Sophie's Dilemma (33 page)
‘‘I know, but’’—she rubbed the rise under her apron—‘‘some things just don’t sit well.’’
‘‘According to Maddie, that is not unusual. She said that some babies like some foods and some others. She quit eating bacon with Grant, and it was chocolate with the girl.’’
‘‘What is her name?’’
He stared at her, caught with the spoon halfway to his mouth.
‘‘I just thought . . . you never say her name. I’m sorry. Ignore what I said. My mother always said, ‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’ Often she meant me.’’
Garth swallowed, took a breath, ordered himself to say it, and swallowed again. ‘‘Her name is Madelynn. They—we—call her Linnie. My mother and sister chose to name the baby after my wife.’’ He could feel his throat clogging. Now was not the time to cry. And here he’d been doing so well. He pushed back from the table and stood. ‘‘Good evening, Mrs. Bjorklund.’’ He only kept from running from the room with the kind of resolve that he’d groomed much of his life.
You didn’t need to be rude like that!
His inner voice sounded amazingly like that of his paternal grandfather, the one who’d terrified a little boy with his dictums.
Garth pushed open the door to his room and, after closing it, leaned his forehead against the cool wood. Why did he react like this now? He thought he was beyond this. For the first months the only safe place was at the mill, where he was able to concentrate on work to the exclusion of all else.
‘‘Dear Lord, what do I do?’’ He sank down on the edge of the bed, his heart bleeding tears that his eyes refused to shed. Perhaps there were no more tears. He’d cried the well dry those days afterward when he wore a trail in the rugs pacing the house, upstairs and down. Filled with rage at times, broken at others.
‘‘Lord God, what do I do now?’’
I’m praying again
. The thought or the prayer brought a sense of peace, something else he’d not felt in a long time. If talking to Sophie about his family brought him to running again, was that good or bad? Would it always be like this? He noticed the letter and opened it, quickly perusing the news. With nothing surprising he tucked it into the drawer. She
really
didn’t want them moving to Blessing.
M
arch 17, 1902
D
ear Mr. Gould,
Thank you for the honor of choosing us to host your son. If you believe his coming here for the summer would be advantageous, we are pleased to provide a home for him for the time he is here. While Blessing has changed a great deal since you were here, you must remember we are still a small town, a farming community without all the luxuries found in the cities. We look forward to hearing from you as to the date he will arrive.
Spring is finally taking over winter; the sound of dripping icicles is music to my winter weary ears. Although it has not been a terribly hard winter, the sight and sounds of spring always give me a lift.
Graduation here will be on Sunday, May 25. We have been discussing the program and thought of asking you to be the speaker here this year if you are considering coming west with your son. We can change the date to accommodate your schedule. You have been so generous with your gifts to our graduating students all these years, and I know they would be thrilled to thank you in person.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Your friend,
Ingeborg Bjorklund
Ingeborg read her letter again and laid it aside to dry while she addressed the envelope. Did she want a rich man’s son living in her home for the summer? Her gaze traveled around the kitchen from where she sat at the table. They were in need of new curtains, the rug on the floor was getting ragged, the cabinets needed painting—she shook her head. No. No matter what they did, their house would not begin to compare to the home this young man had grown up in. His father had said the boy was a bit spoiled. Shame the soddy had melted away in that terrible flood of ’97. Living there would have really made his life different. She chuckled to herself as she folded the letter. What would be would be. He would come and either enjoy himself and work hard, or he would hate it. Although how anyone could hate living in this bowl of God’s plenty, she could not understand.
She dripped a dab of candle wax on the envelope, thus sealing it shut, and propped it against the clear glass sugar bowl in the center of the table. She paused for just a moment, thanking God for Haakan. Keeping his gift on the table prompted these prayers for him more often. Perhaps she’d go into town and visit with little Inga and mail this letter and some bills she’d prepared to send for cheese orders. Her account books for the cheese house needed to be brought up to date, but these first days of spring tugged on her and drew her outside. A sneaky thought reminded her that winter probably wasn’t all done with them, but she tried to ignore it.
