A Harvest of Hope (4 page)

“Something sure smells good,” Manny announced as he sniffed his way in the door. His eyes lit up when he saw the mound of cookies. “Is Inga coming?”

“Manny McCrary, you are getting too smart for your britches. But yes. As soon as she gets here, we will go. There is buttermilk in the icebox or plain milk to go with the cookies. Carl is already down at the barn digging worms. He didn't even come up to the house, just got out the manure fork.” She had seen him with his bucket and dragging the fork that was taller than he. When that grandson of hers was born, God gave him an extra dose of determination.

Emmy fetched the glasses and the pitcher of buttermilk without asking Manny what he preferred, set them on the table, and then ran up the stairs to change to her home clothes, as she called them.

Patches' yipping of delight announced Inga before she called, “Grandma, I am here.” She burst through the door, Carl and his worm bucket right behind her. She threw her arms around Ingeborg and squeezed. “Oh, I have missed you so much.”

“Ja, me too.”

Inga looked up, not releasing her hold, a grin splitting her face. “You miss you too?”

Ingeborg shook her head. “You caught me again.” One had to be careful around Inga; she picked up every nuance.

After another squeeze Inga danced over to the table. “You made gingerbread men without me.”

“I sure missed my raisin stickers.”

Carl looked up at her with a slight frown. “I coulda helped you.”

She bent over and kissed his nose. “Next time I will call for you. Did you get lots of worms?”

“I did, so we can catch lots of fish.” He pulled out his chair at the table and climbed up. “Goodie wanted to come too, but I told her she was still too little. Can I take her a cookie after?”

That was Carl, always watching out for his little sister, Gudrun. What a good big brother he was. Ingeborg shot a thank-you heavenward. Such gifts God had given her in these children, grandchildren indeed.

By the time they got down to the river, Manny had slid down, but not by plan, sending the others into paroxysms of giggles.

Inga looked up at her. “Grandma, your sad eyes are gone.”

“Good. Now let's catch some fish.”

“If we didn't scare them all away. Too noisy.”

Leave it to Carl.

Emmy's bobber was the first to go under, and in spite of Carl's dire predictions, the fish were not only biting but nearly leaping to catch the worms before they hit the water. Ingeborg never did get time to throw out her own line. She was too busy pegging the fish through the gills, the stringer tied to a stake in the bank.

“Next time we need to bring a bucket,” she said and turned to help Carl get a hook out of the fish's mouth, but then Inga screamed that her pole was leaving and splashed into the water to save it.

Ingeborg dropped the fish and went after her, grabbing her pinafore strap at the same moment Inga slipped. Dragging the soaking girl back to the bank and sending thank-yous sky high, she realized the others were nearly collapsing in laughter.

Inga dragged the pole, and a huge fish jumped out of the river, hooked. “I didn't want to lose Grandpa's pole.” She turned and jerked the pole, sending the fish flying over their heads to slap on the bank.

Good thing Ingeborg ducked. “Better the pole than you.”

“Grandma, I know how to swim.” Inga handed her the pole and sloshed her way over to grab the flopping fish by the gills. “He's a big one, all right.” Patches, who'd been barking at the fish, leaped beside her.

“Biggest yet.” Carl always kept track of the biggest fish. “Inga wins today.”

Not waiting for her heart to settle back into place, Ingeborg asked, “How many have we got?”

“Fourteen with that one.” Carl might not be old enough for school yet, but he knew his numbers, especially when counting fish—or eggs.

She glanced over at Manny, whose eyes were as big as his face. “Guess we'll have enough pretty soon for all three houses.”

He nodded, saw his bobber go under, and jerked the pole before sitting down again. “That was close.”

About the time the mosquitoes started making a full-on attack, they wrapped the lines around the poles and buried the hooks in the cork bobbers. After stringing the fish on two long branches, they struggled up the bank, Ingeborg taking two trips, one to help Manny, much to his disgruntlement.

Inga stared down at her muddy clothes. “Ma is not going to be happy.”

“But we caught fish. Twenty-four fish.” Manny looked across the fields to see the cows lined up at the barn. “I'm late for milking.”

“Go ahead.”

“But—”

“Go.”

