Believing the Dream (34 page)

The first two winter exams passed in a daze. While Thorliff knew his papers were good, he wasn’t sure he could even read the exam questions. He wrote all he could, staggered down the hill, and collapsed on his bed to sleep through the night and half the next day.

“Just checking on you, son.” Phillip stood beside the bed. “Can’t have you coming down with pneumonia or something.”

“Oh. What time is it?” Thorliff felt as though he were trying to see through a frost-covered window. Everything blurred.

“One.”

“In the afternoon?”

A chuckle greeted his question. “Yes. The sun rarely shines at one in the morning.”

Thorliff let his face flop back into the pillow.

“I brought you some chicken soup. Cook says you have to take it now, like medicine, you know?”

Thorliff pushed his body upright and swung his feet to the braided rug on the floor. “Mange takk.” He didn’t hear Phillip go out the door as he devoured the soup.

The next morning, Friday, he showed up at the Rogerses’ door, still sniffling but with a fairly clear head.

“Ah, the resilience of youth.” Phillip greeted him, peering into his face to assure himself Thorliff should be up and about.

“Yes. I have another exam today and the last one tomorrow.” He accepted the steaming coffee mug Cook handed him and took his place at the table, ready to devour the plateful she put before him. He didn’t stop until he’d cleaned up a second helping. “I am so looking forward to the week off. When school starts again, we should all be in healthier condition.”

The knowledge that he had earned two A’s and the remainder B’s made his vacation week even more enjoyable as he spent it writing, working on the paper, and writing some more—letters, chapters, articles, and more chapters.

The chinook winds blew like a blessing on all their activities after Elizabeth passed all her exams the following week.

“If only mother felt stronger, life would be perfect,” Elizabeth said as she and Thorliff trudged up the hill.

If only I’d have a long letter from Anji—signed that she loves me still—that would make it perfect
. But Thorliff kept his wish to himself, only murmuring agreement to Elizabeth as he slowed his pace to relieve her from puffing to keep up. The more disturbed he was, the longer his strides and faster he ate up the distance.

“A letter for you.” Benjamin handed him the envelope as they strolled into class at the same moment as the bell rang.

“Good of you to join us, gentlemen.” Professor Schwartzhause wore his habitually stern expression.

“Sorry.” Thorliff and Benjamin scurried to their seats.

A glance at the handwriting said the letter was from Andrew, not Anji, so Thorliff stuck it in his pocket to read later. Later didn’t come until his walk down the hill alone, since this was Elizabeth’s afternoon at Carleton. He drew in a deep breath of air that promised spring on the way and, staying in the track melted down to the gravel, took the letter from his pocket, slit the envelope, and began to read.

Dear Thorliff,

I hate to be the one to write this to you, but Mor said you would want to know. Paws died in his sleep behind the kitchen stove last night. I took my quilt down there because Pa said we would have to put him out of his misery in the morning, and I wanted to be with him as long as possible. He could hardly walk anymore and had to be carried outside to relieve himself. He was so embarrassed at that. You know how he was. But in the middle of the night he licked my hand, and then I patted him, and he died just that quick with a little sigh. He was such a good dog, and we all miss him terribly. Mor said the house seems empty without him, and even Astrid’s cat goes around looking for him.

Thorliff dashed a hand across his eyes, blurred to the point he could scarcely read the words.

Far says we will get another dog, but one would have to go a long way to make up for Paws. I just know that I miss him, and I know you do too. When the ground thaws out, we will bury him in the corner of the yard under the lilac bush where he liked to sleep in the summer.

I hope you are liking school more all the time. Christmas went so fast, and just when I was used to having you home, you left again. We had twenty lambs this year, and Bess had her foal, a colt that thinks he is the king of the world. He is so funny. I named him Star because of the perfect star right between his eyes.

Mor made snow candy yesterday when we had new snow. Thank you for sending copies of your newspaper. You write really good articles and we all enjoy your story. Pastor Solberg is reading it during school.

Your brother,
Andrew

Thorliff folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Sometimes letters carried bad news. Pictures of Paws through the years flashed through his mind. Paws as the half-grown dog with caramel ears and white feet; Paws herding the sheep and bringing in the cows; Paws dancing out his welcome when they came home from wherever they’d been. Paws climbing the ladder to the haymow and shocking them all; Paws, champion nose- and chin-licker. Thorliff could feel that lightning tongue on his damp cheeks. Paws never did like anyone to cry.

That night Thorliff sat down and wrote to Andrew and his family, and enclosed “A Tribute to a Good Friend,” written like a eulogy.

Mr. Rogers says he’ll run this in the paper, and then I’ll send you a copy of that. Thank you for letting me know and for being the kind of brother who cares so deeply for all living things. I’ll see you in June.

Thorliff

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Blessing, North Dakota
April 1894

“Mor, can—er, may I write to Thorliff?”

“Of course. You needn’t ask.” Ingeborg looked up from rolling out molasses cookie dough. “We will send him a package.”

“He likes your cookies best. He said so.” Astrid snitched a bite of cookie dough and left, giggling while licking her finger. She retrieved paper and pencil from the tray in the old trunk and closed the lid, a gentle finger stroking the flowers and other rosemaling designs painted on the trunk. She knew the stories well of her mother’s ocean trip to the new world with Tante Kaaren and the Bjorklund brothers, who both died one winter. No matter how people tried to explain it to her, she still could not understand an ocean so large it took more than a week to cross. Others who came by ship earlier said the crossing under sail took much longer.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she set to her letter. Goldie the cat came and jumped up in her lap, kneading her legs with his front paws before settling into a purring that vibrated clear to her ankles.

