Streams of Mercy (35 page)

“Just part of birthing. The baby grows in a sack of water. The sack is called the placenta. When the water breaks, you know the sack has broken, and it has to break for the baby to leave. It won’t be long now. Mabel, you keep walking while I clean this up.”

Clara shook her head and grabbed a cloth to kneel on the floor with an oof and a grunt.

“I know just what you feel like,” Mabel said. “Scrubbing floors got a bit difficult there to the end.” After a couple of slowing passages crossing the room, Mabel doubled over with a groan.

“Let’s get you in bed and ready. This could go fast. I’m going to call Walt in now so he can help.”

Within minutes she had Walt with his back to the headboard
on the bed and legs spread with a sheet over them, his wife cradled against him. His face was white in the lamplight.

“Now, you hang on to him, and when I say push, Walt, she is going to push against you, so be prepared and hang on for dear life.” Ingeborg checked on her patient again. “Easy now, no hurry. Breathe. Clara, you come over here now. See that tiny patch of wet hair? It’s the baby’s head. This is called crowning.” She looked over the tented legs at Mabel. “On the next contraction, you push. Walt, be ready.”

Mabel groaned, her face all scrunched.

“Breathe.” Ingeborg spoke softly but the order was there. “Good, good, Mabel. Soon. Be ready for one more and give it all you’ve got.” Ingeborg watched for the start. “Now, push! Keep pushing. We have a head. Clara, see? We put our hands under the baby’s head, like this. The neck is so weak, it will flop. Here, you do it. Now, Mabel, rest and breathe and push!”

The baby slipped out and right into Clara’s waiting hands.

Wide-eyed, Clara grinned and stared at Ingeborg.

“Ja, you helped. Mabel, Walt, you have a baby boy.” Ingeborg took the baby and, as the cord went flaccid, laid him belly down on his mother’s chest. “You two get acquainted while I show Clara what to do. Now soon as I cut the cord, I am going to massage her belly to slow the blood loss. You can take this baby over to that basin and wash him all clean. Make sure you keep his face out of the water. The cloth is right by the basin.” Ingeborg tied off and cut the cord, then handed the baby to Clara, who stared down at the infant, tears trickling down her face.

“Ja, I know. There is nothing more astounding than bringing a baby into this world.” Ingeborg sniffed and, mopping her own tears, looked to Mabel, who touched her baby’s head with one finger.

She looked up to Ingeborg. “Thank you.” She smiled up at Walt. “You were a big help.” She flinched, then continued, “How are your hands?”

“Not bleeding but almost.” He watched Clara come over with the baby all wrapped up in a blanket. “Now you be careful.”

Clara grinned at him and looked down at the little red-faced boy in her arms. She nodded.

Back out in the buggy, Ingeborg looked toward the sun just over the horizon. “That baby came right quick. Ah, how I love seeing new life like this, bringing a baby into the world. There’s nothing finer. Especially today. God called Elizabeth home, but He sent another life. Thanks be to God.” She patted Clara’s arm. “Hear that rooster? I love the songs of morning. Let’s get on home. Freda will have breakfast ready. Now you know what is going to happen to you soon. And we will rejoice.” She returned Clara’s smile.
Dear Lord, let it be so
.

C
HAPTER 27

I
didn’t think the summer was going to be like this.” Melissa sat staring out the window, her chin cupped in her hands.

“I’m glad you’re only suffering from boredom. Many are suffering from diphtheria.” Anji realized that her edges were getting a little frazzled too. She should not have reacted so sharply. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so testy. This summer is not my cup of tea either.”

She felt rejected. She certainly was disappointed. And in a way, she was disgusted with herself. She thought she was fairly good at reading people’s intentions. How could she so horribly, woefully, have misread Thomas Devlin’s? She really did think he cared about her. Hardly! He didn’t just politely rebuff her. He ran away! Shoved his wheelbarrow away down the street at a jog! She couldn’t get over it. It ate at her.

She got up from her rocker and started for the kitchen. Perhaps if she got busy with something, she could shake this lethargy and get her mind off him. Her telephone jangled her rings, so she continued over to the wall and picked it up.

Melissa instantly appeared at her elbow. “Is it Linnea?” she asked in a hoarse whisper loud enough to be heard in Grafton.

