Streams of Mercy (31 page)

Thorliff tried to clear his throat and instead started coughing. When the spasm passed, he propped his head, his elbows on his knees. Wiping his eyes with his fingers, he shook his head slowly as if it were too heavy to move. “Who will tell my children?”

“Thelma will. You know how they love and trust her.”

“How can we even have a funeral?”

“We can’t now. The burial will have to be tomorrow.”

“Ja. Is there a coffin? She has to have a coffin.”

“Ja, there will be.”

“If there is not one, we will build it.” Solberg laid his hand on Thorliff’s shoulder.

“We will take care of everything, and when this is all over, we will have a celebration of life for Elizabeth.”

Had someone made coffins for all the circus people who had died? The thought wandered through Astrid’s mind, chased by more tears. “I will call Mor first thing in the morning.”

“That’s not very far away.”

“I didn’t check the time she died.”

“I did,” Deborah said. “It was 3:04 a.m.”

“I . . . I think I better go to bed.” Thorliff sounded woozy.

Astrid helped him to his feet. “The cough syrup has a bit of laudanum in it to help control the coughing. It will help you sleep too.” After he flopped on the bed, she pulled the sheet up. “I am going to open the window so you get some fresh air. God bless.” She kissed his forehead and stared down at him. He still had not really recovered from grieving for Far. This would be much worse.

C
HAPTER 24

O
God, no, not Elizabeth.” Perhaps the practice of keening was not so bad. She fought to suck in a breath of air.

“Mor! Are you there?” Astrid’s voice shouting through the dropped earpiece.

Ingeborg sank down on the chair Clara had just scooted against the back of her knees.

“Mor!”

Ingeborg swallowed, fighting to answer. She picked up the dreaded black thing and answered. “I am here. Sorry I dropped you. I have to go to Inga.”

“No! You cannot!” Astrid broke all doctor ethics and screamed into the telephone. Her voice dropped. “Please, Mor. Stay home. We don’t know if the antitoxin has worked enough in you yet.”

“But my babies.”

“I know.” Astrid’s voice was laced with tears too. “Who is with you?”

“Freda and Clara, making breakfast. No, they are both right beside me. How is Thorliff?”

“Sleeping. I gave him extra cough syrup.”

“Is he worse?” Ingeborg forced the words through the tears. As the silence stretched, she added, “Tell me!”

“Ja, he is worse. If only . . .” The last was a whisper.

“Does Thelma know yet?”

“No. I am calling her next. Thomas Devlin and Reverend Solberg built the coffin sometime after four this morning, or they are in the process. They will bury her. Mor, we cannot even have a funeral.”

Ingeborg’s mothering instincts kicked back in. “Oh, Astrid, you are having to carry so much.” And now the hospital would be all her responsibility.
O Lord, keep her safe, be her strong right arm
. She felt a hand on either shoulder. Who would be standing by Astrid? And she couldn’t even go home to Daniel.
Only you, Lord God. O God, hold her!
“We are all praying.” That sounded inadequate, but she knew it wasn’t.

“I know that most likely is what is keeping me both sane and healthy.” A pause. “Mor, I cannot catch this.”

“You have the antitoxin at work, and you are strong in our Lord.”

“At least we have more nurses, and Dr. Kenneth Johnson, another resident, arrived yesterday. He is sleeping right now. He and Dr. Commons are a wonderful help.”

“Are you eating right and sleeping?”

“Ja, I am. I have to be careful, I know. So many deaths. So many.”

Ingeborg heard her daughter blow her nose and sniff again.
O Lord
. That was all she could seem to pray.

“I was afraid Elizabeth would die after Inga was born, but with Roald she recovered fairly quickly for her. But she had no strength to fight with. She knew it. I think I envy her. She is free of this horror. Promise me you will stay home.”

“I promise, much against my heart’s cries. Take care of Thor
liff. We can’t lose Thorliff too. Do you want me to call Thelma? Kaaren?”

