Sophie's Dilemma (34 page)
Ingeborg stared at the machine. ‘‘Somehow this reminds me of when we first ordered our sewing machines.’’
‘‘That it does, only men are finally inventing machines for the house too. And I saw a picture of a new flatiron. You put hot coals right in it, and there is another one that uses kerosene. I’m going to order them the next time the salesman comes by.’’
‘‘My land, what is our world coming to?’’ Mrs. Magron walked around the machine. ‘‘Have you sold very many?’’
‘‘This just came in two days ago. I tried it yesterday. Outside will be better, since it tends to slosh some. And just think, children will be able to turn the crank, leaving your hands free to feed clothes into the wringer. This one is even better than the one at the boardinghouse.’’
Ingeborg thought a moment. ‘‘I’ll have to talk this over with Haakan. How much is it?’’
Penny named a price that made Ingeborg swallow. ‘‘But think how much men spend for their machinery. This is nothing like that.’’
‘‘But it won’t bring in money like their machinery does,’’ Mrs.
Magron said.
‘‘True, but if you didn’t have to spend so much time doing the wash, you could bake bread for the store and thus bring in more money.’’
Ingeborg shook her head. Penny had been asking her to bring in fresh baked bread for years, but she never had the time. ‘‘You don’t sell food anymore, remember?’’
‘‘Ah, but Mrs. Garrison would be singing like a meadowlark if you would take that on.’’
‘‘Will you put it on our bill?’’ Mrs. Magron’s voice took on a firmness that made Ingeborg blink.
Penny turned to the little woman who so rarely did or said anything without Mrs. Valders’ approval. ‘‘Of course.’’
‘‘Then I want Mr. Magron to pick it up tonight—or tomorrow.’’
Ingeborg and Penny exchanged glances, both of them obviously thinking the same thing. What was going on here?
‘‘Are you sure?’’
‘‘You will still take returns if something is not satisfactory?’’
‘‘Of course.’’
‘‘Then I shall use my egg and cream money for my new washing machine. And I’m going to try that new soap that you have also.’’
‘‘Let me finish Ingeborg’s order, and then we’ll write that up. Since you’ll be the first in town to have this new machine, would you mind if I ask you questions after you’ve used it?’’
‘‘I would be delighted.’’
‘‘Oh, there is an instruction book with it, and since Thorliff wrote about Hamre’s automobile for the paper, perhaps he’ll write a story about your new washing machine.’’
‘‘Whatever you decide. I need to go to the grocery store, and I’ll come back. Good seeing you, Ingeborg.’’ And out the door she marched, leaving both Bjorklund women staring after her.
‘‘Well, can you beat that?’’ Ingeborg said softly.
‘‘And now I don’t have one to sell to you.’’
‘‘But you will order another and let me know as soon as it arrives. Since I don’t have Astrid around to help me wring sheets and men’s pants, this will be wonderful.’’
‘‘You can always hire help.’’
‘‘I know, but we already hire so many people between the harvesting and the cheese house. I wish Goodie were still here. She and I worked together like sisters. I’d put her in charge of the cheese house.’’
‘‘I will let you know when the next one arrives. I wish we could go to the big fair in St. Louis. They show all the new things that are coming from all over the world. One of these days we are all going to have telephones and electric lights, be able to see moving picture shows on big screens, and . . . and—’’ ‘‘You’ve been reading too many magazines.’’
‘‘We will. The next ten years will bring enormous changes.’’
‘‘How do you know that?’’
‘‘Hjelmer said so, and you ask Thorliff. He’s seen and learned lots more than he is telling us.’’ All the while she was talking, Penny was measuring yardage and trims, wrapping the packages, and adding the bill.
Ingeborg paid what she owed and headed for the door. ‘‘Tusen takk.’’
‘‘Ja, anytime.’’
Leaving horse and sleigh in front of the store, Ingeborg walked the block to drop her letters in the slot at the post office and finished up at the grocery store. Since she needed only vanilla and brown sugar, she took her package and returned to the sleigh.
She’d just settled into the sleigh and was backing the horse when an explosion set her horse to rearing. He took the sleigh with him as he tore out of town. Ingeborg hung on to the reins and braced her feet against the sleigh front. But no matter how hard she pulled, he had the bit in his teeth, heading for home.
Dear Lord, keep us on the road and
upright
. ‘‘Whoa,’’ she yelled, sawing on the reins. What could have caused such an explosion?
