A Harvest of Hope (7 page)

T
omorrow she would be back in Blessing.

Miriam stared out at the blackness broken up by small towns and dotted by farms. Trygve's last letter, which came just before she was to leave, said the wheat harvest was finishing and the threshing crew would disband. He said Ingeborg had “sad eyes,” as Inga called them. Tears were close to the surface for many in Blessing. Haakan was terribly missed.

Miriam leaned her head back against the seat. Oh, she understood tears. Would they ever cease? Would the hole in her heart eventually heal? On one hand, she knew it would, and on the other . . . But when? Mrs. Korsheski had reminded her that healing would take time, and hard work would help. Miriam knew the woman understood whereof she spoke. She had lost both mother and husband in the last couple of years. Her children were grown. She dreamed of going to visit them all one day, since many of them lived other places.

The thought of someday having children of her own reminded her again of the man who insisted he loved her. How could someone really know love as quickly as he'd said he did? With the clacking wheels, her mind wandered back to the early years when her father was still alive and they lived in a real house, not a tenement. Back to the days of laughter, with their father
teasing his wife and throwing whatever child was a baby up in the air, and them all laughing. Laughing! Had the latter years killed the laughter, or was it the unrelenting poverty?

She, at least, had been ahead in school and was able to finish. But Tonio hadn't. As each of them reached an age where they could find work that brought in money, they'd quit school. Now, finally, the two youngest ones were back in school. Now that Tonio and Mercy and Este had steady jobs so they could support the family. How could Mercy go into nurses' training without finishing high school?

If I married Trygve, my
family could come to Blessing, and they could all go
to school.
She slammed her head back against the seat. Where had that thought come from? That would be a terrible reason to marry a man. She could feel her drooping eyes widen and reminded herself to close her mouth. Glancing around at the other passengers near her, she was gratified to see no one was staring at her. She had a job promised at the hospital in Chicago. Then her younger sisters at least could go back to school.

But what about Mercy and Tonio and Este? Now guilt had names.

Go to sleep!
Somehow her mind refused to obey the order and instead rampaged ahead. Blessing, the people there, the clean air, the hospital that was so in need of good help, the training of new nurses, the dreams of the Bjorklund women and others for the hospital and the town. A house of her own. That one stopped the parade!

She pulled the last letter out of her reticule again and held it up to the dim light. Trygve Knutson wrote a good letter, and he lived up to his word. He cared about the people around him. She could feel the grief. Haakan, Mr. Bjorklund, was a fine man. How was Ingeborg bearing up? Probably like she was. You do what you have to do and cry into your pillow.

At least in Blessing she would be as busy as she could handle. And then some.

Miriam and Mrs. Korsheski had talked about the little hospital and how she could help the most. Her mind drifted back to that conversation, safer than the visions of a certain broad-shouldered, very good-looking young man. Would he be at the train?

Oops, back to Mrs. Korsheski and their talk.

“We are dreaming that one day soon we can send our interns out there for experience also,” Mrs. Korsheski had said in her office the other day. “If we can develop that as a true arm of our hospital, our program will be so much more beneficial to both our doctors and our nurses. That Blessing hospital is going to need someone to run it, an administrator to take the burden off the doctors Bjorklund. I wish I could send one with you now.

“I've even thought of bringing Astrid's mother, Ingeborg, back here to teach a few weeks on the uses of the ancient healing ways she is so versed in. Our medical world likes to think the new is always better, but I have seen too much to put all my confidence in the new.” She'd leaned forward in her chair. “Enough about my dreams. I have here some things for you to take with you—some for the hospital, and a packet for each of the Indian nurses. Dr. Bjorklund's letter says their names are Dawn Breaking and Gray Cloud. Also, I haven't had any reports from that hospital since you left, so when you get there, please let me know what has gone on.”

“I will.” The idea of adding to their fund of knowledge appealed to Miriam. During her time in Blessing, she had come to respect and admire Ingeborg and had gotten only a glimpse of her wisdom. “I think a lot about how quickly our young patient Manny healed. It was due in large part to Ingeborg's dedication to both his mental and physical ability. You should have seen how she worked with him. He did not have time to lie around and feel sorry for himself. She made him work, and sometimes when I went in his room, he was dripping with sweat from his
efforts. His muscles did not atrophy, as happens to so many with severe breaks and surgery like that.” She didn't mention all the hours she had known Ingeborg and others spent praying for the boy, since she herself doubted the efficacy of prayer.

And she told Mrs. Korsheski, “I'm afraid I feel torn in two directions.”

“Oh, and how is that?”

“Between here and there.”