“I’d appreciate it if you would call Kaaren. Right now I am glad Elizabeth’s folks do not have a telephone. I will have to send a telegram, but at least I won’t have to talk with them.”

“Ja, it’s easier.”

“I love you, Mor. When this is over . . .”

“We will recover, all of Blessing, and you will come out here, and we will be together.”
Please, Lord
. “’Bye.” She listened for Astrid’s answer and, with a shaking hand, set the earpiece back. Freda hugged her from one side and Clara the other.

“You come out on the porch, and we will have our coffee and breakfast out there. The birds are singing, the men are about done milking, and . . .”

“Where is Emmy?”

“I heard her moving around. She’ll be down soon.”

Ingeborg allowed herself to be led out to the porch to sit on the cushioned settee. Freda sat beside her, still holding her hand. Her head wagging, too heavy to hold still, she let the back cushion help her. Eyes closed, she listened to the songs of the morning, birds singing, a rooster crowing, Patches scratching, his leg thumping on the wooden floor, a thrush heralded from the garden, a cow bellered, sheep bleated. Life went on in spite of the tragedies, the sorrows. She felt a small body sit beside her and lean against her shoulder.

“Inga needs us.”

“Ja, she does, but we have to stay here. I promised Astrid we would not go into town.”

Clara bumped the door open with her hip and set the tray on the table. She beckoned Emmy to follow her.

Emmy kissed Ingeborg’s cheek and slid off the cushion. “Be right back.”

Freda handed Ingeborg a steaming cup and took one herself. Together they cupped their hands around the warmth, welcome even though the air was only slightly chilly, thanks to the shade. “The strawberries are ripening. I will pick some for dinner.”

“There are enough?”

“Emmy and I will see. I put out the stakes with fluttering strips of one of the raggedy dish towels yesterday. Should have earlier. Those robins and the blackbirds do like strawberries.”

“Life goes on.”

“It does. I will bake cookies for Inga. And I will take them to the back porch. Thelma can pick them up there.”

“We will bake gingerbread men.”

The screen door swung open, and Clara carried the tray half propped on her shelf, as she had started calling her middle. Emmy followed her with a basket of biscuits and the jam. Clara handed out the plates, and after she and Emmy sat down with theirs, Ingeborg nodded to Emmy to say the grace.

Emmy closed her eyes. “Dear Jesus, thank you for our food. Please take care of Inga. And help Grandma have happy eyes again. Amen.”

“Thank you, Clara, this looks so good.”

Clara nodded with a smile and passed the biscuits.

They ate in a gentle silence, broken only with words like
Pass the biscuits, jam
, and other meal things. Ingeborg felt the comfort float in on the slight breeze and take up residence in her bleeding heart.

Patches leaped off the porch, barking his friend and family welcome. Kaaren leaned over to pat him, then waved to Ingeborg. Panting, she climbed the steps. Ingeborg met her with an embrace that lasted as they cried together.

Clara went for the coffeepot and another cup.

Freda started to stand up, but Kaaren waved her to stay where she was. “I’ll sit in the rocker.”

When they were seated, Ingeborg blew out a sigh. “So much. Too much.”

“It could be so much worse. So far most of our people are safe.” Kaaren, ever practical.

“All but those involved with the train. And now Thorliff has it too.”

“He is going to make it. I didn’t have that confidence with Elizabeth, but I believe this.”

“I so pray you are right. Surely we are all running out of tears.”

“Our doctors have been so wise to slap a quarantine on the town before the disease got further away.”

“If everyone does what they say.” Freda added to the conversation. “Thank you, Clara. You are taking good care of us this morning.”

Kaaren sighed. “I so look forward to church again, to meeting with the others, to having a wonderful Sunday dinner after church. To banishing this fear, catching up on all the news that does not have to do with diphtheria and death. It is important to think ahead.”

“To be praying together, singing . . .” Ingeborg stopped and her eyes filled again. “Elizabeth will not be playing the organ anymore. Nothing will ever be the same again. O Lord, my Inga.”

