Chapter 28

Strolling back to town as the sun sank toward the horizon after the delightful meal at Ingeborg’s made Miriam miss her family even more. How her mother would have loved visiting there, walking in the garden, probably asking for the recipes, enthralled by the land and the warmth of the sun. Her mother was never warm enough anymore. Even thinking such a farfetched idea was a terrible waste of time. Her mother would never travel again. It would be a miracle if she ever left her bed, no matter how strong her spirit.

Miriam went from euphoria to despair in one breath.

“Thank you for coming out with us.” Trygve’s voice sounded richer in the gloaming.

She could feel the warmth of the man’s arm as he walked so close beside her. “I am the one to be thankful. Your aunt Ingeborg is one in ten million. It would be impossible to feel like an outsider in her presence.”

“Ja, that is true. Everyone becomes part of her family as soon as they meet her. If they . . .”

She waited and, when he didn’t continue, asked, “If they what?” Glancing up, she caught the thoughtfulness on his face.

“If they are at all willing, I guess. I’ve known of some, not many, who resent her, you know?”

“Resent her for what?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “I can’t find the words for what flipped through my mind. There is one family in town, the missus particularly, who . . .” He shook his head again. “No, that is gossip, and we all try hard not to engage in that. Reverend Solberg ferrets out and kills off gossip faster than a cat on a mouse. He abhors gossip, yet in a small town like this . . .” He snorted. “Guess people are like that everywhere.”

“I don’t know what small towns are like, but a rumor can whip through the hospital in seconds.” She thought for a moment. “Would it be gossip to fill me in on the story of Manny and the bank robbers?”

“No. As Thorliff would say, that is news, not gossip.” He gave her an abbreviated version. “So Astrid and Elizabeth did two surgeries on his leg, absolutely refusing to take the leg off like most doctors would have, and Solberg, Ingeborg, and all the rest prayed him through it all. The boy really does not realize how very blessed he is to have two legs.”

The fence to Dr. Astrid’s house was just ahead. The frogs had started singing at the river, and with no breeze, the mosquitoes added to the evening music. She slapped another that had landed on her arm.

“How come those horrid things don’t seem to bother you?”

“Tante Ingeborg makes a lotion of comfrey and something else that keeps them away. Besides, North Dakota mosquitoes are particular. Lovely young ladies’ blood is preferable to hard-working farmers’.”

She chuckled. “I’m sure story-telling farmers are even less preferable.”

“Must be.” He paused at the gate. “What shift are you working tomorrow?”

“Days for two more. Then I am off one and then to nights for three shifts.”

“Which do you like the best?”

She looked off to the west, where the sun had painted over the blue with colors she was sure she’d never seen before. “We do not have sunsets like this in Chicago. I think I would never tire of such beauty.”

“Me too.”

But when she glanced up, he was staring at her, not the flaming sunset. Heat hotter than any sunburn crept up her neck and ears. She jerked her attention back, keeping herself from meeting his gaze. “I . . . uh . . . th-thank you . . .” She moved closer to the gate. “I better get inside before the mosquitoes carry me away.”

“I’d never let them do that.” He stepped back and opened the gate for her. “I’ll be there to walk you over for a soda when your shift is done tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid that could get to be a habit.” There. She had her voice under control again. “Good night.” Without waiting for his response, she hustled up the walk and the porch steps without a backward glance, because she could feel his eyes on her back, and her neck had not cooled off.

“That was some exit.” Vera giggled from the other side of the porch. The creaking swing seemed to be laughing too.

Instead of flying up to her room like she wanted, Miriam sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to stroll across the porch and join Mrs. Jeffers and the young nurse.

“Now, don’t you be teasing her,” Mrs. Jeffers said, a laugh undergirding her voice. “Trygve is a fine young man and has the best of manners. I’m sure he did not act forward in any way.”

Miriam reached up and unpinned her hat. “Ah, that is better.” She laid the hat on a narrow table and sank down into the other chair. “Are the mosquitoes not bothering you out here?”

“Not so bad as long as we burn that foul-smelling candle.” Mrs. Jeffers pointed to the squat candle that flickered on the table in front of the porch swing for two. “By the way, there was a letter for you at the post office this afternoon. I forgot to give it to you before you went out to the Bjorklunds’.”

“He just rushed her off her feet.” Vera giggled again. “Shame you had those chaperones along.”

“Vera! Mrs. Bjorklund asked me to accompany them because she wanted my opinion on how well her husband is doing after his latest episode.”

“Nice of her.” She pushed the swing to a creaking. “That little Inga. She reminds me just a bit of what my baby sister used to be like. My mother fought to make her act properly, but she was never absolutely successful.”

“She certainly is curious—about everything. And highly entertaining. She was thrilled to get to spend the night at her grandmother’s.” Miriam ignored the murmured “convenient” and turned to Mrs. Jeffers. “The letter is on the entry table?”

