More Than a Dream (32 page)
‘‘They been seeing each other for near on two years, haven’t they?’’ Haakan leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. ‘‘That was mighty good. Nothing better than corn on the cob and fresh tomatoes. Your garden is doing you proud this year.’’
‘‘Enough rain makes a mighty big difference. We got Thorliff’s newspaper today. Astrid, you want to go get it and read some to us?’’
Astrid took her plate and Andrew’s and slid them into the soapy water waiting in the pan on the stove. When she brought the paper back, she took her chair over to the window to make full use of the sun.
Andrew fetched his carving knife and began turning a block of wood into a hump-backed creature that he’d only seen in pictures, a camel for the Nativity set.
Haakan scraped his pipe bowl clean and tamped in fresh tobacco, the fragrance of it both acid and sweet. He lit it with a flaming spill brought to him by his wife, who also brought him a cup of coffee.
Astrid read of an ice cream social held at Carleton College, a lecture by a visiting professor, predictions for harvests, a haystack that was struck by lightning. She read an editorial by Phillip Rogers on the pros and cons of Darwinism, and when she looked up to her mother, Ingeborg raised her hands shield fashion.
‘‘Don’t ask.’’
‘‘But Mor—’’
‘‘All I know is what the Bible says, and I don’t care how long the days were. God created, and he goes on creating today.’’
Astrid returned to her reading. ‘‘Here’s an article about the new books in the library. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a real library with rooms full of books and not just three or four shelves?’’
‘‘Many people would be exceedingly grateful for a whole shelf of books to choose from.’’
‘‘I know, but I’ve already read some of the ones on the shelves at school two and three times. Oh, here’s an article about a lady who wrote a book about a dog. It’s called
Beautiful Joe
.’’
‘‘I sure would like to read that book,’’ Andrew put in.
‘‘Me too. We should tell Thorliff to write a book about Paws. If that lady can write about a dog, why not Thorliff?’’
‘‘You write and suggest that to him.’’
‘‘I will.’’
‘‘Thank you, Astrid, for reading. Let’s save some for tomorrow night. As you go help your mor with the dishes, how about handing me my Bible?’’
‘‘You better read fast. You look about asleep already.’’ Ingeborg poured water from the reservoir into the rinsing pan. ‘‘You want to wash or dry?’’ she asked Astrid.
‘‘Dry.’’ Astrid handed her father the big leather-bound volume that had come from Norway with Roald and Ingeborg. ‘‘I think we should get a Bible written in English.’’
‘‘Why? Reading in Norwegian helps you remember your mother language.’’ Ingeborg dunked a plate in the rinse water and handed it to Astrid to dry.
‘‘But since I was born in America, why is Norwegian my mother language?’’
‘‘Good question. I guess it isn’t. But I still think it is important that you can read and speak both languages. Just think, Thorliff can read Greek and Latin too.’’
‘‘Whatever good
that
will do him.’’
‘‘Hey, Andrew,’’ Trygve called from the door, ‘‘you want to play hide-and-go-seek?’’
‘‘Sure.’’ Andrew scooped all his shavings and dumped the bits of wood in a can in the woodbox kept there specifically for his shavings to use for tinder.
‘‘Hurry, Mor, I want to go play too.’’ Astrid quickly dried another plate and added it to the stack.
‘‘You go on ahead. We’re about done.’’ Ingeborg took the dish towel from her daughter. ‘‘It’s a perfect evening for hide-and-seek.’’
Astrid kissed her mother on the cheek. ‘‘You’re the best mother ever.’’
When Ingeborg finished the dishes, she dumped the wash water out the door on her rosebushes and hung the pan on the hook behind the stove.
‘‘More coffee?’’
Haakan shook his head. ‘‘But I’ll take a cookie if you have any.’’
‘‘Sure.’’ Ingeborg set a plate of cookies on the table and took out the canister of sugar.
‘‘What are you making?’’
‘‘Raspberry swizzle. You know they’ll be thirsty after running like they do.’’ She paused to listen to the laughing and shrieking. She could hear Sophie teasing Andrew and Sammy calling Astrid. The dog added to the din, his joyous barks giving away the hiding place of one child after another, bringing shrieks of ‘‘No fair’’ and ‘‘Go away, Barney.’’
Ingeborg stirred the sugar and ginger in warm water until it melted, then she added the vinegar and poured in the canned raspberry juice.
She poured the drink into glasses, set out more cookies, and went to the door to call the children in.
‘‘Thank you, Tante Ingeborg. How did you know we wanted something special to drink?’’ Sophie took another long sip, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘‘Ma is sewing us new dresses for school. Ours are too short.’’
‘‘I think you each grew half a foot this summer. What has your mother been feeding you?’’
Grace’s eyes lit up. ‘‘Fertilizer.’’ She spoke slowly but precisely and giggled behind her hand when she saw all of them laughing.
‘‘You made a joke, Grace. You made a joke.’’ Astrid grabbed her hands and danced her around in a circle.
‘‘How’s the arm, Trygve?’’ Ingeborg held out the plate of cookies.
‘‘Good. Never hurts anymore. But not as strong as the other.’’ He rubbed the weaker arm that had yet to become as tanned as the left.
