A Harvest of Hope (35 page)

Shoulders. She remembered something. Carefully she forced her hand in far enough to reach the baby's armpit. Could she tilt the shoulder girdle so that one shoulder was higher than the other? Then it would fit better. Yes, it worked. She withdrew.

She grabbed another stack of absorbent pads off the side table and laid them nearby. They were going to need them.

The shoulders and one arm. Here was the other arm. And then the head slid out.

Elizabeth's baby had arrived.

Instantly, Miriam gripped the tiny ankles and lifted the baby high. She must suction . . . where was the suction syringe? She had forgotten to lay it out! And she could not let go. She was about to scream for Corabell when the baby made a little sound.

She tapped the soles of the baby's feet and began a gentle hum.

The baby cried. It was not a lusty wail that all welcomed. It was feeble, but it was a cry. The baby's ribs heaved, and it cried louder. Yes! And the child was so petite. Of course newborns were always tiny, but this child was tinier than a newborn and scrawnier. And a boy.

Elizabeth was already bleeding heavily, and the placenta had not yet appeared.

Miriam laid the baby, head downward, across Elizabeth's abdomen, up high, because she had to knead the lower area. She had seen Astrid do this. She should tie off the cord, but Elizabeth was bleeding. She kneaded. Her fingers tired and a pinky cramped up. She kneaded. Then a shadow fell across Elizabeth's belly, and Dr. Astrid was there! She began kneading strongly.

Astrid was there! Thank God! Praise God!

Dr. Astrid said, “You keep kneading. Good. Do you see how I am using the heels of my hands? Good. Good!”

“The baby—”

“The mother comes first.”

Were they making some progress, or was that Miriam's imagination? Elizabeth wailed again, and the placenta slipped out onto the table, a flaccid purple thing.

Here was Ingeborg! Praise God again! Ingeborg sang her own praise to God as she gently lifted the tiny baby away and took the placenta with her.

“Miriam, replace the pads. We want to know if the hemorrhage is slowing.”

Miriam slipped in fresh pads as she yanked the others away and tossed them under the table. Just stopping for that moment helped her pinky loosen up. She went back to kneading.

Astrid relaxed a bit. “I think we're out of the woods.”

Now, what did that mean? No one in Chicago ever said “We're out of the woods,” and Chicago certainly had more woods than Blessing ever did. The bleeding appeared to be slowing. Yes, it definitely was slowing. It seemed pretty much the normal bleeding expected.

The crisis was past. Elizabeth had slipped into a semiconscious state, and Astrid was taking over. Ingeborg, with the baby at the side table, had tied off the cord and was cutting it. Miriam realized she had also forgotten to set out the string and scissors. Even first-year nurses did better than that!

Her hands were bloody. She looked at her hands, her slim, tiny hands. She should be jubilant! It was over! Success! Rejoice! A baby boy was born.

Her face dropped forward, to be covered by her bloody hands, and she began to sob uncontrollably.

I
am having a hard time believing you delivered that baby by yourself. He came early and presented breech, yet you pushed on through.” The three of them were in Elizabeth's room at the hospital, two days after that momentous Christmas Day. Astrid automatically checked Elizabeth's pulse while they talked.

Miriam shook her head. “I am still in a state of shock. I panicked more than once, but like your mor always says, ‘God is in control.' Up until I saw all this, I could not believe that He cared that much for us—for me. All I could see were the terrible things happening.”

While normal color had yet to return to Elizabeth's face, and feeding her tiny son took all her strength, she reached out to take Miriam's hand. “Without you and these small hands of yours, both of us would have died. God told you what to do, and you did it.”

“So an idea, a memory, can be God talking?”

“Yes. When we are His children, He communicates with us in more ways than you can ever dream.”

“Including dreams,” Astrid added. She glanced over to the baby bed, where little Roald lay on fleece and surrounded by
hot water bottles, a light tent helping keep the heat in. Usually he was tucked in right next to his mother, but the doctor had ordered her to get some sleep without having to worry about the infant beside her.

Ingeborg tapped at the door. “Is this the gathering of the medical team?”

“Seems that way.” Astrid smiled at her mother. “Welcome.”

“I brought the baby a sling so that we can take turns carrying him next to our skin so he does not get a chill. And Elizabeth can rest better.” She laid the soft flannel sling on the bed and drew a jar of liquid from her basket. “Here is that compound the Metiz taught me about so many years ago. It helps make one stronger and seems to increase milk flow. I mixed it with honey and water. I have also been asking around for someone to wet-nurse him, if we need that.”