T
HE EXPLOSION IN THE FLOUR MILL threw Garth up and into a hard object, then dropped him on the floor. Debris beat down on him, and then something heavy crushed him into the floor. It all happened so fast, he could do nothing but fight to breathe, not sure if he was really injured or just had the wind knocked out of him.
‘‘Fire! Fire!’’ Men shouting, someone screaming. ‘‘Get out! Call the fire wagon!’’
‘‘Mr. Wiste? Garth? Where are you?’’
‘‘Here.’’ But he knew his words went not farther than his breath. He forced himself to move hands and feet, checking to see what was working. Every movement brought pain, but he could move. A deep breath made him gasp. Ribs, most likely. ‘‘My men. Got to get the men out.’’ He tried to roll over, but something heavy pinned him down. The smell of burning flour seared his nose. Smoke, heat. The flour floating in the air would burn hot and fast.
Where in the mill had the blast occurred? While questions sifted through his befuddled mind, he forced himself to think where the workers would be. His assistant had gone to the necessary. The mill-men could be anywhere. Ten men. He had to find them. But he couldn’t move. He ran his hands over whatever was pinning him down. A beam? Something big. But it wasn’t actually resting on him or he’d have been crushed for sure. He braced against it and tried to pull himself out.
‘‘Garth? Wiste, where are you?’’
‘‘Here.’’ This time he was sure he’d spoken aloud. ‘‘Over here. I’m trapped under something.’’
‘‘Keep talking.’’
‘‘Here. I’m here.’’ Any words brought on coughing. The pain nearly knocked him out.
He heard someone near him say, ‘‘Under something.’’ The beam shifted as two men heaved it off him and dragged him to his feet.
‘‘Thank God we found you. Can you walk?’’
‘‘I-I hope so. Where are the rest of the men?’’
‘‘Don’t know.’’ They half dragged him across and around shattered walls and pieces of the roof.
Staggering down the corridor, smoke burgeoning, they tripped over part of a damaged wall, and Garth went to his knees.
‘‘Mr. Wiste, come on Garth, we gotta get out of here.’’
‘‘What about the others?’’ With their help, he managed to get to his feet again.
‘‘Don’t know.’’
‘‘Who was screaming?’’
‘‘Don’t know.’’ One of the men took his arm and pulled him down a hallway, heading for the back door. Hearing moaning, they stopped, followed the sound, and found another man on the floor. Between them, they picked him up and dragged him with them. A crash behind them said something had caved in.
Hearts pumping, lungs screaming, they stumbled outside and collapsed into a melting snowbank.
How bad is it? Where are the rest of my men?
Thorliff ran up. ‘‘We have two men on the other side of the building. Do you know about the others? How many?’’
‘‘Ten . . . working today.’’ Garth doubled over coughing. He kept from passing out from the pain by sheer will. ‘‘Besides me.’’
The clanging of the fire wagon caught their attention.
‘‘How bad is it?’’ Garth asked.
‘‘Still don’t know. Get out in front so we can make a count. I’m going on around.’’
Garth put a hand to the back of his head and felt the warm wet of blood. He checked the man now unconscious at their feet. ‘‘Let’s get him over to Dr. Bjorklund’s.’’ Together, coughing every other step, they dragged him around the burning building and out to the street.
‘‘Here, take him.’’ Garth turned and headed toward the front of the building. With only five out, there were another five still inside.
‘‘You can’t go in there!’’
He ignored the shout and picked up his pace, pulling off what was left of his coat as he moved forward. A force caught him in the back of his knees, and he hit the snow-packed ground. Rage smote him as the tackle grounded him.
‘‘I need to get my men out.’’ He tried kicking at the attacker, but he couldn’t move with a body lying on him.
‘‘You can’t go in there. It’s too late.’’ The voice in his ear softened. ‘‘I can’t let you kill yourself like that.’’
‘‘But my men—’’ ‘‘I’m sorry. Maybe more got out the other side.’’ The man relaxed his hold, rolling to the side so Garth could breathe more easily.
Garth tried to sit, but a fit of coughing forced him back to the ground.
‘‘You need to see the doctor. You’ve a cut on the back of your head and now blood on your chin. Sorry, but I think you got that when I tackled you.’’
Garth turned to see who was talking. ‘‘Toby?’’
