Chapter 33
Ingeborg wiped the flowing drops from her forehead and returned to her churn. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Somehow, slamming the dasher felt remarkably good. Lord God, you didn’t warn me I would miss him so much. I don’t remember it being this bad last time, when Roald died.
Ka-chunk. She listened to the dasher so she’d hear the difference when the butter was rising. Ka-chunk. She slammed it three more times, and the tune changed. She slammed it a couple more times, then took it all to the sink, where she could pour the contents into a sieve over a big bowl so the butter could drain before she washed it. Like kneading bread, churning butter could bring a sense of peace. First the physical exertion and then the beauty of a loaf of bread or a full butter mold.
“Grandma, come quick,” Inga hollered through the screen door.
Ingeborg set the dasher down and followed the giggles around the porch.
Jumping up and down, Inga was pointing down the lane.
Tears welled up in Ingeborg’s eyes and rolled over the lids. The old Indian man, a little girl at his side, made her heart leap.
“Emmy’s coming home. Emmy!” Inga leaped from the porch and ran down the walk, out the fence gate, and down the lane. “Emmy!”
The little girl looked up at the old man and darted past him. The two little girls met and threw their arms around each other.
Ingeborg could hear their giggles on the breeze. Tears so near the surface blurred her vision yet again, but at least this time, they were tears of joy. She waited, delighting in the picture of the reunited friends, who were more like the sisters that neither child had. When they reached the gate, the two darted up to the porch, and Ingeborg instantly had a little girl hugging her on each side.
“See, Grandma? I knew Emmy would come back.” Inga looked up at her. “You got tears again.”
Ingeborg sniffed and, with an arm around each, hugged them tight. “But good tears this time.” She smiled at Wolf Runs, whose face looked more deeply lined than ever, if that were possible. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
He nodded and, removing a bundle from his shoulders, set it on the step.
“Please, come sit on the back porch, and I will bring you something to eat.”
He nodded again. “Thank you.”
Emmy picked up her bundle, and the two girls chattered their way around the house on the porch. Then the back screen door slammed.
“You came early,” Ingeborg said. School was still more than a week away. The years before he’d brought her with only a day or two to spare.
“Great Spirit said Grandma needed blessing.”
Ingeborg closed her eyes for a moment, her thank-you winging heavenward. “Our Holy Spirit always knows what we need. Thank you for listening.”
He stopped and so did she.
“The child can stay with you now?”
Confused, she asked, “Through the school year again?”
“No. I will not be back. Her home with you now.”
She turned and looked into his eyes. “Are you ill?”
He half shrugged. “Better this way. I am old.” He waited.
“Ja, Emmy will always have a home here, and I thank you.”
“Good.”
“What about Two Shells? Will she come too?”
“Maybe later, if you want.”
“She is always welcome too.”
They continued on around to the back porch. “You sit and rest. I will bring you a plate.” She paused again. “If you would like to stay here too . . .” Was that a smile she saw?
He settled into a chair and closed his eyes.
She fixed him a sandwich with meat and cheese, and then added a dish of applesauce and some cookies. The girls came thundering down the stairs and ran out the door, but this time Emmy stopped the screen door from slamming.
“Going to see the calves and the kittens in the barn,” Inga sang over her shoulder.
Ingeborg brought the plate out to the uncle and set it beside him, then returned to finish washing the butter. She’d dumped the earlier washings into the bucket for the pigs and chickens. When this final wash water ran clear, she salted the golden butter, patted it into the three waiting molds, and set them in the icebox. Once she’d scrubbed the churn, she went outside to set it in the sunshine to dry. Wolf Runs was gone, but by the plate lay a dark feather tipped in white.
Emmy and Inga skipped up the steps.
“Did you tell your uncle good-bye?”
Emmy nodded. “I can stay here?”
“This is your home.”
She clutched Ingeborg around the waist. “Someday I will go back.” Her sniffs were the only indication of her tears.
“Someday, when you are ready, we will take you back, but this is your home for now.”
A child. God had given her another child. For keeps this time?
“Would you two like to have coffee with me?” At their nods, Ingeborg returned to the kitchen, half listening to their chatter.
“Where is Manny?” Inga turned and told Emmy about the boy who had come to live there too.