Astrid checked on Elizabeth, who had fallen sound asleep again. She nodded and motioned them all to leave the room, bringing the baby bed with them and gently closing the door behind them. “So, Mor, show us how this works, please.” She held up the flannel contraption.

“Come into the office, and I'll show you.”

Within a few minutes the tiny infant was slung tight against her chest, and she buttoned up her sweater, since her waist no longer closed. “Skin to skin is the best, at least that's what Metiz always said. I'd forgotten all about this until last night.”

“Don't tell me you had a dream.” Miriam's half shrug accompanied a smile. “So that leaves one's hands free to do whatever needs to be done?”

“Ja, and see, it is working.” The baby had stopped the little whimpers of discontent at being moved around and seemed to be sleeping again.

Ingeborg patted the bulge of baby. “He already knows when he is hungry, a true Bjorklund for certain.” She gently swayed, a mother kind of natural motion.

“Miriam, let's go check on the other patients, and Mor can sit in Elizabeth's room on watch. Not that I think it might be needed, but I am taking no chances.”

They checked on the man in Room 1. He'd gone back into the burning barn to get the horses and cows out. A flaming plank fell on him. His son dragged him out. Several others were treated and sent home.

When they had finished seeing to the patients on the ward and were back in the office, Miriam asked, “Do you really think this baby is six weeks or so premature?”

“Good question. Why do you ask?”

“He seems stronger than the tiny preemies I saw at the hospital in Chicago. I mean, he can nurse, and his cry is growing more lusty all the time.”

“That we miscalculated the day he was due is a very real possibility. His lungs sound good, and he is digesting his milk. I am in awe that they are both alive. I was so afraid . . .” She cleared her throat. “Elizabeth's last recovery took months.”

“Inga?”

“Well, her too, but Elizabeth lost a couple of babies after that.”

“Oh, that is so hard on a mother. It happens a lot, doesn't it?”

“Especially with mothers who lack nutrition and women who wear those horrible corsets. The babies have no room to grow.” Astrid shuddered. “I abhor fashions at times, so often worn at the expense of the baby or the mother's health.”

“Dr. Morganstein often said the same thing when she spoke to the nursing students.” Miriam turned to leave when she was needed elsewhere.

Astrid picked up her pen and started working on the stack of charts, something that always got put off. Miriam had taken over much of that, and Deborah and Corabell managed the inventory and ordering of supplies. They had survived another
crisis with the fire from the Helder farm and a surprise baby. What an unforgettable Christmas this had been.

I have to see Trygve
. The thought zapped Miriam whenever she had a free moment. As soon as she had caught Vera and Deborah up on the status of all the patients at the changing of the shift, she shrugged into her coat. Mother and baby were doing well, considering what they had both been through. Ingeborg had stayed with them most of the day, since Emmy had spent the day with Inga while Freda and Manny were crating up another shipment of cheese. How the lives of the people of Blessing intertwined, leaving Miriam in a constant state of amazement.

I have to see
Trygve
. The thought kept time with her boots crunching the crusty snow on her way back to the boardinghouse. It wasn't like him not to show up, but since all the nurses had been swapping shifts since they were so busy, and all the crews were working to finish the upper floor of the apartment building and to get one of the three houses ready to be lived in, she had to remind herself to be patient.
But
I have so much to tell him
.

The sun was already sinking, flaming the sky and sending shadows to blue the snow. As cold as it was, she was grateful the walk was not far. She'd taken Ingeborg's advice and always wore a scarf to pull up over her mouth and nose. Even so, she stopped at the gate to the boardinghouse, just to watch the sun give up and sink beyond the distant horizon line. Oh, how beautiful. She'd never noticed sunsets and sunrises in Chicago. Here one had to stop and stand in awe at such magnificence.

Letting a sigh escape, she trudged up the steps that had recently been swept and pushed open the door to the boardinghouse. Fragrances of fresh bread, cooking beef, and coffee tantalized her to go straight into the dining room, but since no one was at the desk, she unwrapped her scarf and climbed the
stairs to her room, half expecting Corabell to meet her with an invitation to have supper together.

A note in the door hanger caught her attention. She pulled it out and read it before she hung her coat in the closet.

May I join
you for supper?
She smiled at the briefness and his signature. Had he read her mind or what? She sat down in the rocker and read it again. Was this another one of the little things that Ingeborg would say was God sprinkling blessings? After what she had experienced, she gave up and admitted that only God could have put all the people and happenings in the right place and in the right order to save both Elizabeth and her tiny son, and then gave her the knowledge to do the right thing. If she'd not been there, they might have died. Every time she thought of those events, she felt a surge of gratitude. Death had come so close that night. But when she had checked on Elizabeth just before leaving, Thorliff was sitting with her, holding one of her hands while her other arm was cuddling their infant son. Love glowed in that room.