“We will take strawberries in with the cookies. She loves strawberries.”

Anji stood at the kitchen sink, staring out at her two boys fighting over a shovel and the hole they were digging. Her children fighting, another hiding out in her bedroom, and Thomas
had literally run from her when they nearly bumped into each other on the street. What had happened? Granted, he was working both with the patients in the hospital and with the people from the train and therefore under quarantine. But still, he needn’t be rude like that. She had seen the white tent out behind the mill, only because she had walked beyond the train that seemed to have taken up residence in Blessing. And why had she walked that far?

How she hated it when she asked herself questions she didn’t want to answer.

“I’m going to tell Ma!” Joseph stormed toward the house, and Gilbert resumed digging, not appearing in the least sorry he had made his little brother cry.

Anji had had enough! She met Joseph at the door and pointed at the steps down from the back porch. “Sit.” He did. “Now stay there.” She stomped past him and out to where Gilbert was digging furiously.

“Give me that shovel.”

He jerked to attention, his eyes wide. She never spoke to her children like that, and he knew it. He handed her the shovel. “Now, get out of that hole.” Since it was up to his knees, he had to step high, never taking his eyes off her. When he stood in front of her, staring at his feet, she waited. And waited.

“I . . . I’m sorry.”

“You are sorry for what?”

He glanced over at his younger brother, who was no longer crying. He was staring at their mother, eyes wide. “For not sharing with Joseph.”

“That is right, young man. So what do you say?”

“I’m sorry.” He looked up at her, worry creasing his forehead.

“Not to me.” She pointed at the huddled figure trying to disappear into the wooden step. “Him.”

“But, Ma . . .”

“Do not ‘but Ma’ me.” She stared into his eyes until he quit studying his bare feet and went to Joseph and muttered.

“Louder. I want to hear it!”

“I’m sorry.”

“And?”

He looked at her over his shoulder already tanned from the sun and from running around in overalls with straps over his shoulders. “You can have the shovel.” He pointed to the shovel handle in his mother’s hand.

“We can take turns,” Joseph offered.

Anji shook her head. “Both of you boys go put your shoes on, and I will show you where you can dig. We are going to plant more in our garden.” When they ran upstairs, she carried the shovel over to the garden and slammed it into the edge of the plot they had already planted. The best place for weeds to grow. While they dug, she and Melissa would pull weeds. As soon as Annika woke from her nap, she could help too. This wasn’t what she’d planned to do today, but it was better than standing at the window trying to understand Thomas Devlin. Perhaps she had been reading him wrong. After all, had he really treated her any differently than he treated everyone?

She crossed the grass to stand under Melissa’s window. “Lissa, can you hear me?” Her daughter’s face appeared between the two lacy curtains. “Come on down and help me. Bring the basket from the pantry too.” She waited.

“All right.”

Both boys leaped down the steps and ran across to join her in the garden.

“Tie your shoes.” She set the shovel blade into the weeds, pushed down on it with her foot, and turned over the shovel of soil. Repeating the action three more times, she handed the
shovel to Gilbert. “Now you dig just like this clear down even with the far edge. Joseph, you break up the clods and pull out the weeds. Stack the weeds in the next row.” Gilbert turned a clump and Joseph squatted down and dug it into it, just like she’d said. “Good. I’ll be weeding the lettuce and carrots. We need a space about three rows apart.” She nodded to the rest of the garden.

“Lissa, do you want to use the hoe or pull the weeds close to the plants?”

Sweat first trickled down her back, then her face and neck. She should have donned her straw hat. “Looks good, boys. Keep it up.” Hoeing a garden wasn’t the easiest job she could think of, especially not on a hot June day. She wiped her face with her apron. What to do about Thomas? She slaughtered the weeds that dared to grow in the rows of vegetables. The lettuce was ready. She should have picked that earlier in the day. Now it would wilt too fast.

“Hurry up,” Gilbert ordered. “You’re too slow.”