With gentle fingers, Ingeborg probed the once broken arm. The bone felt straight and true. ‘‘God healed you well.’’
‘‘Mor said the same thing. Thanks for the dessert. We better get home.’’
The four ran out the door laughing with Astrid and Andrew waving good-bye.
‘‘That was fun, but next time Barney has to stay inside. He goes and finds everyone.’’ Astrid pouted at the pup, whose busy tail gave the floor a good dusting.
The next morning Ingeborg took her first cup of coffee outside and stood on the top step of the porch looking out across the wheat fields, no longer shimmering like waves in the morning breeze. Shocks stood in orderly rows awaiting the lifting pitchforks that would throw them onto the wagon and from there onto the conveyor belt. When they finished up with their own fields, the men would follow the tractor that would haul the steam engine and separator to the next farm and the next, heading westward as the wheat ripened. The changing of the unchanging seasons.
Lord, I really don’t want Haakan to go this year. I mean, I never
do, but this year more so than ever. With all the work here . . .
She shook her head. What could she say? Threshing brought in cash money, as the threshing crew received a percentage of each farmer’s harvest, paid at the granaries along the railroad tracks. She sucked in a breath of the cool morning air, already tasting the hint of fall. Turning, she reentered the house and started breakfast. Not long before she’d be cooking for the threshing crew. For the local farmers, the women took food to help out whoever had the crew there that day. Meals were almost a party, as everyone got together for a welcome visit.
Three days later harvest began in earnest with the firing up of the steam engine that ran the threshing machine.
Less than a week after that, Ingeborg kissed Haakan good-bye and headed for the cheese house. Another batch of curd was ready for pressing, and several wheels were ready for their wax coating, after which they could be put on the cooler shelves to age. A batch of soft cheese was ready for sale, so she would ship some to Grand Forks and take the rest to Penny to fill the orders she had waiting at the store.
‘‘I know, Lord, I should be grateful for the work that we have and the blessings you have given us through this farm. Your Word says to sing praises to your name, to give thanks in all things. I am doing that. I praise you. I give you thanks. I worship your holy name, but Lord, this is truly a sacrifice of praise because I don’t feel thankful or grateful at all right now.’’ She slammed the weights down on the glutinous mass that would eventually be a rich wheel of cheese. Whey poured from between the slats and into a trough that fed to a spigot. The cans that brought milk from other farms would go home full of whey for pigs and other livestock. Nothing was wasted.
‘‘I will sing praises. I praise thee, my God.’’ She gritted her teeth and kept on with the words. A bit of a tune tiptoed into the far reaches of her mind and lifted up a word or two, then three and four, and finally she sang to herself.
I will praise thy name. I
praise thee. I worship thee, Lord God, heavenly king
. The song left her mind and forced itself out of her mouth until she was singing along with all her work.
‘‘That’s a pretty tune, Mor,’’ Astrid said when she came in the cheese house door.
‘‘Thank you. I guess I made it up.’’ Ingeborg sluiced a bucket of clean water over the cheese forms, then took a brush and scrubbed out the crevices, all the while humming her new song.
‘‘How come you are so happy?’’
‘‘I’m not happy. I’m—’’ Ingeborg stopped. After laughing at herself, she amended her words and thoughts. ‘‘I wasn’t happy; in fact I was downright mad because Haakan left.’’
‘‘But Pa always leaves for harvest.’’ Astrid turned off the spigot to the cans, capped the full one, spun it out of the way, and placed an empty one in its place.
‘‘I know he does, but I don’t have to like it.’’
‘‘And so you were singing ’cause you were mad?’’ Astrid’s face told how clearly she didn’t understand her mother.
‘‘No, dear heart, I took God at His word. He says we are to praise Him in all things, so even though I didn’t want to, I did, and pretty soon my heart was happy again. And it started singing.’’
‘‘So . . .’’ Astrid shook her head. ‘‘Doesn’t make sense.’’
‘‘I know, but since when does God have to make sense? He says to do something, and when we do it, He can make good out of it.’’
‘‘If you say so.’’
‘‘I say so. Now that this is all cleaned up again, let’s go visit Bestemor and Tante Penny. You start school next week and we won’t have time for many more visits together.’’
The two linked arms and headed for the house.
‘‘Where’s Andrew?’’
‘‘Checking his snares to see if he has any rabbits for Metiz; then he said he and Trygve were going fishing.’’
‘‘Good. We’ll have either fried fish or fried rabbit for supper.’’
‘‘And if I know Bestemor, we’ll have dinner at the boardinghouse.’’
‘‘We’re not canning today?’’
‘‘No, today is our holiday. No men to cook for and the summer about gone.’’
And the dark of winter will come far too soon, and we
better get out of here before I feel too guilty to leave. It’s not like there
is nothing here for me to do. Lord, please take care of the men as they
travel, and bring them home safely
.
Northfield, Minnesota
September
‘‘I am afraid of going back to Chicago.’’
There, she’d said it, even if only to her friend the mirror on the dresser in her bedroom. ‘‘And I don’t want to tell Mother because she is still nervous from that stupid abduction.’’ She ground her teeth for a moment. And it was worse now that she had finally remembered who that voice belonged to.