He stumped along the path as fast as he could, and the others gathered up the poles, Emmy and Inga with one stick of fish, Ingeborg and Carl the other. Each of them carried poles and Carl the worm bucket. Since they'd not used them all, he would stop at the barn and carefully put the remainder back in the manure pile for the next time.

As she listened to the children's chatter, Ingeborg realized she'd only thought of Haakan one time . . . when they first got there, and she remembered how much he loved taking the little ones fishing.

So sad that he'd not gone fishing more often.

Y
ou let me sleep!” Dr. Astrid Bjorklund Jeffers accused when she found her husband on the porch.

“I know. I checked with the hospital, and there was nothing there they couldn't handle, so I didn't call you.” Daniel Jeffers watched his wife carefully, trying not to be obvious.

“But I had a class to teach at one.”

“Deborah took that over. She said she knew the information well enough.”

Astrid sank down on the settee, and instantly her mother-in-law, Amelia Jeffers, set a cup of coffee beside her along with a sandwich.

“You'll feel better once you get something in your stomach.”

Astrid sucked in a deep breath and reminded her jaw to unclench. Wagging her head, which still twinged with the headache that had forced her to lie down for just a few minutes but ended up well over two hours, she muttered something unintelligible.

“Now eat. If they need you, well, that's why we have a telephone.”

Knowing he was right didn't make it any easier. After a bite of sandwich, she cradled her coffee cup with both hands.

“Can I warm up your coffee?” Amelia arrived with the coffeepot and filled her son's cup. “Astrid?”

“Just started on it. Thanks for the lunch.”

“It's good to see you sitting down for a change.” She filled a cup for herself and returned the pot to the kitchen. Before sitting down on the porch, she set a plate of cookies on the table.

Astrid inhaled the aroma of molasses. “I wonder how long it has been since I baked cookies, or anything for that matter.”

“I can't count that far.” Daniel flopped the corner of his paper forward enough to wink at her. “Good thing there are others who take good care of your poor neglected husband.”

“Really?” Astrid lowered her cup but relaxed again when he winked at her. “I do worry about that, you know.”

“Haven't you enough to worry about with the hospital, training the nurses, caring for patients? Do you have to borrow trouble?”

Amelia rolled her eyes this time and tapped Daniel on the arm. “You should talk. Let's see, creating a training program for new workers, overseeing the ones you have, fixing the machinery when it breaks, selling the machinery you have produced—”

“Don't forget turning Pa's plans into reality,” Daniel interjected.

“Oh, and helping whoever needs something.” Astrid joined the game.

“Do you mind if I read my paper in peace?”

“Not at all. What does Thorliff have to say this week?” Astrid watched her husband over the top of her cup. Was he looking tired too, or was it the shadows on the porch? She finished her sandwich and reached for a cookie at the same moment the telephone rang the two times for their house. One ring was Thorliff's. She motioned Amelia to stay seated and strode back into the house.

“They need you at the hospital,” reported Gerald Valders, who was now the manager for the telephone company as well as
taking the switchboard when needed. “Deborah said it wasn't a critical emergency. One of the construction workers got a bad slice on the arm.”

“Thanks. I'll get right over there.” Astrid hung up, grabbed her bag, and waved to the others as she left the porch. “I'll do rounds too before I come home.”

“Supper will be waiting.”

“I have a meeting at seven,” Daniel called, raising his voice to make sure she heard.

She waved an acknowledgment and continued her fast walk. Jogging didn't seem necessary. If the man was bleeding dangerously, the nurse would have said so. They needed to attach numbers to the word
emergency
, but they all understood
stat
.

She pushed open the hospital door to be greeted by the fragrance of red and yellow blooming roses, a bouquet that always adorned the desk, thanks to Amelia's rose garden. She renewed it as needed. Roses smelled better than disinfectant any day. She could hear the nurses in the first examining room. Stopping in the doorway, she watched them at work. Nurse Vera was cleaning the wound, Gray Cloud arranging the tray, Dawn Breaking with her fingers pressed on the inner side of his elbow, and Deborah supervising, making suggestions as needed.

She turned to smile at Astrid. “This one needs stitches.” She raised her hands. “I know I could have done it, but we are working with protocol, right?”