“He is driving wagon for the harvesters.” While the harvesters were at work in their fields now, they’d not moved the noisy separator out by the barn yet. She set the tray down on the table, and the three sat down.
“I told Emmy about Grandpa going home to heaven.” Inga stared at her grandmother. “Will you always have sad eyes? I miss him too.”
“I hope not.” Please, dear God, bring back the joy, so I no longer have sad eyes.
“Miriam, there is a call for you.” Deborah nodded toward the telephone on the wall in the hospital office.
“For me?” Fear hit her stomach as if driven by a sledgehammer.
“Mrs. Korsheski, from the hospital in Chicago.”
“Thank you.” Her heart racing triple time, Miriam kept herself from running, either to the office or out the front door. Breathe! The voice in her head was not a suggestion but a command. Breathe.
Dread cramped her stomach as she picked up the earpiece.
“This is Nurse Frasier from Nurse Korsheski’s office. Hold please.”
Please, please—not my mother.
The familiar voice came back on the line. “Miriam, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but your mother is failing, and we have decided that we should let you know. If you want to see her again this side of heaven, you need to come now. And, yes, she is asking for you.”
“I . . . I have no money for a train ticket.”
“We know. The hospital there will pay for your ticket. We will talk with Dr. Bjorklund and give her instructions to that effect.”
But why are you doing this? That and other questions screamed through her mind. “Of course I want to see her, but—”
“I am afraid we are calling late, and you have missed today’s train. But can you be on the next one tomorrow?”
“Yes. Yes, I will.”
“One thing we ask is that you will return to Blessing to finish out your year there.”
But what about my family? I have no choice—or do I? “Th-thank you.”
“Someone will meet you at the station.”
Why are they . . . ? How can this be?
She must have muttered some other unintelligible something, but she only knew for sure the earpiece was no longer in her hand, and she was huddled in a chair, trying to cry silently but unable to hold back the sobs. Not my mother. Please don’t take my mother. I need her. We need her. Oh, please . . . As she quieted and mopped her eyes, she realized someone had been rubbing her shoulders and upper back.
“Shh, all will be well. You have family here now too, and you are not alone.”
“Dr. Bjorklund?” Miriam blinked away the fog.
“Ja. Mrs. Korsheski telephoned me too.” Her hand kept making circular motions, gently, like the kiss of an angel. “You will go and take care of your mother, and when you return, we will be here. Your Blessing family.”
But what if I can’t come back? Or don’t?
“Your shift will be done shortly. Go to the nurses’ room and wash your face, and you will feel much better. Do your report and please make sure your notes are clear on the charts and anything else you can think of.”
“Wh-why?” She clamped jaw and eyes against another freshet.
“Why what?” Astrid cocked her head to the side.
“Why is everyone being so kind to me?”
“Who is everyone?”
“Mrs. Korsheski, the hospital, you . . .” She shook her head, a frown pushing her starched hat higher.
Astrid smiled. “My mor always says you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but then I always wondered what to do with the flies. But Reverend Solberg would say to be kind to one another. Kindness is a highly underrated trait.”
“There’s no kindness where I come from. Other than in my family, and sometimes even that is questionable.” And not everyone in Blessing is kind either. Some of them had not treated either her or Father Devlin kindly.
Trygve was waiting for her the next morning when she was ready to leave for the train station. “I can carry your bags for you.”
“I only have this one suitcase.”
“Then I will carry that.” He took it from her hand as if she’d volunteered it.
Mrs. Jeffers gave her one last hug at the edge of the porch. “You hurry back now, and please greet your mother from us here.” She tucked an envelope into Miriam’s hand. “For your mother.”
Miriam’s eyebrows turned into question marks.
“Never fear, just from one mother to another.” She clasped Miriam’s shoulders. “You are a fine nurse and a finer daughter.”
“Th-thank you.”
A breeze teased the tendrils of hair that refused to remain confined in the net atop her head where her hat perched precariously. She paused at the step and looked out over the riotous rose beds and to the garden. How she wished her mother could have seen all this.
“You needn’t say good-bye to this place. You will be coming back.” Trygve stared up at her. For a change she was a bit higher than he, but not much.
“But if I do, it will not be the same.”
“True. There is a sense in the air that fall is coming soon. We always feel that toward the end of harvest.” He held out a hand.