“No, it’s Ingeborg.” She shooed the girl off. “It’s so good to hear your voice, Ingeborg. It’s so good to hear any adult voice.”

Ingeborg laughed sadly. “I suspect the quarantine will end soon. There have been no new cases on the train, and the antitoxin is surely taking effect by now. Anji, Thorliff is very ill and getting worse. He insists the paper must get out on time, but he simply cannot. You know.”

“Oh. My. Do I know. No matter how sick they are . . . yes.”

“He trusts Devlin. And he trusts you. Always has. So I am asking you and Thomas to go down to the office and get the paper out.”

“Mr. Devlin . . . me . . . uh, I don’t think we could work together very well, Ingeborg. I’m flattered you thought of me, but—”

“You worked together very well teaching in the school, and you’ve helped with the paper before. John mentioned that frequently. In fact, he thought he saw the beginning of a romance sparking.”

“I really don’t think . . .” Oh dear! How could she explain this?
God, give me the words!

“I’m not asking for myself, Anji. It’s for Thorliff. It would ease his mind so much. Oh, and Dr. Astrid agrees that Mr. Devlin is not contagious. It’s safe.”

For Thorliff.
How could she say no to that? “But I’ve never done anything like that. I can write, but I can’t typeset or—”

“Mr. Devlin helps Thorliff often, and he can do that sort of thing. But it will take at least two, he says. He cannot get all the jobs done in time by himself.”

“I cannot leave my children alone.”

“Freda will stay with them while you do this.”

“I guess I can try.”
And when he kicks me out, I’ll just come home.
“I have to go, Ingeborg. Someone is knocking at the door.” They said good-bye and she hurried to the door.

“Maybe it’s Linnea!” Melissa looked hopeful.

Anji swung the door open and gasped. “Freda!”

The woman marched grimly by her into the house.

“But . . . but . . . you had to leave Ingeborg’s fifteen minutes ago to get here now, but she just . . .” Anji wagged her head. “She really is desperate. I’ll go to the newspaper office.”

So Ingeborg was so convinced Anji could do this that she sent Freda even before she picked up the telephone. Poor Ingeborg. She didn’t understand. Oh well. For Thorliff.

When she arrived at the newspaper office she did not bother to knock; she just stepped inside. Thomas Devlin was already there, putting oil on some mysterious part of the press. Obviously he was doing this for Thorliff also.
Very well. Let’s get this
over with.

She pasted on a smile. “Mr. Devlin.”

“Mrs. Moen.” He seemed to be forcing his smile also. How long did it take to print a newspaper? However long, it would be too long.

“Are all the articles written?”

“Not yet.” He set his oil can aside and crossed to the desk. He laid his hand on a stack of notebook pages. “These have not been written up yet, but the facts are there. There be about half a dozen, and none of them need go on the front page. If ye can handle that, I’ll set the second page. We’ll leave the masthead as it is, aye? Thorliff be publisher still, even if he lies abed.”

“Yes, of course.” She sat down at the desk and leafed through the notes. “Stavenger. I used to know a Walter Stavenger. Why yes. This must be he. A baby boy.” That was nice. Walter was always a good boy and a good playmate. He’d no doubt be a
fine father. She would start with that one. She rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter and began. When she finished each one, she handed it to Devlin.

The final article, for the front page, was the hardest of all. Did she know enough about Elizabeth’s life to write a good article? She would do her best. Halfway through she mopped her eyes. And then again at the end. She pulled the page out of the typewriter and closed her eyes for a moment to settle herself.

She glanced up at the clock. Two hours had passed! But she had finished her task.

She stood up, stretched, and walked over to Mr. Devlin with the completed articles. He was putting together the last corner of page three. “Will we have room for all these?”

“Aye, and to spare. I am making the margins a bit wider, just to take up space. We’ll do fine at four pages. ’Tis what it usually runs anyway.” He handed her some papers. “I printed these off immediately after I set the type. If ye could, go over the first two pages here and circle the errors.”

“Certainly.” She took the proof sheets over to the desk and reached for a pencil. This job was not going as badly as she had feared. They had their work. They kept their distance. And she was so glad now that she had consented to do this. For Thorliff. The press made very loud sounds, and Mr. Devlin brought the next page over. She tucked it in behind the first two.