Astrid nodded. “Do you have a name for our patient, and does he speak English?”

“Mr. Buchmeister and yes.” Deborah smiled at the man on the table watching their every move.

Astrid smiled at him. “You are in good hands, Mr. Buchmeister. We'll get you fixed up right away. By the way, I am Dr. Bjorklund.” With that she stepped to the basin to scrub. “Everyone scrubbed before touching the patient?” They all nodded. Astrid shook her hands and walked over to Vera to look
over her shoulder. “Good. Have you examined it closely for any remaining detritus?” After a nod, she added, “and irrigated it with sterile water?”

“We had to stop the bleeding first.” She nodded to Dawn Breaking, who was pressing against the artery to stop the flow.

“Is the blood coagulating?”

Vera nodded. Gray Cloud shot Astrid a questioning look.

Deborah explained the term, and the Indian woman nodded.

“All right, Dawn. Release the pressure slowly.” When the blood started flowing again, Astrid asked. “Is the flow less now than in the beginning?”

They all nodded.

“Good. Vera, will you check to make sure the tray is supplied?”

When she started to say, “But we . . .” Astrid continued. “Always double and even triple check. Mistakes are far too easy to make, and when you are under a lot of pressure, even easier. Establish good habits, and that will save a patient's life at some point.”

“Now irrigate the wound again with carbolic acid, and we'll close it up.” She turned to their patient. “I'm sorry, sir, but this is going to sting pretty bad.”

“Yoost get it done. Danke.” Though his accent was heavy, at least he could understand them.

While Astrid closed the wound with small, perfectly spaced stitches, she explained each step to her nurses, then asked Vera, “Have you ever sutured a wound before?”

“No.”

“Then come here beside me. Do you know how to sew and tie knots?”

“Well, yes. We covered that in training, just never on a patient.”

“Remember what you did.” Astrid demonstrated on one more stitch and then, after cutting the silk, handed her the needle. “Now you do the next one.”

Vera sucked in a deep breath. “I'd never get a chance to do this in Chicago.”

“Probably not.” Astrid watched carefully. “Good, good. Now see, that wasn't so hard. I suggest you take one of our needles, since they are different than those used in fabric, and practice. Let's see, how many more stitches do you think we need?”

“Uh, two maybe?” Vera looked to Deborah, who nodded, and then to Astrid, who did the same. “You want me to do them?”

Mr. Buchmeister cleared his throat.

Astrid turned to him. “Don't worry. I'd never let her make a mistake.”

When the stitches were in, she nodded to Deborah. “This next is what you covered today and yesterday, right?” At her nod, she turned to the two Indian women. “Now, I want you to tell me what to do, step by step.” She smiled when their eyes widened. “Dr. Red Hawk will be very proud of you.”

When they were finished, their patient sat up and grabbed his shirt. “No money to pay you until payday.”

“You were injured on the job?” At his nod, she smiled. “I'll send the bill to the company. Please don't go rolling in the dirt, and try to keep it clean. We'll change the dressing in a couple of days and see how it is doing.”

“Danke. Thank you.” Out the door he hustled, as if they might run after him and do something else.

After the shift change, when Corabell replaced Vera, Astrid conducted evening rounds, checking each of their patients and asking the nurses what they had seen during the day regarding each one. While the nurses served the supper trays, Astrid stopped in the office to see what absolutely required her attention. She picked up the list of needed supplies and sent the two Indian women home for the night, leaving Corabell on duty. Astrid went to Elizabeth's to drop off some papers, said good-night, and headed home. Sure enough, it was seven thirty. But that was earlier than some other nights.

The sun was setting, with a fine line glowing on the western horizon. The evening star, holding back the true dark of night, was already smiling down at her. A bullfrog announced his availability, while the others sang the melody, and a mosquito whined in her ear. Somewhere over in the tents, a baby cried and was hushed, a dog barked twice, and she could see the kerosene light on her front porch, backed up by the lighted windows.

Their house did look friendly, one of Astrid's requirements when she and Daniel had discussed the plans. She mounted the steps to the back porch, the lamp flickering in a slight breeze. A nip in the air reminded her that fall might be a bit late this year, but it was coming soon. Even the air smelled like fall, a tang to it that summer didn't have.

