, when they were gathered for supper around the oversized table, Sophie took her old place next to Grace. This year they only had ten students in the school and only three of them new. The smallest of the girls sat between Ilse and her husband, George, who’d been one of the first students at the school for the deaf.