Believing the Dream (31 page)

She shrugged. While that was not particularly what she wanted, he was most likely right. “You need some help?”

“I thought Hamre was coming, but he and Lars must have gotten started working on the steam engine.” He wiped his hands on a rag. The ewe nuzzled her offspring, comforting him for the terrible acts done by the mean human. The lamb bopped her udder and began nursing, what was left of his tail twitching from side to side.

“Did you hear the wolves last night?” Ingeborg couldn’t help smiling at the sight of two lambs jumping over each other.

“No, I slept like a log last night.” The wink Haakan gave her made her cheeks warm.

“Sure made me glad we have such a snug barn for them.” Thinking back to the early years made her shudder. The wolves nearly got her entire flock one winter. And the lambing—she and Thorliff nearly froze themselves after Roald had disappeared.

Life was so much easier now that sometimes she felt guilty. And this year Haakan and Andrew, along with Hamre, took care of the lambing.

“You’re not dressed to work with the sheep. Go on back to the house and put the coffeepot on. I’ll be along pretty soon, and if the pie is still hot, well . . .”

“Will warm do?”

“Perfect.”

After dinner Haakan leaned back in his chair, this time without creaking the back legs, which drew a smile of approbation from his wife. “I need to talk with Olaf about some things, so you want me to check on Bridget? Or you want to come along?”

Ingeborg paused in her clearing the table. “I think I’d like to go along.”

“You don’t trust me to observe Bridget carefully enough?”

“Oh, you.” She flapped her apron at him. “Of course I . . .” She paused again. “No, really I don’t. She won’t talk women-talk with you. When do you want to leave?”

He glanced at the clock. “Ten minutes, soon as I hitch up the sleigh.”

“I’ll be ready.”

The jingling harness chimed with the sleigh bells as they flew across the heavily crusted snow. Their breath blew like miniature clouds of smoke, and the sun glittered on the drifts, making Ingeborg laugh in delight. “I’m so glad I came.”

Haakan turned to smile at her, his special warm smile. “Me too.” He dropped her off at the boardinghouse and returned her wave as she mounted the steps.

Ingeborg inhaled fresh bread perfume as she entered the door. “Bridget, are you here?”

“In the kitchen. Is that you, Ingeborg?”

“Last time I looked.” Ingeborg removed her heavy coat and muffler and hung them on the carved coatrack by the door before taking her basket of cheese and eggs on her arm again. She pushed open the swinging doors to the kitchen, greeted by the warmth from the two big black ranges that dominated the room. Kettles hung from hooks on a rack suspended above the stoves, a red-and-white checked oilcloth covered one table, and matching gingham curtains framed the tall windows. Bridget, her white hair braided and coiled around the top of her head, left the dough she was rolling to give Ingeborg a hug.

“Excuse my flour, but it is so good to see you.”

“Is there any time you are not up to your elbows in flour? What are you making now?”

“Pie, I can never get enough pies baked. Those railroad men would eat us out of house and home if we let them.” She lifted the cloth and peeked in the basket. “Ah, soft cheese. I’m about out of cheddar too.
I need to send that husband of mine out to buy more. And eggs. How did you know I ran out just this morning?”

While Bridget took out the gifts, Ingeborg studied her face and the way she moved. Andrew had been right. Something was different.
“Are you all right?”

“Ja, nothing to be alarmed about.”

“Then, what is it?”

“That hip of mine is giving me some trouble. That is all. That fall I took before Christmas—uff da. Some things just take time to heal.”

“Ja, and if you would take a lie-down once in a while, that might help.”

Bridget stopped in midstride. “Who has time for such silliness.
Men want to be fed, no matter what.”

“I tells her to take it easy, but she don’t listen.” Mrs. Sam, entering the kitchen in time to hear part of their conversation, shook her head, her dark eyes showing her concern. “We’uns could do for her for a few days.”

“I’m not ready for the rocking chair yet, so you don’t go getting any ideas. Come warm weather, I’ll be fit as a fiddle again. In the meantime, let’s have a cup of coffee and some of that good cake you baked this morning.”

By the time they’d finished their coffee and chat, Haakan pushed his way through the door. “Time to head home.”

“You want coffee?” Mrs. Sam hoisted the pot she was just returning to the stove.

“No thanks. Had some with Olaf.” He looked toward his wife.
“You about ready?”

“Ja, always in a rush.” Ingeborg stood and patted Bridget on the shoulder. “How about I send you some of that liniment I made up. Burns going on but helps the aches and pains.”

“You do that. I thought to buy some from that drummer that came through, but then forgot.” Bridget shook her head. “Forgetting is just getting too easy.”

“I’ll send it with Andrew in the morning, and he can bring it over after school.”

“Tusen takk.” Bridget pushed herself up by bracing her arms on the table. “You want some of this cake for supper?”

Ingeborg and Haakan exchanged a look that said he saw what she saw.

Bridget followed them to the door and waved them off. “Come again soon. I never see enough of you.”

Ingeborg waved again as they drove down the street. “That place takes so much out of her.”

“She wouldn’t have it any other way. Perhaps we can talk her into bringing in more help, but you know how riled up she got the last time we suggested it.”

“I know.”
Another one I have to commit to God’s keeping. Such a stubborn old woman.

That afternoon she cut out a dress for Astrid and had all but the handwork done before the children came home from school.

“Oh, Mor, how pretty.” Astrid held the blue-and-white-checked gingham up in front of her.