“I'm home.”

“I'll be right there.” Amelia bustled through the door into the kitchen. “I have your supper in the warming oven.”

Astrid had given up saying “You needn't do that.” Amelia, like her son, would do what she felt was right, and she saw her place in Blessing as taking care of her son and his doctor wife. And her rose garden, which was known and admired far and wide. The work of her hands graced the registration counter at the boardinghouse, Penny's mercantile, the church on Sunday morning, and Thorliff's house.

Astrid set her bag in its appointed place by the door and, after washing her hands at the sink, allowed herself to finally sink down in a chair at the table.

“You look tired.”

“I shouldn't after a nap like I had.”

“One nap can't make up for all the short nights.” Amelia set a plate with baked squash, potatoes, and baked chicken in front of her. “Would you like a roll? I'll warm it for you, since it was baked yesterday.”

Astrid stretched her neck, tilting her head from side to side. “Thanks, but this is plenty.” Amelia was already slicing two
rolls. Astrid shook her head for what little good her opinion counted. Amelia buttered them and laid them in a frying pan, then pulled it to the hotter section of the stove.

“That's okay. I wanted one too. All of a sudden that just sounded good. I thought tea might be good too.” She fetched two mugs from the cupboard and set them on the cooler end of the stove, then poured water from the steaming kettle into the rose-trimmed teapot. The fragrances of tea and hot butter waltzed across to the table.

Astrid smashed her potatoes and added butter, all the while shaking her head. She and Daniel would certainly not be this well cared for without Amelia. And the lady had worried she would not be useful.

“How are your English classes going?” she asked.

Amelia smiled. “I think I'll add one on Saturday afternoon for some of the men who are too tired in the evening and for any of the wives who want to come. I have ten, no, eleven pupils in the class during school. Two hours every morning is not really enough to catch them up with the others. We need people to tutor those who are so far behind in school.”

“That's an interesting thought. Like my two Indian nurses. Mor is helping them with English, and while they can read, just barely, she is helping with that too.” Astrid paused. “Perhaps that is too much for her right now.” Just the thought of her mother's grief brought her own crashing back down on her. Far was gone and the tears sprang out of nowhere and cascaded down her face.

“I know.” Amelia set the rolls on the table, along with the steaming teapot, and settled into her chair. She stroked Astrid's hand and arm. “Oh, I so know how it hits you again like that. Grief waits and pounces when you least expect it.” She handed Astrid a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “And that is why you must let Ingeborg help any way she can. Doing for others is one of the best comforts when you are suffering like she is, like all of you are.”

She checked the tea and poured it into their cups. “I remember one day when your pa came to help me with the garden. He insisted on spading up an area along the fence that the weeds were trying to take over. While I pulled weeds and raked, he told me what it was like when he first came to Blessing. What a great storyteller he was, and such a memory. Did you know that little Andrew got lost in the grass and a wolf found him?”

Astrid sniffed. “I've heard the story so often. Metiz' Wolf. Even wild animals remember the good a person does for them. Metiz freed him from a trap and doctored his foot, and Wolf never forgot that. He even brought his family back to visit one year, but after Metiz died, we never saw him again.” She reached for one of the toasted half buns and sniffed again.

“Mor always said Metiz helped keep them alive those first years. She taught them how to live on this land like the Indians did, harvesting more than wheat and hay from the land. That is where Mor got her fund of knowledge of natural medicines, although she and her mother learned that in Norway too.” She glanced down, surprised to see that her plate was empty.

“Someone needs to write these stories down. They are the history of this valley.”

“Thorliff is the writer in the family. I'll suggest it.” A tiny head shake accompanied her words. Thorliff was worse off than she, and he wouldn't talk about it. He just drove himself onward.

A few minutes later, she thanked Amelia and pushed herself away from the table.

“You leave those dishes alone. I have to have something to do.”

“Of course you do.” She inhaled. “What is that I smell?”

“Oh, I have rose petals drying for potpourri. I'm going to mix a bit of mint in too for an unusual touch. By the way, I hung plenty of mint, so we have it for tea too. Your mother and I are going to dig sarsaparilla roots. She said she knows of a place with plenty of them. Her knowledge of natural remedies is fascinating.”