No Distance Too Far (9 page)

“Thank you. This looks delicious,” Mr. Jeffers said.

Joshua was intrigued. What a story this was. “Did you ever find a trace?”

Mr. Jeffers shook his head. “I went back home for the winter and to set my father’s affairs in order, assuming that since he had never contacted us, he was dead. He would never willingly treat my mother like that—not let us know where he was, I mean—let alone his business associates.”

“What did your father do?”

“He worked for a farming machinery company and invented things on the side. He’d received some encouragement on improvements to a seeder and was checking on a list of possible partners.”

“And he just disappeared?” Joshua cut his chicken and took a bite. “Was he sick at all?”

“No, at least not that we knew of. He was forty-seven years old. They say I look just like him. He had just been paid for a good sale and said he would be heading for home after another two stops.”

“From where?”

“He didn’t say. And I didn’t think to ask. Two years ago the telephone was such a new device that I always marveled I could even be talking that many miles apart.”

“So you’ve talked with the people he saw last?”

“Yes, in Alexandria and Fargo. After that I’m not sure if he headed north or continued west. When I heard of a man in Blessing with the name of Jeffers, I came on up here. And now I am back.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I liked the people here. They made me feel welcome, and I . . .” He paused. “I feel like I owe them something. Crazy, I know. But that phony Jeffers tarnished my family’s name here. My mother has gone to live with my sister and her husband, and I don’t want to live in that big old house alone. So on one hand I’m searching for information on my father, and I guess on the other . . . well, I liked it here. ’Bout time I settled down, as my mother reminds me. Besides, Thorliff and Haakan Bjorklund purchased a set of my father’s blueprints. I need to know if they were able to make a prototype of the seeder and how well it worked, if they did.”

“Now that part I do understand.” Interesting that no one had mentioned that. He shrugged inwardly.
Must have happened when I
was gone from here.

“What about you?”

Joshua told him his story, another tale of someone coming back to Blessing. “This is becoming a real boom town with all the building going on.”

Miss Christopherson approached the table. “Would you care for more supper, or are you ready for your dessert now?”

Joshua smiled at her. “It’s apple pie, right?”

“Yes, sir, dried-apple pie.” She smiled back. “Your favorite.”

“Pie for me.”

“Me too. The meal was delicious,” Mr. Jeffers said.

She took their plates and returned to the kitchen.

“I’m thinking I can move the business to Blessing that my father and I were putting together,” Jeffers said. “The railroad is right here, lots of farms, and North Dakota farmers are real progressive thinkers.” He propped his elbows on the table. “So what is it you do, Mr. Landsverk?”

“I dig wells and erect windmills over them. Or just put up the windmill if the well is dug deep enough. Hjelmer Bjorklund goes out and gets the orders, and then our crew comes along and does the job. I bought a lot here in town and plan to put up a Sears and Roebuck house come spring.”

“There’s a lot of new houses and new businesses here since my first visit.”

“There’s talk of building a hospital. People here all work together. It’s an amazing thing. A good thing.”

“I’ll be talking with Thorliff Bjorklund in the morning. He said he might run an article about my father in his newspaper and perhaps can search for information this way.”

“Like a missing person story.” Joshua inhaled the fragrance from the warm apple pie set before him and took a bite. “Thank you, Miss Christopherson. Delicious.”

“I’ll tell Mrs. Sam.”

Jeffers took a bite. “Tell her thank-you from me too.”

They finished their pie and coffee, talking about things in general, and then headed out the arched doorway. Joshua bade him good-night and returned to his room. This was a great story to write to Astrid about. A mystery in their own backyard. Although she probably knew about the first part, but not what happened when Daniel Jeffers left.

Joshua stacked the drawings he’d been working on for the windmill. He was about ready to take some of the iron pieces and see about constructing a full-sized one to make sure it worked. He and Mr. Sam had been discussing how to build it for weeks and now was the time to do it.

Sitting down with a fresh sheet of paper, he started writing again, this time with a pen.

Dear Dr. Bjorklund,

I had the most amazing conversation over supper tonight. Remember a man by the name of Jeffers who came to town looking for his father because he’d heard the man who bought Penny’s store was named Jeffers?

He continued writing the story until the end, filling two sheets of paper.

Isn’t this an interesting mystery? I think we should make up a Wanted poster of Harlan Jeffers and put it up in towns all around. Be nice if we had a photograph of him.

He laid his pen down and stretched his arms above his head. He’d not done this much writing at one time since he graduated from school. Farmers didn’t need to write a lot, especially if they were the hands and feet and not the brains of the outfit. He stared out the window. Moonlight was casting shadows on the snow, which was melting fairly quickly.

He’d checked his lot, but the ground was still frozen with ten, twelve inches of snow and drifts. He’d not measured down in the cellar. There would be standing water down there pretty soon.

Returning to his letter, he continued.

Thank you for writing to me, and you are forgiven. I was thinking that maybe in your letter back to me, you could tell me about something that you like. I’ll tell you one. We had Mrs. Sam’s dried-apple pie for supper. That woman makes the best pies anywhere. My mother baked good pies too, especially her rhubarb cream pie, the first every spring.

He started to tell her about his trip back home and then decided not to. He needed to think on it some more first.