She looked from his face to his hand and back. Then laid her hand in his.
Sure enough, it was still there, that strange tremor or something that singed her skin whenever they touched. She should have put her gloves on. It was still there, even though she’d spouted off to him after that miserable church service.
At the station, he made sure she had her ticket. They could hear the whistle announcing the train over the prairie to the west.
As it drew nearer, Trygve took her hand again. The silence lengthened. Silences used to be comfortable between them, but now the tension thrummed like a finely stretched violin string. But the music had gone out of it.
He stared into her eyes. “Miriam, I believe I have loved you ever since I first saw you. The most important thing I have to know is . . . do you love me?” The words rippled out and into her heart like a pebble in a pond. Or in this case, a boulder.
Miriam closed her eyes in fear that he could see into her heart. Did she? Did she really? Could she—so soon?
Yes. Maybe—in spite of being furious? Her heart swelled with love for this man. But. That love would have to be stomped on like burning coals until it died. There were no answers to this but for her to leave and for him to stay here. She’d heard broken hearts took a long time to heal. Be that as it may, hers would just have to heal, time or no.
“Trygve, I cannot change my mind.”
“Cannot or will not? And besides, you did not answer my question.” He took her hands in his. She could hear the train far down the track, the train that would carry her away. He squeezed gently. “Please answer me.”
I cannot lie.
You must.
She looked down at their hands, unable to let him see. Slowly she shook her head. “I think I am coming to care for you, Trygve, but I do not think it is the kind of love to bring to a marriage.” There. She’d said it.
The train whistle blew, too much closer, too quickly.
“Look at me.” Had he shouted, the words could not have penetrated her heart any deeper. The heat from his hands burned into her skin, muscle, and bone, then flew like an arrow straight into her heart.
She raised her gaze, fighting to keep the tears from overflowing.
“Your eyes say one thing and your mouth another. No matter what is going on in this town, this is not the end for us. I will find a way.”
The screeching train wheels echoed her heart’s cry. Sparks flew from the iron wheels on the iron track, like the sparks that leaped between them whenever they met.
She tugged her hands loose and stepped back. “Good-bye, Trygve. And thank you for bringing me to the station.”
“This is not the end. On my life, I promise you, this is not the end.” He picked up her valise and handed it off to the conductor.
“Good-bye.” What a dreadful word! And she would have to say it again far too soon, to her dear mother.
Would all of life be nothing but good-byes?
“Remember.” He gripped her hands. “I want you to know, and to understand, that if you do not come back, I will come for you.”
“I . . . uh . . .” She stuttered to a stop at the look in his eyes. A thousand honeybees buzzed in her mind. Unable to break the lock of his gaze, she swallowed. Think of something! “Uh . . .” She started to argue, but that faded away.
“I will.” He nodded and glanced toward the steaming behemoth screeching down at them.
She ordered her backbone to do its job, pushed her shoulders back, and retrieved her hand. “Thank you for escorting me, Mr. Knutson.”
“My name is Trygve.” One eyebrow raised slightly. He leaned forward, a barely visible motion.
He’s going to kiss me. She took a step backward and almost stumbled on the stool the conductor banged against the wooden platform.
He passed her suitcase to the conductor, took her hand to assist her onto the stool, and stepped back. He touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Blessing and I will be waiting.” The door sighed closed.
She found a seat at the window.
He was watching. She must wave. It was the least she could do. She raised a hand to the window.
He smiled brightly. Glowed. Waved back.
Her new family? No, Dr. Bjorklund, her family waited in Chicago. By some miracle her mother was still alive and waiting for her.
One of the passengers called to someone through an open window. “We will be back.”
No, I will not be back. My place is in Chicago. Mama, please wait for me. She straightened her spine, planted her feet flat on the floor, and stared toward the front of the car, where the conductor was coming through picking up tickets.
Against her determination, she looked out the window again. Sure enough, Trygve waited, waved again, and touched the brim of his hat. She heard him in her mind. My name is Trygve, and I will come for you.
He was a determined man, but her family needed her in Chicago. No matter what her heart wanted to do.
If only she knew for certain what her heart wanted: A life in Blessing or a life in Chicago. Was there any possibility of a compromise? Her mother would say that God has a plan. Could she trust that?