The train whistle blew and the train slowed for a stop, bringing her back to the present. She had actually voiced her concern to Mrs. Korsheski, when she'd not even admitted it to herself. What was it the nurse had said? Her exact words?

“You will do well
either way. Or both ways. Sometimes we can have our
cake and eat it too. And keep in mind that
what God plans for you is far better than what
you can plan for yourself.”

It was the last part she'd tried to put aside. Her mother had believed that too, and look what it got her.

An early trip to heaven to be with her beloved? What is so wrong with that?

But she had wanted to stay with her children. She'd heard her say so.

Tears flooded her eyes again. What had her mother seen, known, to be able to smile like that?
Oh, Mama, I
miss you so, and I sure do hope you were
right about heaven.
After the stop and two passengers had settled into seats, she wrapped her coat around her and, settling her head on the windowsill, fell into a light sleep that broke every time they stopped. She had known there would be many stops, but she'd never imagined there'd be this many.

Early Sunday morning she woke to find a little boy standing in front of her, staring. She shook herself awake and sat up.

“Bertie, don't bother the lady.” The woman across the aisle smiled apologetically. “I'm sorry, miss.”

“He startled me is all.” Miriam watched the boy throw himself against his mother's lap, as if she'd scolded him, and then peer at her from his safe place. “How old is he?”

“Bertie is three. Show the nice lady how old you are.” The little man's tongue came out and he stared at his hand, seeming to will his fingers to obey. When he got three up, he grinned at his mother. “Very good.” From the looks of the woman, it wouldn't be terribly long before Bertie had either a new baby brother or sister in his life.

“Where are you going?”

“To Blessing, just west of Grand Forks, North Dakota. What about you?”

“We are going farther, to Bismarck. Have you been there?”

“No, Blessing is the farthest west I've been.” Not that she'd been east of Chicago either. “Will you be staying there?”

“Yes. Bertie's papa is already there. He says I will love the town and the people. But I've never been away from my family before, and this is so far away.”

“From where? I mean, where was home?” She smiled at the little boy, which sent him burying his face in his mother's skirt again.

“We live in Rochester, south of the Twin Cities. Or rather, we lived there.” She sniffed as if she were about to cry.

“Leaving is hard.”

Just then the whistle blew again, and Bertie covered his ears with both hands.

While his mother comforted him, Miriam looked out the window.

“Grand Forks. Next stop Grand Forks.” The conductor made his way through the car and stopped beside her. “Not too far to Blessing now, miss. You ever eaten at the boardinghouse there?”

“That is where I'll be living.”

“Fine place, Blessing.” He wagged his head. “That little town sure is growing.”

Miriam watched him sway on down the aisle. Funny he should mention the boardinghouse. She wondered if the others had moved her things over to the new wing yet. Soon she would be there again. Was she feeling anticipation or dread?

Blessing did indeed come soon, as the conductor had promised. The train jolted and wheezed to a stop.

“Thank you for traveling with us, miss,” the conductor said with a smile as he helped her down. “I think there is a young man waiting for you.” He nodded over his shoulder. “I know him. Trygve Knutson. He's a good man, a real fine young man.” He tipped his hat to her and reached back for her carpetbag. “You had a couple of larger boxes too, right?”

“Yes, sir. They went in the baggage car.”

“They'll be unloading them with the other supplies for here.”

Miriam smiled back at the conductor and hoped she'd said thank-you. It was like her gaze was locked on the man coming toward her, and she found that she couldn't look away. Smile, don't smile. But her lips knew better than her mind as the smile stretched. He was even better looking than she'd remembered.

He stopped in front of her, his smile taking up his whole face. But about the time she thought he was going to lock her in his arms, just before she could take a step back, if she could take a step back, he nodded. “Welcome home.” Then he offered her his bent arm. “Let's go make sure your other things are here.” Picking up her bag with the free hand, he strolled off with her as if they'd seen each other just yesterday.

The sigh she heaved came clear from her toes.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm just grateful to be walking on a floor that doesn't move.”

He squeezed her hand against his side. “I was beginning to think you would not return, but my tante Ingeborg assured me that you had given your word and you would keep it.”

Be honest
. “Actually, I tried not to come, but Nurse Korsheski would not allow it.”

“I'm sorry to hear about your mother.”

The burn started instantly. “Thank you.”

“The rest of your family is all right?”

“Yes. Sad, but I think since they saw our mother suffering more than I did, they were grateful she's no longer suffering. I am too, but . . . I . . . I wanted more time with her. But not so terribly weak like she was.” She heaved another sigh. “There are no easy answers is one lesson I am learning.”