Streams of Mercy (22 page)

Roald would have none of it, stiffening his body, forcing her to clamp both arms around him.

Thorliff watched his son in amazement. His easygoing, happy baby had turned into some kind of monster. He wanted his ma this bad? It wasn’t as if she were with him all the time. Did babies have an inner clock and calendar to remind them that Ma had not been around for hours? Turning into days in this case but . . . He shook his head. Today a squalling child was beyond him. While he was having a hard time finding things to be thankful for these days, right now Thelma was saving his sanity. Or at least the day.

The door slammed behind Thelma. He bent over to pick up the handle of the wagon to put it away so no one could fall over it. He glanced up at the window to Inga’s room. He could hear
her crying. She never cried, unless you took the time she broke her arm into account.

Elizabeth was needed here. That was for sure.
Lord God, protect her please. Please protect
all of us and heal the sick.
He sure hoped God was listening.

C
HAPTER 17

T
hank you, Thorliff.” Anji stood on her front stoop and watched Thorliff hustle off on his way to the next house. And to think there was a time, when they were both young and foolish, when she might have married him.

She read the paper he had just handed her. Her heart jumped, and not from thoughts of love. Diphtheria! Yes, she certainly would keep the children at home. She vaguely remembered from somewhere that there was a cure for diphtheria—or at least a prevention measure of some sort—but she couldn’t remember any more than that. She turned and went back inside.

“Ma,” Melissa called from the kitchen, “we’re almost out of flour.”

“Ma, I’m going over to Benny’s for a couple hours, all right?” Cap in hand, Gilbert was heading for the door.

“No!”

Gilbert stopped cold and stared. “But, Ma! You
always
let me go over to Benny’s!”

“Read this and come to the parlor.” Anji stuffed the paper
into his hand and marched on to the kitchen. “Melissa, bring the children to the parlor.”

Melissa frowned, dropped the spoon she was holding, and hurried off toward the stairs.

Anji sat down in her favorite rocker by the parlor fireplace and tried to compose herself. How must she approach this? Diphtheria. She must think.

The children gathered around her, the little ones sitting on the floor. Melissa on the settee was reading the letter Gilbert had handed her.

Anji looked from child to child. “Some people on the circus train have diphtheria, and the doctors are afraid the disease will spread to the people who live in Blessing. Diphtheria is an extremely serious disease. It is painful and miserable for anyone who catches it, and some people die. Some people who recover have damaged nerves and cannot use their hands or feet the way they used to. If I am frightening you, I mean to. This disease can be deadly. You will not leave the yard at any time. None of you. Do you understand?”

Gilbert looked worried. “Then can Benny come here? Please?”

“No. You catch the disease from people who have the disease, and that person may not even know he is sick yet.” She stared directly at the little ones. “If one of you catches it, you can give it to your brother or sisters before you realize you have it. That is why it is so dangerous.”

“But we’ll still go to church, right?”

“No. We’ll go nowhere. Not until the doctors say it is safe to mingle with other people again.”

Melissa shook her head. “But we’ll need groceries. We need flour. And the cheese is low, and we were going to have chicken tonight. And what about the buttons for my pinafore?”

“I will go alone to the store and post office,” Anji said. “But
you children should never ever leave the yard. Will you promise that?”

She got solemn nods in return.

Melissa sighed. “Johnny Solberg was going to take me to see the elephants! He gets to visit the elephants. He helps Manny take care of them. What makes him so special?”

“From now on, I’m sure, he’ll have to stay home. This paper came this afternoon, so the quarantine, that is, the need to stay home, is something new.”

Joseph whined, “But this is summer. I want to go out to the farm, and go fishing, and—”

“No one likes this. But believe me, you don’t want diphtheria. We will stay until it is safe to leave. You may go play.”

Under a pall of misery, the little ones climbed to their feet and walked back to the stairs.

Gilbert took his hat and slapped it on his knee. “How long, do you know?”

“I have no idea, but I’ll try to find out. Melissa, what do we need at the store besides flour, cheese, and the chicken?”

“I think maybe butter. I’ll go check the potatoes and turnips.” She went out to the kitchen.