Just for a minute
, she promised herself and followed the call of the dripping icicles and the wind that blew so gently over the drifts and hollows of snow sculpture. Standing on the back porch, she raised her face to the sunrays that for the first time in months promised warmth and the new life of spring. She, who at times still struggled through the dark days of winter, inhaled the sun and the breeze, the odors of cow, hay, and manure from the barn, the slight taste of woodsmoke from someone’s cooking fire.
Barney came bounding across the snow, yipping his delight at seeing her.
‘‘You need a bone. Every good dog needs a bone. Be right back.’’ She returned with a bone she’d removed earlier from the stew and presented it to him, his wagging tail her reward. She took in one more deep breath that tingled all the way to her toes and returned to open the oven door. After thumping the bread to make sure it was baked enough, she pulled the pans from the oven and tipped them over one by one onto the wooden cooling rack. Then dipping her fingers in the butter bowl, she smeared the crusts with butter and flipped a clean towel over the loaves.
With the bread cooling, she gave the stew a good stir to keep the meat from sticking to the bottom. After beating two eggs in a bowl, she got out flour and a bit of cream, stirring in some herbs dried from her garden, and dropped the dumpling dough into the stew, one spoonful at a time. Covering the kettle, she pushed it to the back again so it wouldn’t burn, added wood to the firebox, and finished setting the table.
With all ready, she stepped back outside and gave the triangle three good licks with the bar, enjoying the echo as the call bounced off the barn. She could hear the men clanging about down in the machine shed, getting the machinery in shape for spring work. Both Haakan and Lars were sticklers about watching for wear and fixing things before they broke, when at all possible. Andrew had learned from the best.
The three men followed the dug-out path back to the house. Even as lovely as it was today, she knew it would fall below freezing again at night, and perhaps there would be even more snowstorms. One never trusted spring in the Dakotas until the ground was bare, and even then they could get another freak storm.
‘‘Sure smells good in here,’’ Haakan said as he hung his hat on the coatrack by the door.
‘‘Fresh bread and stew with dumplings ought to smell good.’’ Inge- borg set the kettle next to her place so she could dish up the plates.
‘‘Ellie said to tell you thank-you that she didn’t have to make dinner. With Carl teething, she didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.’’ Andrew washed his hands at the sink, following his pa.
‘‘That poor baby. Teething is harder for some than others. Did you rub his gums with your finger to help those first teeth come through?’’
Andrew held up one finger. ‘‘He nearly gnawed it off.’’ The look on his face made the others laugh. ‘‘Did we have trouble with teething when we were babies?’’
‘‘I don’t remember much about you. Tante Kaaren and Thorliff took care of you while I worked to save the homesteads after your pa died. But Astrid sailed through without much trouble.’’
As soon as Haakan said grace, she dished up the stew while the men passed the plate of sliced bread around. Andrew picked up a piece and sniffed it, closing his eyes and smiling at the fragrance.
‘‘No one makes bread as good as you do.’’ He stopped. ‘‘Ellie’s is real good too.’’
Ingeborg smiled to herself.
Leave it to her Andrew to always stick up
for Ellie
. He’d done so ever since they were little. ‘‘You are most fortunate that your wife is so good at so many things.’’
‘‘I know.’’
The discussion meandered from machinery repairs to which cow was due soon and whether the river might flood again this year. If they had a nice slow melt without a lot of heavy rain, they might get by without the river rising over its banks.
‘‘I’m going to town this afternoon,’’ Ingeborg mentioned as she refilled coffee cups again.
‘‘You want I should hitch up the sleigh?’’ Haakan put his hand over his cup. ‘‘Thanks. I’ve had enough.’’
‘‘That would be good. I thought of walking, but I need some things at the store.’’
‘‘I could use some tobacco.’’
‘‘Anything else?’’
Haakan’s eyes furrowed in thought. ‘‘Not unless that box of bolts I ordered arrived.’’
‘‘I’ll check. I’m mailing the letter back to Mr. Gould.’’
‘‘Good.’’ Haakan pushed back his chair. ‘‘Better get back out there.’’ The three men thanked her for the meal, took their hats off the rack, shrugged into coats, and trooped on out the door.
