Sophie's Dilemma (38 page)
‘‘Let him have it, Sophie.’’ Astrid nodded at her.
Ingeborg and Kaaren stood.
‘‘Don’t leave.’’ She looked to Thorliff. ‘‘You either. This will only take a minute.’’ Sophie rose and straightened her shoulders. ‘‘Mrs. Sam, please bring more tea. I’ll be right back.’’
Late April
L
IFE IS TOO SHORT
for waiting
.
Garth stared at what he’d written. If this was now what he truly believed, what would he do about it? Or rather, what
could
he do about it?
Pondering. That was an interesting word, and it seemed to apply to his way of thinking since the explosion. B.E. had come to mean Before the Explosion. A journal seemed a good way to ponder, so he’d purchased one at Penny’s general store and had just written the first line.
Life is too short for waiting
.
Looking back, he realized that B.E. he’d been marking time and doing his work competently, but in all other areas, just letting life happen. Like with his house in Minneapolis, his children growing up without him, recognizing his growing feelings for Sophie . . . He paused at that last one.
‘‘So,’’ he muttered to himself, ‘‘when did she . . . or rather, when did I start thinking about her so much?’’ Dreaming about her even. He thought back to their conversation the night before. While he could make it to supper on time now, he had asked if they could still have supper later.
‘‘If you want.’’ The look she had given him was woven with question marks. ‘‘But why? Supper is better when it is hot the first time.’’
‘‘That may be true, but you are so busy during the regular supper hour.’’
‘‘You do not get good service? Is something wrong?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘No, nothing is wrong.’’ He paused and stared at the floor for a moment, waiting for inspiration. When he looked up, he searched her face. So young. Was she too young? No, she’d already been married and lost her husband. She’d been forced to grow up quickly. ‘‘I just like being with you.’’ Not that he was an old man by any means, but some days twenty-seven seemed very old next to seventeen.
Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. ‘‘Why, ah, thank you.’’
And I don’t want to share those precious minutes of my day with all the
others in the dining room at the regular suppertime
.
So after the others were finished and the dining room set to rights again, they had their supper.
‘‘What did you say to him?’’ he asked after Sophie told him about the man who’d assumed he would be buying the boardinghouse.
‘‘I told him that spreading rumors showed he is not the sort of man I would want to deal with and that the boardinghouse was not for sale.’’
‘‘Then what?’’
‘‘He offered me more money.’’ She sat straighter. ‘‘I guess he thinks I am young and stupid.’’
‘‘What if he offered a great deal more?’’ The question brought her gaze back to his.
‘‘Before I sold this place, I would talk it over with Far and Haakan and the others.’’ She shuffled her silverware around, then polished the knife blade with her napkin.
He waited, buttering a slice of bread while she fidgeted.
‘‘I thought about using the money to travel, to go live somewhere else.’’
‘‘Where would you go?’’
‘‘I don’t know, but . . .’’ She realigned the knife and fork. Giving a sigh, she looked up with a half smile. ‘‘Can I get you anything else?We have apple cake with lemon sauce for dessert.’’
‘‘I’d love some, thank you.’’
But what were you going to say?
He watched as she pushed her chair back and rose with a grace only barely impeded by her expanding waistline. He knew the baby was due in July, and now it was nearly May. Would she have answered the man differently had she not a baby to consider?
A baby. He had a baby who was seven months old. And he’d not seen her since Christmas. He closed his eyes against the pain that welled up, choking off his air. Working long and hard hours had been a good antidote for the pain of grief, and now it didn’t come as hard or as frequently. Even when he concentrated as hard as he could, he could no longer see Maddie’s face clearly.
He and Sophie had talked of that one night, both of them wondering at the same thing. They had so much in common, grief at losing a mate a big part of their discussions. He’d been surprised how easy it was to talk with Sophie.
He studied what he’d written again. Life is indeed too short to spend it waiting. Waiting to bring his children north to live with him. Waiting until spring to start building a house. Waiting to tell Sophie that he would like to court her. One wait was done. The co-op of Blessing had decided to rebuild the flour mill, and they wanted him to continue on as manager. The vote was unanimous to both. He and the remaining men who worked there, along with others who could spare the time, had been cleaning up the mill site, salvaging what could still be used, hauling away and burning the refuse. It was dirty black work, but they talked of possibilities. The grinding stones were proof that fire couldn’t destroy everything.
He left off staring at his writing and paced the room instead.
What
do I want to do most of all?
The questions continued.
Back to his paper and pencil. Write both the questions and the answers.
But instead of writing, Garth let his mind wander. Sophie. Sophie backing down that buyer, Sophie pouring his coffee with her hand on his shoulder. The place where her hand lay stayed warm for hours. Sophie laughing at the horseless carriage. He didn’t see her laughing very often, now that he thought about it. Sophie taking care of Mrs. Sam. . . .
He rubbed his fingers over his scalp. Even with all the clearing out of the flour mill, he had too much time on his hands.
‘‘Sophie,’’ he said on the way out of the dining room the next morning, ‘‘I have something I want you to look at. Would you be available later this morning, at . . . say eleven?’’
‘‘Why, I believe so. What is it?’’
He smiled back. ‘‘I’ll see you then.’’ As he headed out the door whistling, he could feel her gaze drilling into his back.