Anji drew a deep breath.
Dear Lord, protect us!

Melissa wrote out a list while Anji got her purse. With a final “Remember. Stay in the yard,” she went to the store. There was a stillness in the streets, as if everyone were trying to avoid awakening someone. People talked in low tones with lots of wagging heads. She heard angry comments about the circus. This was not the friendly, lighthearted Blessing she knew.

Was there anything she could do to ease her children’s sequester? When she passed Rebecca’s soda shop, she smiled, turned back, and went in.

Rebecca grinned. “Hello, Anji.”

“Good afternoon. I’m surprised you are open. But since you are, I’d like a carton of strawberry ice cream, please.”

She frowned. “Is that going to be enough? I’m closing as soon as the ice cream I have made is gone.”

“It’s for cheering up, not fattening up.”

“Ah.” Rebecca dipped her scoop in a bowl of water. “I’m sure it’s frustrating having to stay home when school is out.”

“That’s what I hear. Such long faces. Do you have any idea when this will end?”

“I don’t think anyone knows. I surely don’t.”

“But you hear everything sooner or later. Have you heard anything new?”

“Well, let’s see.” Rebecca scooped some pink ice cream into a container. “The doctors seem to think that once you’ve had the disease, you won’t get it again. So your fellow teacher and swain, Mr. Devlin, has become a nurse right on the train. He says he had diphtheria as a child. Immune or not, it’s a brave thing to do. And apparently he can be right there to pray the prayers for the dying, like Reverend Solberg.”

“Yes, I heard he does that. And I agree he’s very brave. But then, he’s that sort of man. So are Thorliff and Daniel Jeffers.” Anji put her money on the counter.

Rebecca handed her the ice cream. “We are so fortunate to have good people like that. Hug the children for me. In fact, I think after this is all over, I may give a free cone to each child who was good about staying home.”

“What a lovely idea!” Anji said good-bye and headed home. She dropped the ice cream off and told Melissa to serve it with cookies. “I still need to go to Garrisons’.”

Back on the street, her mind reverted to her conversation with Rebecca. Brave? Indeed. Useful? Constantly. She thought
of the many times Thomas Devlin had helped her, something as simple as holding her coat or as difficult as getting a stuck window to open. Like Thorliff, like Daniel, like John Solberg, Thomas Devlin was a truly gentle, truly great man.

She was so lost in thought she almost walked right into a passing horse. She stopped. “Oh! I’m sorry!”

The rider was Manny. He drew his horse to a halt and tipped his hat. “G’afternoon, Miz Moen. Have you seen our elephants?”

“No, I’ve not been beyond the mill lately.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t mean where they’re s’posed to be, I mean where they mighta wandered off to. They didn’t get chained up right, and they walked away, looking for forage, I guess. We take them down to the river. They like to wade around in the water and eat on the willows, but they’re not by the river now. Oh, and hey, please don’t let your children play down on the river bottom. There’s a pack of dogs down there—some pretty nasty beasts. I don’t think they’d hurt a child, but you don’t know. You can’t trust dogs what ain’t your own, especially in a pack.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember. The children are not supposed to go down there anyway. And I heard you have been helping with the elephants. My children are jealous. They would love to help with elephants.”

He grinned. “It’s more fun than you think, even the shoveling. I didn’t ever think I could do it, but Mr. Devlin says I have happytude and I could. So I tried and, well, I can!”

“Happytude. Aptitude?”

“That’s it! Anyhow, now I’m taking care of the elephants and even the chimp and the big cats. You know—the lion and the tiger. And the camel. I don’t care for camels, but it needs tending, so I do it. It’s grand!”

She laughed; the happiness in his eyes was infectious. “I can tell. If I hear anything about your elephants, I’ll call the mill.”

“Thank you, Miz Moen.” He touched his hat brim again and rode off.

She watched him as he continued on. His bad leg would never be normal, that was for sure, but he could certainly sit a horse well. He and his horse, Joker, moved together smoothly, as one. No doubt he was good with any animals, even elephants and camels. Happytude. She smiled.