“Yes, dear. And if you have any letters to send, you leave them in that salver, and we’ll make sure they get to the post office. I will have breakfast ready for you at six o’clock, so you do not feel rushed.”

Miriam stood. “You are so good to us. We will be eternally spoiled. Coming, Vera?”

“In a bit. ’Night.”

Up in the room that she shared with a sewing machine and a dressmaker’s form, Miriam hung her hat on the peg on the wall. She disliked hats, but she disliked being sunburnt worse. She crossed to the windows to make sure both were open as wide as possible to catch a cross breeze and sank down into the rocking chair beside the lamp on the whatnot table. She lit the lamp, adjusted the wick so the kerosene would not smoke up the chimney, and set the glass chimney back in place.

A letter from home. Her first, although she had sent two. Rather than ripping the envelope open as she was prone to do, she sliced it gently with the letter opener in the basket that shared the space with the lamp. Unfolding the two thin sheets, she rejoiced to see her mother’s spidery writing.

My dearest Miriam,

It is with great joy that I have grown strong enough with all this good care at the hospital to be able to write legibly again. I refuse to allow my horrid thoughts of being sent back to the tenement with all the filth there to take up residence in my mind. Instead, I thank all the hosts of heaven for this gift of grace. I just wish you were here to share in my delight. Thank you for your letters. I treasure them so.

I need to write to them more often. Guilt dug in like a mosquito’s bite. She’d been here a little over a week now. Surely she could do better than a letter every few days. Especially since they meant so much to her mother.

I try not to worry about my children being left in that horrid place, but they assure me they are doing well. There has been some sewing needed here. Tonio still has his job, and both Mercy and Este are happy to be working here. They work long hours, but at least Joy has been able to stay in school, although I only see her on Sunday. I am so grateful to be able to give you good news for a change.

I know you are doing your best there, and I pray the training is helpful. I count the days until you return. I send you greetings from the others. They have promised to write too.

Your loving mother

Miriam tucked the letter into her case and undressed for bed. She’d thought to have a bath tonight, but her eyes had grown heavier with the weight of unshed tears. Was God really there taking care of them, as their mother always said? Was God even interested in those locked into the squalor of the tenements of Chicago or any other city?

Going for a soda on the way home to the big comfortable house could easily become a habit. “Why can you be here like this every day?” she asked Trygve when he showed up the next afternoon.

“I go home afterward to help with the chores, and I work before I come here, so I look at this as my rest break for the day. Since haying is in full swing now, I will not be able to come tomorrow.” He took a swallow from his chocolate mint soda that Rebecca said she was trying out. Holding the glass up, he studied it. “Not as good as some.”

“After tomorrow I go on night shifts again.”

“I know. I would find that terribly difficult. I like to sleep at night.”

“I like the night shift. It is cooler. Many of our patients sleep through the night, and that gives me time to give more care to those who are awake.”

“What about the man who was having such a struggle?”

She shook her head. “I feel so sorry for him. Here, he finally has a good job and he is dying.”

“For sure?”

“He is so weak and unresponsive much of the time. We do our best to get him to eat or drink, but he takes so very little.” She stared up into the branches of the tree that shaded the yard of the Soda Shoppe. Children were laughing inside and other places on the street. Hammers and saws proclaimed the continual building going on. A line of horse-drawn wagons filled with grain waited at the granary.

“Can I get you anything else?” Rebecca asked. “What did you think of that combination, Trygve?”

“It is good, but the berry ones are better.”

“Now that we have ice cream again, that is our best seller.”

“Can you sit down for a bit?” Ever the nurse, Miriam noted the slightly swollen ankles that seemed to be associated with the heat, as well as the increasing girth of the pregnant woman.

“I will a bit later. As soon as Gerald is done on the switchboard, he will run the shop while I finish up supper. Benny is trying to figure a way he can help more. He is so smart—he can add up the totals without a paper and pencil. He does it all in his head.”

Miriam thought back to the conversation she’d had with Mrs. Jeffers, who was always ready to answer questions about the town and the folks of Blessing. She’d said how she admired Rebecca for keeping her business growing while her baby son, Swen, who was born in January, moved into the crawling stage. At seven months old now, they corralled him behind the soda counter or he rode sometimes with Benny on the wagon. The two were inseparable since school had let out. And now here Rebecca was showing again, another baby on the way. Good thing they had family to help at times. Hildegunn had become a doting grandmother, and Rebecca’s family helped when needed. She’d also heard that Anji Baard Moen, Rebecca’s oldest sister was coming back from living in Norway where her husband died.

Trygve slurped the last from his soda and set the glass down. “Thanks, Rebecca. Some of us are talking about how we might be able to help Benny.”

“I’ll keep praying for God to give us all the best of ideas.”

There it was again. Another one in this town who trusted God would work out something special just for them. Miriam had heard Reverend Solberg praying with some of those in the hospital too. As did Ingeborg. If only she could believe like they did.