First stop: the flour mill. With all the wreckage cleaned out of the site, they were ready to rebuild. All they needed were the supplies. He had a partial list in his pocket. The grinding stones had been rolled out of the structure and now rested between the grain elevator and the two remaining concrete walls. The blast had taken out much of the other two, and the remaining rubble had been carted off. Sand and gravel to mix with the concrete had to be hauled in from a gravel pit west of Grafton via the railroad. The cement and timbers for the roof would come from Minneapolis, along with the rest of the interior construction. All the milling machinery would come from parts east, as it had before. Some of the metal pieces could be restored. The people of Blessing had great faith to be willing to start over.
His whistling continued as he walked the block to Penny’s store, where he picked up pages that showed house plans from the Sears and Roebuck catalog.
‘‘Is Hjelmer around?’’
‘‘He’s at the bank, I think,’’ Penny answered.
‘‘Good. I’ll catch him there. Thanks for these plans.’’
‘‘You’re going to build a house here, then?’’
He nodded. ‘‘Soon as I can. You know some men who might help me?’’
‘‘I’m sure all of them will. Last house we put up was Andrew’s. We’re in need of a house-raising again. It puts everyone in a good mood.’’
‘‘I meant to hire someone.’’
‘‘Here in Blessing we work together. You’re a member of our town now, and we’ll all be glad to help. Last house that came in came two months late. I hope they’ve gotten caught up by now.’’
Garth groaned. ‘‘I hope so too.’’ More waiting?
‘‘Where are you going to build?’’
‘‘That’s one of the things I want to talk to Hjelmer about. Thanks for the information.’’
‘‘You’re welcome.’’
Garth tipped his hat and headed out the door, pausing a moment to let the sun warm his face before he strode down the boardwalk to the bank.
‘‘Good morning, Mr. Valders. Have you seen Hjelmer?’’
‘‘He was here a few minutes ago. I think he went to the barbershop.’’ Mr. Valders pushed his green visor up with his remaining hand. He’d lost the other hand and arm in a threshing accident years earlier.
‘‘I see.’’
‘‘Can I help you with anything?’’
‘‘Perhaps soon. I’m planning on building a house here.’’
‘‘Good for you. Can’t live in a boardinghouse all your life.’’
I could if I didn’t have children. And if Sophie ran the boardinghouse
. ‘‘Thanks.’’ Garth turned and went back the way he came. Male laughter came from the section of the building on the other side of the post office. How wonderful to be able to have doors open again. The North Dakota spring wasted no time once it got around to arriving.
He stopped in the doorway. Hjelmer reigned from the barber chair, telling a story that made the barber and the man waiting laugh.
‘‘Garth, good to see you.’’ Hjelmer extended his hand from under the white cloth drape.
The two men shook hands. ‘‘Hank, you know Mr. Wiste here, and Herman, you too?’’ Hjelmer asked.
‘‘Of course. We both live at the boardinghouse, and I been cutting his hair ever since he moved here.’’ Hank Vell’s German accent lent ponderance to his words. He held a scissor in one hand and a comb in the other, snipping as he talked. ‘‘You need a haircut again?’’
‘‘No thanks. Just came to talk with Hjelmer.’’
‘‘Good. You ready to buy that lot, then?’’ Hjelmer tipped his head forward at the barber’s nudge.
‘‘I believe I am. I picked up house plans. Once I decide which one, I’ll turn in the order. Then I need to return to Minneapolis and tie up some loose ends there.’’
‘‘Will you be back to start construction on the mill?’’
‘‘I’m not sure. I’m planning on it, but—’’ ‘‘Are you going to look for new equipment while you are there?’’
‘‘Finished.’’ Hank removed the drape and used a large fluffy brush to remove the stray hairs from the back of Hjelmer’s neck.
Hjelmer stood and dug in his pocket for change to pay the bill. ‘‘Thanks.’’ He tipped Hank with a nickel.
‘‘Next.’’
Hjelmer clapped a hand on Garth’s shoulder. ‘‘Come on over to the house and we’ll discuss this over a cup of coffee. I think I smelled cookies baking before I left.’’ The two men left the barbershop and strolled back toward the store.
‘‘You hear that we are going to have a cafe
opening in our little town?’’ Hjelmer asked.
‘‘No, really?’’
‘‘At least the Geddicks are thinking on it. Might take a bite out of the revenues for the boardinghouse, though.’’
‘‘Have you mentioned it to Sophie?’’
‘‘Not yet. We’ll be having a meeting on it soon. Might make it easier on her in the long run if she no longer had to provide dinner or even breakfast. What with Mrs. Sam getting sick and all. Plenty to think on.’’
‘‘I heard someone wanted to open a saloon here.’’
‘‘That won’t happen. The women would drive them right out of town. Someone tried a few years ago, and we learned really quick who holds the final word in Blessing.’’ His laugh made Garth smile. Hjelmer was a great storyteller, as well as a good businessman. No wonder he kept getting voted back to the legislature.
‘‘So which of the lots are you thinking on?’’
‘‘The one on the other side of the church. That’s what—half an acre?’’
‘‘About that. I haven’t paced it off myself. I heard that someone south of town might be selling his place.’’
‘‘No. I want to be near enough to the mill that I don’t have to keep a horse and buggy.’’
‘‘Or a horseless carriage. I have another Oldsmobile on order. It should be here any day.’’
‘‘You’re going to be selling automobiles along with machinery?’’
‘‘I own the blacksmith shop too, but you mark my words, the blacksmith shop will turn into a machinery repair business in the next ten years as more farmers trade in their teams for tractors. Since most of the farmers around here already have their windmills, selling those won’t be profitable much longer. You have to be willing to change with the times.’’