I hope you are enjoying your classes and the warmer weather. The snow looks to be melting here, but Hjelmer reminded me that many blizzards have hit during March so not to get my hopes up.

Your friend,
Joshua Landsverk

THE NEXT MORNING after breakfast, he walked over to Hjelmer’s house, and the crew took his sleigh out to Lars’s machine shed, where they were building the house on wheels for the well-drilling crew. A door at either end of the mobile house allowed for ventilation for the hot summer months, and shelves and cupboards lined one end, along with a small stove that vented through the slightly pitched roof. On one long side were two long narrow doors on hinges that lifted up, screens on the inside. Brackets and braces lined the outer walls for carrying long pipes and the blades. Now they were building the boxes to attach underneath for the tools.

Hooks for hammocks were drilled into the two-by-fours for strength. Most of the lumber would be hauled in one wagon or shipped directly, depending on the location.

“I think we should call our company Blessing Well Drillers and Windmills,” Hjelmer said, standing back to study their handiwork. “We’ll paint that right on the side.”

“Pretty long for a name,” Haakan answered. “What about Blessing Wells or Blessing Drillers? When someone asks you can always explain.”

“True. Maybe we should just say Bjorklund Enterprises.” Hjelmer stroked his chin and repeated the name.

“Sounds pretty highfalutin.” Haakan sighted down one of the boards to see how straight it was.

“Highfalutin means what?” Trygve asked the question Joshua was thinking.

“A fancy term for
fancy
.”

“Oh.”

“Did you know Jeffers is back in town?” Joshua asked the group.

“Not the imposter?” Haakan frowned.

“No, the real Jeffers’ son who was here looking for his father. He’s thinking of moving to Blessing. Bringing his business here.”

“Has he found out anything about his father?”

“No. But not for lack of trying. Sure makes you wonder.”

“Well, all I got to say is that imposter better never stick his nose back in Blessing.” Hjelmer set to sawing the end off one of the boards. “He wouldn’t have a nose for long.”

“But what if he killed the real Jeffers to get his money?” Trygve asked as he slid his hammer into the loop on his tool belt and carried the board over to the side of the rig. “Things like that do happen, you know.”

“And his identity?”

Haakan shook his head. “There is probably some reasonable explanation.”

“Well, maybe we’ll never know.”

“I hope young Jeffers finds out what happened to his pa. Not knowing is an awful way to live,” Joshua said as he braced the board against the others and drove the first nail in. All those months he’d not known about his family. That was something he had to forgive himself for, not an easy task.

“Thorliff will find out, you watch.” Trygve slammed a nail home. “I heard the dinner bell. Ilse was making beef potpie.”

As the men headed for the house, Joshua kept thinking back to the conversation the night before. Was this what making friends felt like? He’d not had much time for friends since grammar school. Could friends be part of this new life of his? He glanced around at the men he was walking with. Or were they already?

7

ATHENS, GEORGIA

W
hat else struck you anew in the book of Matthew?” Rev. Thompkins asked as he looked out over his class, eyebrows raised.

Astrid thought hard about the question. She’d reread Matthew again to see what else stood out.

Dr. Gansberg raised his hand. “I guess I keep going back to the Sermon on the Mount. If we had no other Scripture, all that one needs to live the God kind of life is right there. People say they can’t understand the Bible, but Jesus laid God’s plan out very clearly, it seems to me.”

“You are right, Dr. Gansberg. I’d like to suggest you take the reading one step further and memorize those chapters.” He looked around to include the entire class. “When we memorize the Word, the Holy Spirit can bring it back to our minds when we most need it. We can indeed feed on it as we are commanded over and over, especially in the Psalms. God’s Word is food for our souls and spirits, but more than that, the answers are there for us to live by.”

Astrid thought back to all the verses Pastor Solberg had required them to memorize, how they had groaned and secretly complained. Someone had grumbled out loud once, and they all had to memorize Psalm 139. No one made that mistake again.

“Something I have learned through the years is that the more Scripture I memorize, the more easily I learn other things. My mind is clearer, and I reason better,” Rev. Thompkins said, looking right at her.

She leaned back in her chair.

He smiled. “Try it; don’t take my word for it.”

He might as well have said, “I dare you.”

“You heard right. Memorize the entire Sermon on the Mount, and that’s just the beginning.”

He pulled some folded papers out of his pocket. “This is what I do. I write the verses I want to memorize on papers to fit into my pocket, so when I have a few moments, I can pull them out and go over them. I break a chapter down into several sections and work on one at a time. I am always pleased when I realize how much I have accomplished, and rather painlessly as well. I was amazed at first when a teacher taught me this procedure.”

“At least men have pockets,” Astrid commented before she caught the thought and stomped on it.

The class chuckled. Mrs. Gansberg leaned forward. “By tomorrow you will have a pocket that can go with you everywhere, my dear.”

When she turned to thank her benefactress, she caught a rolling of eyes and an exasperated look from one of the younger men, who often sat with young Highsmith. He’d remarked a few days ago about single women in the mission field being a liability because they’d need to have men around to protect them.

Her thought then and now was that when that young man was injured or caught one of the deadly diseases, he might be really grateful to have a doctor near, even if she was female.