“Should I tell him about Anji?”

“What about Anji?”

“Well, she came to church with that Mr. Moen from Norway.”

Ingeborg rolled the dough a bit harder than necessary, causing a muttered “uff da” when some of the dough stuck to the rolling pin. She peeled the dough from the pin surface, patted it back in place, and dusted more flour on the rolling pin. How to tell Astrid no without making her think poorly of Anji? Not thinking poorly of the young woman whom she’d been so sure would be her daughter-in-law was taking an extra storm of prayers.

The rift between Thorliff and Anji is none of your business,
she reminded herself for more than the first time. Easier said than done. But she’d caught her mother-in-law, Bridget, giving the young woman a glare that would melt the Red River in January.

Why should they be angry, or rather disappointed, with Anji? That man was the real problem.
That man
was the way she always referred to him, as if his name were of no account.

Actually, another reminder to herself, he was of too much account. He had everything that Thorliff didn’t. According to the gossip she’d heard, that man had education, wealth, wit, and charm enough to turn any young woman’s head. He’d certainly done it with women much older and more experienced than Anji, like nearly every woman in the region of Blessing. He also had two young daughters living with their bestemor in Norway.

“Mor?”

Ingeborg retrieved her mind from its wanderings and, before turning to her daughter, took a deep breath and let it all out. She made sure the consternation was wiped from her face, since Haakan always told her it was easier to read her face than a book with large print, and looked Astrid in the eye.

“What do you think?”

“I think Thorliff would be very angry to see them together, and maybe someone should tell him so he could come home or write to her or . . .” A frown creased her wide forehead. “I wish Mr. Moen would go back to Norway. That’s what I wish.” She tapped the end of the pencil against her teeth. “If Thorliff married Anji, she would be my sister. Right?”

“Well, your sister-in-law.” Ingeborg removed a flat baking pan from the oven and slid the cookies off with a pancake turner. “Would you please sprinkle some sugar on the cookies in that pan so I can get it in the oven?”

Astrid nodded and rose from her chair to help. While sprinkling sugar with a spoon, she picked up bits of dough left from the edges of the cookies and ate them. Finished sugaring, she returned to her letter.

“Did you tell him how many lambs we had?”

Ingeborg shook her head. “You might tell him about the new foal born too. He always liked Bess.” Bess was one of their older heavy mares, and Haakan feared she had not settled with the last breeding. All of them had been delighted when they learned of the imminent birth.

“We should let Thorliff name the baby.”

“That would be nice, but I think Andrew already did.” She slid more cookies into the oven and added wood to the firebox. “I’m going to need wood pretty soon.”

Astrid sighed. “I’m never going to get this written at this rate.”

“Is there a rush?”

“I don’t know. I just had a dream about Thorliff last night, and he didn’t seem very happy. You think he likes school as much as home?”

“You ask hard questions.”

“I know, but I’m worried about him. Aren’t you?” Astrid reached for a cookie and nibbled on the warm edge.

“Worried?” Ingeborg paused in cutting out more cookies. “No, not really. I know he is where he should be, and I know God can take better care of him than I can, so I leave him in God’s hands.” She stopped to study Astrid’s face. “You see, the Bible tells us not to worry and—”

“Where does it say that?”

“Psalm 37. ‘Fret not thyself.’ God says not to fret.
Fret
is another word for
worry
, and over and over again we are told to trust God. Now, if we are worrying, we are not trusting. You understand?”

“So is thinking about Thorliff the same as worrying?”

“No, not at all. Worrying is . . .” Ingeborg shook her head. “Sometimes I think you and Andrew must get together and figure out ways to confuse your mor. Some things I can explain better in Norwegian.”

“But we speak English. How come our language is called English instead of American?”

“Because it was spoken in England first.” Stirring the pot of soup simmering on the back of the stove, Ingeborg enjoyed the relief stealing up from her middle. How to answer all this child’s questions without quelling her curiosity. “I’m thinking you should look some of your words up in the dictionary at school.”

“Like
worry
?”

“Ja, for sure.”

“Thorliff would know.”

“Perhaps. Now, no more cookies until after supper, or we won’t have enough to mail to Thorliff. Why don’t you get out the popcorn, and we’ll pop plenty to fill his box.”

“That way the cookies won’t break. Right?” A grin flashed across her face. “Or at least, we won’t worry about them breaking.”

Ingeborg smiled back. “And with that you better put on your shawl and bring in enough wood to fill the woodbox.”

“Are Andrew and Hamre still over helping Onkel Lars?”

“Ja. Getting the machinery ready for spring fieldwork.”

“Do they want us to milk tonight?” Astrid paused before darting out the door.

“No, they didn’t say that.” Ingeborg scraped the leftover flour from rolling the cookies into her hand and dumped it into a bowl on the shelf above the warming oven to be used later for gravy. While Astrid brought in load after load of wood, Ingeborg picked up where she had left off on the spinning. With Bridget knitting hats, mittens, and sweaters to sell in Penny’s store, spinning was always needed.