And now she knew for absolute certain. Love glowed in her too. She tipped her head against the back of the rocker and fingered the carved heart she now wore tucked under her uniform. The heart Trygve gave her. He'd said she was in his heart.

And now she knew. She knew. She loved Trygve Knutson the way a woman should love a man, this man that God had given her, another one of His amazing gifts. Now she knew too that God loved her, Miriam Hastings, and that she loved Trygve and wanted nothing more than to be his wife. To share the love that shone from his eyes. That she had just seen with Thorliff and Dr. Elizabeth.

Thank you
, Lord, he is coming to supper
. How would she tell him? Too many people in the dining room. It was too cold out to go for a walk. Or was it? Do I write him a note? Blurt it out?
Lord, what should I do? I have nothing to give
him.
She had embroidered three handkerchiefs with his initials, TK, on
them for his Christmas present. She heard the bell calling them to supper. If she went down now, would he be there?

Should she wait? Miriam shook her head. How silly could one get? She ordered the butterflies somersaulting in her middle to go back to sleep. She washed and tried to put some order in her hair, but when the second pin fell to the floor, she leaned on the washstand and stared into the mirror. Her fingers were shaking too much to insert the hairpins. How preposterous. Bundling the mass into a snood, she shook her head at the face in the mirror, pinched her cheeks to bring up some color, and headed for the door.

Just as she reached for the knob, someone knocked.

“Here I am.” Ignoring the shock, she pulled the door open to see Corabell smiling at her.

“You have a guest waiting for you.” Her eyes twinkled in the lamplight. “I was hoping you would sit at a table with me, but I know you would prefer your guest.” Her giggle trailed over her shoulder as she went to her room.

“Aren't you going down?” There went the butterflies again.

“In a bit. You go ahead.” More giggles. Corabell was giggling. Ah, yes, so many changes as to seem overwhelming at times.

When she started down the stairs, she saw him leaning against the banister post, looking up at her. His smile widened. Surely he had the most perfect smile she had ever seen. She trailed her hand down the carved wooden banister, almost wishing she could turn and run back upstairs. But not tonight. Tonight she would tell him.

“I was afraid you might have to work late.” His voice set her heart to double time. Deep and vibrant, full of warmth. Did he use this warm tone with others, or was this the way he talked only with her?

“I'm glad you came.” She reached the bottom step and slid her hand into the crook of his arm. “I wanted you to come.”

“Really? Perhaps that was what I was hearing.”

“What?”

“Your invitation.” Together they walked into the dining room, and he pulled out a chair at a table for two, not where she usually sat.

“Maisie said she reserved this just for us.” His hand brushed her shoulder after he pushed her chair back in. “Tonight we are not going to hurry, so no one better have an emergency of any kind.”

How do I
tell him? What if he has changed his mind?
Crazy thoughts chased each other through her mind while they ate.

“Dessert tonight is apple pie,” Lily Mae told them when she took their plates away.

“How did you know that is my favorite?” Trygve smiled up at her. “And Mrs. Sam makes pies that you never forget.”

“Actually, I baked the pies today, but everyone says they's good. No complaints.”

“Then thank you.” He looked to Miriam, who nodded. She'd never made a pie in her life. Perhaps Ingeborg or his mother would teach her. Or Mrs. Jeffers.

Slowly the other diners pushed back their chairs and left the room, with some people going to the parlor but most to their rooms. Miriam scraped up the last of the apple juice on her plate.

Tell him now before someone else interrupts.

“What is it? Something is bothering you.”

“I have so much to tell you, I don't know where to begin.”
Help me, Lord.
How strange it felt to have thoughts like that. And yet . . . how comforting to know He listened.

She leaned forward. “Trygve Knutson, yes, I love you and yes, I will marry you.” The words came out in a rush, tripping over each other and her tongue.

His eyes widened, delight started in his eyes and then pulled his cheeks into a smile. “You mean that? You are sure now?” He reached across the table and took her hand, his fingers warm and firm.

She nodded. “I have learned three things since Christmas.”

“And they are?”

“That God is who He says He is, and He loves me.” She paused, trying to corral the words and thoughts so she could speak without stammering.

“That's two.”

“I love you.”

“You are sure?” He narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely?” He took her other hand and laid his arms on the table, their hands clasped in the middle, his thumbs drawing magnetic circles on the backs of her hands.

She nodded. “Absolutely. I know it took me a long time to be sure, but if you still want to marry me, I . . . I want to be Mrs. Trygve Knutson for the rest of our lives.”