Streams of Mercy (18 page)

Ingeborg read from the slate. “Thorliff, four; Lars, five; Trygve, five; and Manny, two.”

“Even up. And we’re over half done.” Lars poked his son.

“I had to train the new guy.” Trygve winked at Manny, who grinned back.

“All right, push on through now, and we’ll be done before dinner.” All three men and the boy grabbed a sheep and set to the shearing. Lars was the first to release his and grab for another. Ingeborg fetched his fleece and laid it on the table. Quickly, she and Freda ran their hands over the wool, picking out the brush stems, grasses, dried manure, whatever had lodged in the fleece and would not easily wash out. Trygve was only seconds behind.

“I’m not cut out for shearing sheep,” Thorliff said, deadpanning his own pun.

Ingeborg chuckled. “Remember Sheep that first year we homesteaded? That’s what you named her, Sheep.”

“I do. She lasted a good long time.” He rubbed his back and returned to the dwindling flock. “I’d rather milk that cranky ewe than shear these stinky sheep.”

Manny grabbed the final ewe, Trygve having just snagged the ram. They clipped away with Lars and the others cheering them on. Manny finished only seconds behind Trygve and the two shook hands as the animals scampered over to the gate. With all the ewes and lambs together, most of the lambs began nursing as soon as their mothers paused long enough.

“The tally is . . .” Ingeborg dragged out the announcement. “Manny, three; Thorliff, four; Lars, six; and Trygve six. I declare
a draw. Neither the older nor the younger has won. We all won, because the sheep are sheared. And all before dinner.”

“Dinner will be a bit late.” Freda and Ingeborg piled the fleeces on the wagon, and everyone helped carry them up to the house to stack on the porch.

At the house, Freda said, “Clara, you take a water jug around; Emmy, you get water from the reservoir so they can wash up on the back porch; and Ingeborg and I will get dinner on the table.”

“You keep pushing her out there, don’t you?” Ingeborg whispered with a smile.

“I do. And she keeps trying. She has come a long way.”

“And yet she has even further to go. What will become of her?” Ingeborg shook her head.

Freda shrugged. “How many times do you say, ‘God knows, and He is the one in charge.’ Why would it be any different with this one?”

C
HAPTER 14

T
he picnic is at noon and the awards and games after,” Manny said as he and Emmy both grinned at Ingeborg.

“I will be there. The beans are baking and the cakes are ready.”

Emmy looked to Clara. “Will you come too?”

Clara shook her head, her eyes suddenly full of fear. She looked frantically to Ingeborg, who smiled back. “You don’t have to go, but we would like you to. There are many good people in Blessing who would like to welcome you. Soon you’ll be coming to church with us too. And quilting. You are part of a much larger family than you realize.”

Emmy patted her hand. “People are good here. You do not have to be afraid.” She glanced up at the clock. “Got to leave.”

Manny mopped up the last of the eggs with his toast and drained his cup. “Thank you for breakfast.” He grinned at Freda and Ingeborg. “I’ll get to cutting pieces for the cheese crates when I get home.”

Emmy asked, “Can Inga come home with us?”

“We’ll see.”

At Patches’ welcome bark, the two flew out the door.

Clara got up to clear the table, as she had taken over doing the dishes. While she had regained some weight, her arms and legs were still sticklike, and the baby rounded her out like a ball in front.

“We need to sew you some summer shifts with pleats on the sides,” Ingeborg said. “The one you are wearing is about to split.”

Clara nodded and pointed to herself with a quick flick of her wrist.

“What color would you like?”

Clara paused, her eyes widening, along with a smile that was coming more frequently all the time. She walked over to the windowsill that held a pink geranium with a white eye, along with tomato and cabbage starts, and fingered the blossom.

“That is pink.” Ingeborg signed pink and said it in both English and Norwegian. Clara signed the
p
and
i
and frowned when Ingeborg shook her head. She signed the four letters back. Clara nodded and copied her exactly. Then added “Thank you.”

“As soon as you finish the dishes, you can come help us plant the garden. Hopefully we can get it done before the picnic.”

Clara pointed to the plants in the window.

“Ja, we plant the cabbages, and we’ll plant the tomatoes and put jars over them to protect them from the cold nights.”

Freda checked on the beans that had been in the oven all night and were again bubbling and filling the kitchen with the fragrance.

Out in the garden both Ingeborg and Freda set to work with hoes, hacking out the weeds that always grew faster than the vegetables. The carrots and lettuce were up, as were the peas and beets. They mounded more soil around the thriving potato plants. A meadowlark trilled for them from the far fence posts, and swooping swallows were bringing mud from the riverbank
to build their nests under the eaves of all the buildings. A pair of bluebirds had taken over the birdhouse, making Ingeborg wish they had more birdhouses to put up. “Perhaps Manny would like to build us some birdhouses.”

“The robins are nesting in the lilacs. Inga will be happy to see that.”

Ingeborg shaded her eyes with her hand to look out across the fields. They had finally dried enough that the plowing and discing were nearly finished. Now the seeding could begin, the wheat fields first, then the oats. This year she had requested a field of flax, partly because she loved the blue blossoms and partly because flax was a profitable crop—not only the seeds but the stalks, since a mill she had heard about in Grand Forks now processed flax for weaving linen thread.

She blinked back the tears that leaped into her eyes. Haakan had so loved spring planting time. Every day he’d go out and squeeze a handful of dirt from various fields, always anxious for the land to get dry enough to plant again. The cornfield would be the last planted, since sprouting corn was the most vulnerable to frost. Haakan was never happier than when he was harnessing up the horses to the plows. Now they used horses for sowing and both horses and steam donkey engines for reaping. Progress.