“Now you’ll have something new for spring.” Ingeborg eyed the hem length. She hadn’t cut it any too long. “You are growing so tall.”

“Mange takk.” Astrid fingered the bow at the neck. “Blue is always my favorite color.”

“Now, how did I happen to know that?” Ingeborg laid the dress across the sewing machine. “Perhaps you would like to hem it?”

“Mor.” Andrew entered from the kitchen. “Paws didn’t eat his breakfast.”

“I know.”

“Did he go outside?”

“Yes, but I had to help him back in.”

“Oh.” The small word hung on the air. Andrew clenched his hands at his side. “He’s going to die soon, isn’t he?”

Ingeborg nodded. “He’s an old dog, son.”

“Is he suffering?”

“I-I’m not sure.” She thought back to the look Paws had given her when he needed help.

“Has . . . has Pa said . . .” Astrid’s eyes swam with tears.

Ingeborg shook her head.

“B-but we can’t even bury him.” Astrid flung her arms around her mother and buried her face in her shoulder.

Ingeborg patted her daughter’s back and watched the battle going on in her son.

“W-would it be kinder to . . . to . . .” Tenderhearted Andrew could not even say the words.

“I think so.”

“Can we wait until tomorrow?”

“Would the waiting be worse?”

“I don’t know.” Andrew turned and started up the stairs to his room, his shoulders bowed, each step weighted. “Thorliff will be sad too.”

“I know. We’re all sad. Paws has been part of our family almost since we came from Norway.”

“Mor, do dogs go to heaven?”

“Ah, Astrid, sometimes you ask such hard questions.” Ingeborg tried to think of all she’d heard of heaven. “I don’t know.”

“But God loves dogs too, just like we do.”

“Ja, I am sure He does.”

“After all, He made them.”

Ah, my Astrid, how to answer you. So many things I have no answers for. Please, God, you answer
.

“So if God gave us dogs, why wouldn’t He take them to heaven too?”
The young girl rubbed her chin the same way her father did. “But we will still miss him here, huh?” The tears choked her voice. She turned toward the kitchen, and Ingeborg heard her murmuring to the dog.

Andrew clumped down the stairs and on outside without looking at her.

That night when she was getting ready for bed, she found Andrew sound asleep in his quilt behind the stove, one hand resting on Paws. Ingeborg bent down and stroked the dog’s head. Paw’s tail lifted only a little at the tip. He licked her hand, barely moving his head.

“I’m praying he’ll be gone by morning,” Haakan whispered when she joined him in bed.

“Me too.”

She woke in the middle of the night to Andrew’s shaking her shoulder.

“He’s gone, Mor.” Andrew sat down on the edge of his bed. She could hear the tears in his voice. “I woke up because he licked my cheek. I petted him, and all of a sudden, I knew. He’d quit breathing.” Andrew knelt on the floor. “Do you think he was saying good-bye?”

“Ja, I do.” Ingeborg dashed the tears from her own eyes. “That’s the kind of dog he was. A faithful friend.” She stroked her son’s shoulder as he snuffled his tears.

“I have to write and tell Thorliff.”

“If you want to.” She felt Haakan’s hand rest on her hip, so she knew he was awake.

“Can we leave him by the stove until morning?”

“Ja, that we will do.” Haakan cleared his throat. “You go on up to bed now.”

“God natt, my son. You were a good friend to him too.”

Ingeborg snuggled into her husband’s arms as she heard her son leave the room. “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

“Ja, thank you, God, indeed. I didn’t want to have to shoot him.”

“I know.”
Ah, Thorliff, I hope this is the saddest news we have to send you
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Northfield, Minnesota

“How long have I been ill?”

“A week.” Phillip spooned more chicken broth into his daughter’s mouth.

“Can we please open the drapes? I’m not a good mole.” Elizabeth tried to keep the petulant tone out of her voice, but she could hear a whine.

“Soon. Doc says as soon as your temperature is normal for twentyfour hours, you’ll get well quickly. You are young and strong.”

“I don’t feel very strong right now, more like a newborn baby.” She rubbed her chest where it itched. “I really need a bath.”

“Tomorrow.” The spoon clinked on the bottom of the bowl.

“How’s Mother?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she raised up on her elbows, only to collapse back on her pillows.

“She has a worse case than you.”

“What are you saying?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
Please, God, how sick is she?

“Doc says that measles is harder the older you are.”

“Mother isn’t old.”

“No, but . . .”

She could hear the shake in his voice. “Has it gone into pneumonia?”

“No, she’s just very weak.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead.

“Have you been sleeping at all?”

“Some.” He caught a yawn behind his hand. “The good news is that Thorliff got the paper out only one day late, and a fine job he did. That young man has a real future in journalism. He wrote a satire on the measles that made even me laugh.”

“Can I read—” She stopped and shook her head. “I know, not until . . .” Now it was her turn to yawn. “I wish I could be up helping you.”

“Tomorrow maybe. Cook is able to be up a bit now. I warned her that if she collapsed on the kitchen floor, I was going to fire her.”

“Father!”

“Well, I had to do something to keep her in bed. Doc Gaskin’s cook is sending food over. Not that anyone but me is eating real food.”

Elizabeth heard his voice from a distance as she slipped back into healing sleep.

Within three days she was up, and though moving slowly and resting often, she took over the care of her mother so her father could go back to work in time to put out the next paper. Thorliff and his helpers from St. Olaf had put out the second paper also, much to Phillip’s relief.

Tenderly she bathed her mother’s body, using cool water to help bring down the fever that spiked in the late afternoon.