‘‘Yah, I had gone to the grain elevator. Hopefully the snow on the roof is going to save that building. The fire wagon is concentrating there. Nothing will save the flour mill. If this were summer, there’d be sparks everywhere and half the town would be burning.’’ He stood and extended a hand to Garth. ‘‘Come, you can lean on me.’’
Garth let the younger man help him up. Right now one step in front of the other was about all he could manage.
Toby dug a handkerchief out of his pocket. ‘‘Here, let’s stop that bleeding if we can.’’ He pressed the folded compress against the wound on the back of Garth’s head. ‘‘Though you don’t look too good from the front neither.’’
Garth tried raising his hand to hold the cloth in place, but the pain refused to let him even lift his arm. The burning in his throat and chest brought on another coughing spasm. He leaned against Toby, knowing he’d be on hands and knees again without his support.
When he finished, Toby pulled him forward.
As they staggered out of the smoke, Thorliff came running back to help. ‘‘How bad?’’
‘‘Ribs, I think.’’
‘‘And a few cuts?’’
‘‘Come over and sit on the rear gate of the wagon before you collapse.’’
‘‘My men . . . how many . . . ?’’ Coughing stopped his words.
‘‘We’ve taken five over to the surgery. The two that dragged you out over there are okay, and then there’s you two. That leaves two missing.’’
‘‘Who?’’
Thorliff gave their names. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
Garth closed his eyes.
Lord, have mercy
. He listened to the shouting as more men arrived to help, but there was nothing anyone could do except watch the mill burn. He couldn’t bear to do that. One of the men had a family—the other was single, one of the Geddick boys. Fine men. Was there anything he could have done? They’d followed all the safety rules that he knew of, but it could have been a spark from the grinding stones.
The thoughts flitted between the wheezes.
Thorliff returned. ‘‘Let’s get you over there.’’
Every turn of the wheels sent spears through Garth’s chest. At least it felt that way.
The wagon stopped.
Thorliff and Toby helped him out of the wagon, but when they tried to wrap their arms around his waist to hold him up, he shook his head. ‘‘Easier if I walk myself. Hurts less.’’
‘‘We won’t let you fall.’’
One step in front of the other, just like in the smoke, although now at least he could see. Up the three steps, bring one foot up, follow with the other, set it on the same step and lift the right again.
A scream came from within the house. The stench of burned flesh hit them when they opened the door. Someone groaned; another whimpered.
‘‘Let’s set you in here. I’ll go see what is needed.’’ Thorliff left them.
Garth leaned back against the chair, and once settled, the pain lessened some until he had to cough.
‘‘Here.’’ Thelma, the woman who assisted Elizabeth, stopped in front of him with a cup on a tray. ‘‘Drink this. It will soothe your throat and lungs. It’s warm honey water.’’
Garth took the cup in both hands, only to realize he was shaking. Strange, he didn’t feel that cold. But he could hardly hold the cup to his mouth. Some sloshed down his front.
‘‘Let me.’’ She took the cup and held it for him to drink. ‘‘Easy now. I’ll get some blankets. If you’d like, we can make a pallet on the floor.’’
‘‘No. Sitting up is better.’’ Each word came through a fire.
While the drink helped ease his throat, the shaking made his chest hurt worse.
But this is nothing compared to what those other men are going
through
. His thoughts faded in and out. He felt the blankets wrapped around him from his head to his feet. Clenching the blankets closed, he tipped his head back and let the darkness come over him.
‘‘There’s not enough room at the surgery. Bring the less injured over to the boardinghouse.’’
Sophie’s voice. He would get to see her again. And his children. Relief poured over him like warm water.
Through a haze he felt someone messing with the back of his head, the prick of something sharp several times, but when he tried to ask what was happening, he coughed. He drank something warm and sweet again, and when he woke he was in his own bed at the boardinghouse. Were it not for the pain in chest, throat, head, and hand, he’d have thought he dreamed it all . . . a horrible nightmare. How could he ever thank the men who had dragged him out?
‘‘
G
OOD MORNING.’’ Sophie leaned over him and smiled. ‘‘I thought perhaps you’d sleep all day too.’’
He stared at her, sure he’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life. ‘‘Morning?’’
‘‘Ja, you slept through the evening and night. When you started to cough, we gave you the syrup Dr. Elizabeth sent over, and it helped.’’
He laid a hand on his chest and felt a tight wrapping. ‘‘My ribs?’’