There were not many errors at all. Should she circle double spaces between words? No, that no doubt was to make both margins come out even. “Is
boardinghouse
capitalized?”

“Thorliff capitalized it when it mentions Blessing Boardinghouse. Otherwise, no.”

“Thank you.” She finished the first page. Now what? Ah. She simply carried it over and placed it beside him, glad for the
chance to move around a little. She would not do well to just sit all day. How Gerald could work the switchboard for hours at a time amazed her.

By the time she finished proofing the first three pages, Thomas was running off the last page. He brought it over to her.

“My, that was fast.”

“Mostly advertisements, ye’ll notice, and they come as a block. Ye just drop the block in place. Thanks be to God for advertisements. And the only obituary is on the first page.”

Elizabeth Bjorklund. And she felt sad all over again.

He made his corrections as she proofed the final page. But now they were going to have to work together more closely because it was time to print. She dreaded it, but she’d see this to the end. For Thorliff.

He described to her how the press operated, explaining in greater detail than she was interested in. She inserted paper as he had showed her. They cranked the press down. Pages one and four were on top, two and three on the back side. He folded the sheet in half. One newspaper. He unfolded it and laid it out flat again. “Let the ink dry before folding, but ye see how ’tis done. We keep this one and the next two for archives.”

He looked at the final proof. “Ah, good. All four pages be right side up. Thorliff almost printed a paper once with page three upside down.” He strung a wire across the room and hooked it into an eye in the opposite wall. He hung their brand-new newspaper on the wire. So that was how they dried the ink.

She put another sheet in the press. As he cranked the press down, she strung a second wire she had seen coiled on the wall. “How many clotheslines will we need?”

“Those two should do it.” He hung up their newspapers as she slid a sheet into the press.

They fell quickly into a rhythm, and it went faster than she
would have guessed. When they filled one clothesline, they started on the next.

She ached to ask him why he had run away from her, but she didn’t dare be so bold. She wanted to know why she was rejected. Do people who are rejected ever find out the truth of why they were rejected? Probably not. The second line was filling up.

“If ye would, remove the pages from that first line, folding them as ye go. Then fold them again, in half, with the masthead up. They be dry enough and then some.”

She did so. This was actually fun. For one thing, it got her out of the house a while and into adult company. That was a much bigger blessing than she would have guessed. No whining children’s voices, no arguing. Also, it was easier than she had anticipated. She had pictured herself not knowing enough about printing a newspaper to be of much use. With a tiny bit of pride, she noted that she was doing quite well. Too, it was an important job, putting the paper out. This issue especially had news everyone in the area should know. And Elizabeth’s death hit her yet again.

She stacked the papers twenty to a pile. When she ran out of room on the folding table she doubled up the stacks. Now they were forty to a pile. It gave her a very good feeling to be this productive. Look at the stacks! She went back to feeding paper into the press.

Lemuel, who always picked up the finished papers to deliver, showed up at three. He broke into a grin. “I heard Thorliff was sick, and I figgered there wouldn’t be no paper today. But you did it.”

Devlin pulled the last of them down from the line. “There’s a fine reason they be ready. Mrs. Moen here went to it with a will, caught on instantly to all the jobs I asked of her, and was a splendid helpmeet. I could not have done it without her.”

Her mouth fell open. This is the man who had rejected her!
And listen to him. Her mind was completely confused now. She helped them bundle and carry out the papers with her thoughts still in a muddle. Talk about mixed messages. She could not read this fellow to save her life. What was going on in his head? What was going on in hers? The fruit of hard work rolled away.

Thomas clapped his hands together. “Finished. Now we celebrate, aye? I shall proceed forthwith to Rebecca’s for ice cream. Mrs. Moen, would ye please join me?”

Anji had been trying to figure out an appropriate way to say good-bye and go home. This caught her completely off guard. “Why, I suppose . . . uh . . . yes. Thank you.”

They strolled off to Rebecca’s.

“And how be yer wee ones faring?”

She might as well be honest, so she told him. The two little ones squabbled a lot—he chuckled knowingly—and Melissa really missed her best friend, Linnea Bjorklund. Even with five in the house, there was only so much cooking and sewing you could do, and even Melissa, who would rather read than anything, was starting to get bored.