And Thomas Devlin. She smiled again, even wider. The man was such a constant encouragement to all the children at school, the ones in his classes and everyone else as well. That was so important for growing children. And all the children loved him in return.

That was Anji’s main criterion for rating any person, but a man especially. What do children and animals think of that person? True, good dogs sometimes were loyal to quite bad people. Possibly if that was their master, they were loyal more than loving. But usually, children and dogs were excellent indicators. And children and dogs—even the boardinghouse cat—all flocked to Thomas Devlin.

And what about Anji? Her dead husband’s mother, Anji’s spiteful and bitter mother-in-law . . . Did death break that bond? Mrs. Moen certainly didn’t think so. She regularly sent small sums of money to help support her dead son’s children. That was good. Anji needed those funds. But the mother-in-law insisted that if Anji so much as looked at another man, a new man, Mrs. Moen would cut off all money. Every cent of support.

As she neared Garrisons’, she got angrier and angrier. The money was meant to support the children, not Anji. Whatever Anji did, the children were still Mrs. Moen’s grandchildren.
Shame on that angry woman. And that’s what she was. Angry, as if Anji were somehow responsible for her son’s death. Bitter was the best word.

Shame on you, Anji Baard Moen! Shame! The woman watched her grandchildren, the only
thing she had left of her son, get on a ship and sail thousands of miles away. Of course she
would be frantic. Be charitable! If you were in her
shoes, would you not be just as likely to mourn and try to hang on to the children?

She did her shopping and headed back to her children. As she approached her home, her new home, she thought again warmly about how much God had blessed her. Here was a fine house with plenty of room for her and the children, a good stove, good outbuildings—good everything. Just think of all those who had brought cleaning supplies and worked all day to help to bring it back to being livable. And look. When her family needed more food, she simply put some money in her purse and went out to obtain that food without scrimping. Of course she was careful, but there was no true lack. She’d known many a time growing up when they’d had little food and scarcer money. The grocery basket she was carrying was heavy with good things. Her children had clothes to wear, a sheltering home, plenty to eat. She and her children were so blessed!

And for some strange reason, Thomas Devlin came back to mind. He did that a lot—intruded on her other thoughts. She didn’t mean to think about him. He just sort of jumped into her head when she wasn’t expecting it.

She loved his dry wit, that thick Irish brogue, the lilt in his voice. Did he ever feel sad or sorrowful? He must. Every human being did; but Anji had never seen it. He was just naturally pleasant. Positive in outlook.

He was industrious, and yet he still made time to be of good use to people who could not repay his kindnesses. In fact, he did not let a little thing like a potentially lethal illness keep him from helping others. What would it be like to be married to the jovial Irishman? Again she smiled. Yes, he was a priest, but he and others had assured her that in his Anglican faith a priest could marry. Indeed, he said, nearly all of them did, including the bishops. So he was, so to speak, available.

Available? Shame again, Anji Baard Moen!
Listen to you! A wanton hussy!

But no, that wasn’t it. He took care of what was his; he showed that plainly. Just as Thorliff and Daniel did. If she were his, he would take care of her. And likewise, Anji took care of what was hers. She had been devoted to her husband, and she was devoted to her children. Were she to marry again, she would do her best to serve him, to take care of him. In short, they would make a good pair, helping each other. And the children would have a complete home again.

Yes, she would lose the money Mrs. Moen sent. No doubt the woman would try to make the children, her grandchildren, return to Norway. Could she do that legally? Surely not. And the money did not mean as much as having a good stable man in the family would mean.

If Mr. Devlin were to court her—several friends had mentioned that they thought that was his intent—how should she respond? Many people, especially people in Norway, would say she had to wait for the full period of mourning before even thinking about remarrying. But they were in Norway, where all the rules of life were carefully spelled out. Not here in North Dakota. Here, life was lived precariously, and a woman alone was at a severe disadvantage. Here, if you did not raise enough food to live through the winter, you starved. You maintained a
good solid house and a decent woodpile or you froze. You had to stand ready to help your neighbors when tragedy struck, as they would gather to help you. She loved living here so much more than in Norway.