Believing the Dream (11 page)

“No. Tonight you are the guest of honor.”

“Tomorrow, however, you get to milk cows.” Andrew nudged him under the table with his boot toe.

“So enjoy the honor tonight.” Haakan accepted the second piece from his daughter. “Mange takk.”

“You’re welcome.”

When they’d all been served and the coffee cups replenished, Thorliff cut the flaky crust with his fork. He scooped the bite to his mouth and looked up to see Astrid watching his every motion. He chewed and swallowed, making sure his face changed not a whit. Looking down, he cut another bite.

“Thorliff.” Her wail made him laugh.

“Can’t I tease you anymore?” He licked the tines of his fork. “Umm. Best pie I’ve had for a long time.” Pictures of Cook fixing his supper and packing his dinner box cascaded through his mind as he took another bite. Cook loved to make sure he got enough to eat, but even her pastries were no match for this one. Could it partly be because he was home and everything tasted better here, eating with his family instead of by himself at the newspaper office or in the dining room at school?

“Thank you, Astrid. And you are an artist, only with dough and flour and such.”

“She draws real pretty too.” Andrew scraped the pie juice from his plate. “Are we going out to check on the stock?” He looked to his father for an answer.

Haakan shook his head. “Not tonight with that blizzard the way it’s howling. Everything was shut up tight. Let’s just pray it dies out by the morning.”

CHAPTER NINE

December 23, 1893

But it didn’t.

Ingeborg cupped her elbows with her hands, grateful for the thick woolen sweater her mother-in-law, Bridget, had knit for her. The wind, the horrendous, vicious wind that tore at the house, seeped in through the tiniest of cracks, stealing the warmth and blowing frigid blasts that took her back through the years—back to when Roald died.

The pit—the eternal black pit, she could feel it, could almost see it on the edges of her vision. It had nearly squeezed the life out of her those years ago, and it always waited for her to succumb again. The fear of it made her shudder with an icy chill that even the roaring storm could not dispel.

“Mor?”

If Ingeborg turned quickly enough she knew she would see the darkness slithering away, gnashing its teeth at the interruption.

“Ja.” Ingeborg sucked in lungfuls of life-giving breath and, grateful for the reprieve, reached out to her sleepy-eyed daughter. “What is it?”

“Where’s Far?”

“He and the boys fought their way out to the barn to milk.”

“Are you sure they made it?”

“Ja, three tugs on the rope.”

“I dreamed that the blizzard covered our house right over.” Astrid snuggled into her mother’s embrace. “Like it did the soddy.”

“Most likely covered the soddy again too.”
Thank you, Father God,
for our sturdy house and for banishing the pit by bringing my daughter
to me. I will not fall in again, for you promised to deliver me. You did
before
. Her gratitude swelled and forced the shimmering drops in her eyes to overflow.

“You are crying. What is the matter?” Astrid leaned back enough to gaze into her mother’s face.

“Not sad, at least no longer. Joy perhaps?”

“For the blizzard?” The horror in the little girl’s voice widened her eyes and mouth.

“We are safe, we have each other, and we are not sick.” That other time, terrible sickness had taken Carl and all they’d found of Roald was his pocketknife. Surely God would not allow such tragedy again.

“And Christmas is almost here.”

“Ja, I’m grateful for that too.” She hugged Astrid one more time and set her back a step so she could cup her face with loving hands and smile into those eyes so blue. “Ah, Astrid, my heart, what would I do without you?”

“Be sad?” Astrid hugged her mother one more time. “I’ll get dressed and help you with breakfast. Or do you think I should go help milk?”

“No, your far gave us strict instructions to stay in the house. He said the wind might just send us flying over the prairie.” Ingeborg shivered at another screech at the eaves. “Go on and get dressed. Put on an extra petticoat and a sweater.”

As Astrid left the room, Ingeborg took the sourdough crock off the warming shelf, measured out two cups to mix with milk, and set it back to grow again. Then she added flour, salt, eggs, and some bacon grease to the mixture for pancakes. If the dough set some before the men returned, it wouldn’t hurt. The pancakes would just be lighter. The yeasty aroma of the batter made her sniff deeply in appreciation. If there was any batter left over from breakfast she would knead in extra flour and let it rise to make rolls for supper. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve—the candlelight service at church, and the children’s program.

“Uff da,” she muttered to herself. “And so much yet to do.”

She took the copper boiler to the porch door and set it beside the new door to the outside. The wind pleaded for her to come out, whistling through any crack it could find, a sibilant siren’s call to eternal sleep. She buttoned up her coat, pulled her hat down over her ears and, mittens in place, stepped outside long enough to scoop the boiler full of snow to melt on the stove. Before she finished, the cold had already penetrated her coat and muffler. “Uff da, indeed.” She glared at the swirling snow. “You’ll not take any of us, ever again.” She turned and, with a grunt, slammed the door against the banshees and returned to her kitchen to slide the boiler to the back of the stove. They wouldn’t have to haul water from the well to the house anyway, and if needed, they could melt snow for the chickens and the pigs too, even the cattle if necessary. But knowing Haakan, he had filled the barrels in the barn to water the stock in an emergency like this. She glanced up at the carved walnut clock on the shelf, their Christmas present one year from Olaf.