Ingeborg put things away and washed up, humming all the while. Though she hesitated at donning her wool coat, she did so, pinning her black felt hat in place and looping a scarf around her neck. Winter could turn on them at any second, thundering down out of the north like a buffalo herd on the run. After placing her mail and a shopping list in her reticule, she followed the path, lined nearly waist high with shoveled-off snow, to the barn, where horse and sleigh stood waiting. How wonderful it would be to see the green grass again instead of piled high snowbanks, although she had to admit that the wind-sculpted snow waves, as she called them, were indeed beautiful. In the summer the wind created waves in the grass and wheat; in the winter, snow waves with crowns like surf, all gifts of the wind.
She stopped first at Penny’s store.
‘‘Well, look who’s here.’’ Penny, her smile as wide as her face, came around the counter, hands outstretched. ‘‘What did you think of all the excitement the other day?’’
‘‘You mean about the horseless carriage? Haakan couldn’t quit talking about his ride. Uff da. Such goings-on.’’
‘‘Ja, men and their toys. I’m sure we’ll be selling automobiles out there with the machinery before long. What can I get you today?’’
‘‘I sometimes wish you carried everything here like you used to.
That was far more convenient, not that I don’t like the Garrisons, mind you.’’ Ingeborg looked at her list. ‘‘Haakan wants to know if his bolts came in yet.’’
Penny shook her head. ‘‘Sorry.’’
‘‘Then I need sewing-machine needles, white thread, red and blue dye if you have it—’’
‘‘I do and some nice green.’’ Penny led the way between aisles as they talked. ‘‘What are you dyeing?’’
‘‘The yarn left from my last spinning. I still have some fleece to card and spin, and here it is nearly time to shear again. You should come out. We have the sweetest crop of lambs.’’ She tapped her chin with one finger. ‘‘I think I’ll spin some really fine and dye it pink for a sweater for Inga. I finished more soakers for Carl. Oh, and do you have any flannel for diapers? They never seem to have enough diapers, so I’ll hem some for them and for Sophie’s baby too. Ellie is already sewing shifts for the summer.’’
‘‘It’s hard to believe the girls will be graduating.’’ Penny pulled out a bolt of blue dimity with a touch of green. ‘‘I thought of this for Astrid’s dress. Her eyes would really sparkle against this.’’
‘‘Just so they don’t sparkle too much and catch the eyes of the young men around here.’’
‘‘That’s part of life, and if you’ve not noticed, she’s been catching the eyes of several young men already.’’
‘‘I know, but she has her eye on nursing school, just like Thorliff did with going to St. Olaf. He’d like her to go there, but she might go clear to Chicago.’’
‘‘To Dr. Morganstein?’’
‘‘Ja. I don’t know how I’ll bear it. All three gone from our house.’’
‘‘I’ll send you one of mine.’’
‘‘Which one today?’’
‘‘Take your pick.’’ The two women laughed together and then turned at the dinging of the bell over the door.
‘‘Good day, Mrs. Magron,’’ Penny called. ‘‘I’ll be right with you.’’
‘‘No rush.’’
Penny turned back to Ingeborg. ‘‘Is there anything else you need?’’
‘‘Let’s measure out enough for that dress you mentioned, and I’ll take this lace too. I wish I could surprise her, but trying to get away with anything secret around her is nigh to impossible. She’s like her pa in that.’’
‘‘Oh, I nearly forgot. I have a new washing machine in. I’ll show it to you both at the same time.’’ Penny tucked the bolts of goods under one arm. ‘‘Come on. You won’t believe it.’’
‘‘Have you already tried it?’’
‘‘Of course. Would I sell something I hadn’t tried? Every woman in Blessing needs one before spring cleaning starts. Why all those curtains and bedding would be done in a jiffy.’’
‘‘And how long, pray tell, is a jiffy?’’
‘‘I’ll just set these things up here on the counter. Come on, I have this washing machine all set up. No more boiling clothes or using a scrub board. Scrub boards are going the way of the walking plow—out, out, out.’’
Ingeborg stared at what looked like a washtub on legs but with a cover, a crank on one side, and a strange thing on top composed of two tubes in a frame.
Penny removed the lid. ‘‘See these paddles? You pour in hot water, add soap and the dirty clothes, then turn this crank, and it beats the dirt out. No more scraped fingers. Then, and this is the greatest part, no more wringing. You feed an end of the towel or pants into these rollers and turn this crank. It squeezes the water out as it pulls the shirt through. When you hang them on the line, they are dry in no time.’’