Some days were worse than other days. This day was horrible. Since telephone calls had not located Thorliff, Astrid hurried into the house. Oh good! Thorliff was home. He must have been out on one of the building projects. “Thorliff, can you find Father Devlin and bring him to the hospital?”

He looked at her oddly. “Now?”

“Please.”

Thorliff got up from the table and grabbed his hat on the way out.

Astrid felt a heaviness, a terrible sadness within her. Their Irishman looked close to dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. She returned to the hospital.

After checking the nurses’ station, she found the nurses changing the bedding for one of their incontinent patients. “There you are, Miriam. I just sent Thorliff searching for Father Devlin. Please come.”

They both hurried to Mr. O’Flaherty’s bedside. “He is comatose, bordering on delirium, and since you were able to help him before . . .” She knew Miriam had come on duty only a short time earlier.

Miriam stepped in close to the man’s head and said something.

The most beautiful smile spread across his face, and he opened his eyes. He responded.

She asked a question.

His voice was raspy, shaky, but he responded.

She said a single word.

He responded.

Miriam looked at Astrid. “He’s forgotten that Father Devlin visited him before and is so afraid he is going to die alone and unforgiven. Thank you for seeking Father Devlin again.” Even though Mr. O’Flaherty’s speech was halted and barely discernible, he was more calm with a nurse who could speak not only his home tongue, but was familiar with his religion too.

Thorliff hurried through the door with Thomas Devlin in tow. He might be working as a carpenter, but he still wore the clerical collar, in spite of its badly needing a scrubbing.

Miriam simply nodded toward the patient, and in a heartbeat, the carpenter became a priest. Astrid was astonished at the transformation. He was the same man, and yet . . .

The carpenter-father made the sign of the cross. “God’s peace be in this place.”

Miriam replied, “And in all who live and work here.”

The father hooked a finger in his collar, pulled it away from his neck, and with his other hand drew out a small pouch on a cord. From the pouch he brought a tiny cross and a small vial, like ones used for medicines. He held the cross close to the patient’s lips. Mr. O’Flaherty raised his head and drew the cross to his mouth. He kissed it and flopped back on the pillow. His whole face changed, from fearful to peaceful. Tears leaked down his cheeks. Happy tears, it would appear.

The two of them conversed for a few moments, which took longer due to the long pauses on the part of their patient. Astrid was surprised he was able to respond as much as he did. And sad that he no longer remembered the priest’s other visits and the hours Miriam had spent with him. But, she reminded herself, he responded at the time. Surely God understood and remembered.

Miriam looked at Astrid. “Does your church have a formal confession?”

“Not like this.”

Even Thorliff was watching with rapt attention.

Miriam lowered her voice. “He just blessed this place and asked for the services of a guardian angel. Sure and the service of a guardian angel would not be amiss.” She raised her voice. “Amen.”

All sorts of questions raced through Astrid’s head. The main one? This man was obviously a priest, albeit Anglican, but why was a priest working as a carpenter?

Thorliff moved in closer, watching intently. Astrid glanced at him. She at least had seen Father Devlin working with this man before, so this wasn’t such a surprise to her.

Still murmuring in Latin, the priest touched his thumb to each of Mr. Flaherty’s eyelids.

Miriam explained, “He is saying, briefly, ‘By this holy anointing and by His most tender mercy, may the Lord forgive you all the evil you have done through the power of sight.’ And now he’ll forgive and bind the evil done by each of Mr. O’Flaherty’s other body parts.”

Speaking rapidly, the priest touched his thumb to the man’s nostrils, his lips, his hands, his legs, his feet. After each touch, he wiped off the site of the touch with the cotton Miriam had given him.

But Astrid was struck by their patient’s face. It had been drawn, terrified, but now she could see an expression of peace. Not joy, for the man was dying. But peace. A pleasant peace. She might not understand all that was going on, but this man was receiving what had been the most important thing in the world to him.

Miriam disappeared and returned with a small basin of water.

The priest recited some prayers and crossed himself. With fingers shaking in weakness, Mr. O’Flaherty drew the sign of the cross on his chest. His body relaxed, seeming to almost melt back into the pillow.

Father Devlin stepped away.

Miriam held the basin and a towel out to him. He carefully washed and dried his hands.

He smiled at her. “I thankee. A bit rough and ready, but quite adequate.” He looked at Astrid, held her eye. “And I thank ye, Dr. Bjorklund, for allowing me to serve this fellow. ’Tis a gift. Ye cannot ken the extraordinary value of that gift.”

Astrid realized she might not understand the full value, but she saw and understood its effect. Mr. O’Flaherty convulsed in another fit of coughing, and when it stopped, the peace drew back into place. Perhaps for some of the newcomers to Blessing, there were important needs that were not being met. Astrid promised herself she would talk with Reverend Solberg. She’d heard that the two men were becoming friends. An Anglican priest and a Lutheran pastor. Wasn’t this the way God wanted His church to be? But deep inside, she had a feeling there was trouble brewing, especially if everyone did not understand the differences and the similarities of the churches.