“Mor, how come they’re not back yet?”

“They’ll be in soon. The blizzard makes everything go slower. They’ll water, feed, and clean out the manure before breakfast so they don’t have to go back out there until evening.”

“What about my chickens?”

“Andrew will take care of them.”

“What if this lasts through Christmas?” Astrid finished unbraiding her hair to begin brushing it.

“Then we all stay snug in our own houses and go visiting later.”

“Our presents will be late.”

“I know.” Ingeborg finished slicing the slab of bacon and wiped her hands on her apron. “Here, let me help you.”

“Can you braid in these ribbons?” Astrid held up two red-and-green plaid ribbons.

“Ja, that I can.”

The clock hands both pointed to the nine when Paws rose from his bed behind the stove, tail wagging, and made his way to the door. After the clomping of three pairs of boots, the door from the porch finally opened. Paws continued to wag his tail but no longer did he leap up and yip his greetings. His muzzle was near to white as the snow on the men’s hats and shoulders, and the rest of his once caramel-colored face was faded like cloth left out in the sun too long.

“Thank the good Lord for a warm house and a secure barn.” Haakan set a bucket of milk on the counter. “This nearly froze just between the house and the barn.”

“So did my face.” Thorliff leaned down to pet the dog, receiving a flick of tongue on his hand for the effort. “Aw, Paws, you’ve become an old dog while I was gone.”

“Good thing we insulated the cheese house too. There was frost on the cans out there but not froze solid.” Andrew unwound the muffler from his neck. “We fed some of the fresh milk to the hogs and chickens.” He brought his basket of eggs to show Astrid. “Look, that one froze in the nest.” An egg with a crack down one side lay atop the others.

“But my hens were all right?”

“Ja, and that rooster tried to get me again. He’s about due for the stewpot.”

“You just don’t talk to him right.” Astrid took the eggs over to the dry sink to clean them.

“Breakfast will be ready as soon as you are. There’s plenty of warm water in the boiler for washing. Astrid, bring me the eggs from yesterday and then pour these freezing men some coffee. The cream is already on the table.”

With her mind humming thanksgiving for her men being safe inside again, Ingeborg poured pancake batter onto the square flat skillet and moved the sizzling bacon from another frying pan onto a plate.

“And to think you made it home just before this blizzard hit.” Ingeborg patted Thorliff’s shoulder as she set the platter of bacon in front of him. “Our God is so good to us.”

“Let’s hope that train is stopped in some station instead of out on the prairie somewhere.” Haakan smiled at his wife as she took her place at the other end of the table. “Now, let us give thanks. We have so much to be thankful for.”

“I’m just grateful that wind can’t get in here.” Astrid shuddered. “It sure wants to.”

Ah, this is such a far cry from what life used to be here
. Ingeborg brought her thoughts back to the moment and joined in the table prayer. Now if only everyone else in Blessing, nay, in all of North Dakota and wherever the blizzard roared, were as snug and tight as the Bjorklunds.

“So, Thorliff, tell us what school is like for you.” Haakan leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach. “Mor, that was mighty good.”

Thorliff nodded.
How do I tell them without telling them all?
He ran a forefinger around the rim of his coffee cup and trapped a sigh before it could escape. The truth, always tell the truth. He glanced up from under his eyelashes to see if Mor had just said that again or if it was only in his mind.

She nodded, her smile encouraging him to begin.

“School is harder than I thought it would be.”

Haakan looked up from tamping tobacco into the bowl of his pipe with his forefinger. “You mean harder to study or . . .”

“I study all right.”

“You have time to study?” Ingeborg picked her knitting out of a basket she’d brought to the table and adjusted the four ivory needles that said she was knitting a sock. She caught the trailing yarn over her fingers and inserted one needle into the next stitch. When started, she raised her gaze to meet his, searching for the real answer behind his pauses.

“Ja, my work at the paper gives me a room of my own, like I told you in the letters. The night we print the paper, that is all any of us does, but other days I have time. You should hear that old press thump. Sounds almost as bad as our steam engine. But I can pick type now almost as fast as Elizabeth. That’s Miss Rogers, my boss’s daughter.”

“She works there too?” A ring of smoke haloed Haakan’s head.

“Ja, but not all the time.” Thorliff shook his head. “She sure has strong opinions.”

“She goes to St. Olaf too? I think you wrote?”

Another nod. “She is studying to be a doctor.”

“A woman doctor?” Andrew looked up

Just tell them about Anji. No, not for anything. Coward
. The discussion in his head made him want to run right out into the blizzard.

“What does your school look like?” Astrid propped her chin on her stacked fists.

Ah, something easy
. Thorliff turned slightly in his chair to see her better. Anything rather than the questions chasing like rainsqualls across his mother’s face. “St. Olaf is on the top of a hill, so Old Main, the first and largest building, looks out over the countryside. It is four stories tall, made out of brick, with a beautiful tower pointing straight into the heavens. All of my classes are there. The dining hall is in the basement. I do a lot of my studying in the reading room, and my first room was on the top floor.”