Trygve and Thorliff had teased Haakan about getting one of those fancy new steam tractors to take the place of horses. Haakan, usually fairly progressive, snorted,
“Show me a steam tractor that produces
a new baby tractor every spring, and I’ll consider it.”

Anji hustled Gilbert and Joseph out the door. “I’ll be there for the picnic, most likely to help set up. Make sure you have your books to turn in.”

Lissa stopped on the front porch. “Benny isn’t here yet.” She had taken over helping pull Benny on his wheels to school. While he used the new crutches within the buildings, he needed to build up more strength to navigate the distance to the schoolhouse. Sometimes Gilbert helped her pull, especially if there were mud puddles.

Anji watched from the screen door that had just been put back up, the storm door retired to the cellar for the summer. She breathed in the cool, fresh air that carried the birdsong straight to her heart. Gratitude welled and made her sniff. She was back home in North Dakota, in Blessing, where she was born and raised. Norway was gloriously beautiful outside of the cities, but the Moen family lived on the fringes of Oslo, far more city than country. Sometimes she missed the mountains and the skiing, but nothing could compete with the heady birthing of spring here at home.

She waved to the children as they made their way to school, swept the black dirt off the porch steps, and returned to preparing certificates for her students. One for the greatest improvement, another for the best accent, and a third for writing and spelling. She really had enjoyed teaching the Norwegian language. Over the summer she hoped her mother-in-law would send the box of Norwegian books she had requested—most of them Ivar’s books but some with children’s stories, along with some textbooks.

She hummed a Norwegian folk song as she cleaned up the kitchen, the song that her classes would sing at the program during the picnic. Johnny Solberg would accompany them with his guitar. He and the hostler’s daughter, Leanne, would play a duet and sing, with her on the piano. Both of them were becoming very accomplished.

Anji put all her things in two baskets and telephoned Rebecca
to see how she could help there. Between them, they got the baby ready, dug out the other wagon, and plopped Mark and Agnes in the wagon along with the baskets, and set out for the school. Like most of the other fathers, Gerald would come at noon.

The older boys had already set up all the tables, so the women spread tablecloths and arranged the dishes as they came in. Since so many of the Blessing families had children at school, most of the businesses had shut their doors with their signs saying
Closed noon to three
. Everyone brought chairs or quilts to sit on, and a few minutes later, Reverend Solberg raised his hands for quiet.

He motioned to the schoolchildren gathered together and invited everyone to stand and join in singing a favorite song. After they finished, Reverend Solberg said, “Let us pray. Lord God, we thank you for this beautiful day, for the end of our school year, and for all these families who made sure their children received good educations. Thank you for our teachers, for books, for music, and for these children who have worked hard to learn so much. Thank you for this food and for all those who have prepared it.” A motion with one hand and the pupils harmonized on the amen. All the adults joined too.

Anji sighed. “That surely is what singing will be like in heaven.”

Ingeborg squeezed her hand. “You are so very right.”

For a change, all the students were permitted to go through the lines on each side of the table and fill their plates first, followed by their families, everyone laughing and teasing.

Anji glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, Thomas Devlin was smiling at her. She felt a tingle in her back and realized she felt like smiling even more now that he was there.

“And ye have your certificates ready?” he asked, his smile sneaking around her heart.

“Just finished them. And you?”

“Last night. There were many. More perfect attendance than
I expected. I was hoping for everyone to get one, but apparently life does not work out that way. When is Rebecca planning to open the soda shop?”

“We got it all cleaned up and ready, so I guess it depends on the weather.”

“Speaking of which, we could surely use a good soaking shower.” They took their filled plates and sat down on the schoolhouse steps, along with Kaaren and Lars.

Anji asked, “Did you get the seeding all finished?”

Lars scowled. “Not yet. Some of the lower fields are still too wet from the last of the snow, so a late start for those. It would be good if the rain held off until the wheat was in.”

“How does one determine ‘too wet’ anyway?” Thomas wondered aloud. “Obviously there be methods other than simply staring at the ground.” He attacked his beans with gusto.

Lars chuckled. “Pick up a handful of dirt.” He held out his cupped hand with imaginary dirt. “Squeeze it tight and open your hand. If the soil stays in one thick lump, it’s too wet. If the lump breaks up into two or three pieces, it’s just right. If it crumbles, it’s too dry. If you work the ground when it’s too wet, you destroy its texture and the plants have to struggle to survive.”

“Ah.” Thomas nodded sagely. “Interesting. In Ireland we have no such thing as too dry, and in Chicago we had scant need of soil. And yet the gardens could use a shower, I understand.”

“Shower wouldn’t hurt, but heavy rain for a day or two would slow us down again. We just thank the good Lord for seeds to plant and good land to plant them in.” And Lars seemed to enjoy the beans just as much.

Solberg moved from group to group, welcoming everyone and reminding them that there was plenty of food left. The program would begin at one o’clock sharp and last for an hour, and then the games would begin.

The program started with the choir singing “Children of Our God and King” followed by “Going to Jerusalem Just Like John.” The little ones sang “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” so that all the smaller children could join in on the animal sounds, then “She’ll be Coming ’Round the Mountain,” with everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, singing the responses. Chuckles and giggles finished off the rendition.

Next it was time for Anji’s class to sing the Norwegian folk song they had practiced, accompanied by Johnny Solberg on the guitar. And the final musical presentation was the beautiful duet done by Johnny and Leanne. After the applause died down, Reverend Solberg stood behind the music stand with a stack of certificates to hand out, starting with perfect attendance. He signed the names for the four students from the deaf school, and Grace signed the entire program for all those who could not hear.