No Distance Too Far (8 page)

“Good. Thank you.”

“We have here a thank-you note from Maydell. ‘Dear church women, thank you for the lovely wedding gift. The quilt you made looks so pretty on our bed. Thank you too for the presents for the housewarming. You all make such pretty towels and linens and things. And we really needed a new broom. Sincerely, Mr. and Mrs. Gus Baard.’ ”

“Time we get going on another one. You never know when these young folks are going to take a shine to one another.”

“Seems a shame more of our young women don’t come to quilting.”

Ingeborg knew it was Hildegunn speaking, but she didn’t turn around.
Ignore her,
she commanded herself.
Let someone else stick up
for those not here.
When no one did, Mary Martha continued.

“We’ll move on to old business, then. Our first topic is the wagon of supplies for the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota. We’ve had some discussion in the past, but today we will be bringing this to a vote. I was hoping we could all agree, but since that doesn’t seem possible, we will vote, and like all other votes in our great country, the majority will rule. I pray that those not happy with the decision will gracefully accept the will of the group.” She glanced around. “Is there any more discussion?”

Mrs. Magron raised her hand. “Yes, I have a question. If we help this new Indian reservation, how will we have enough to help those we usually provide assistance for?”

“That is a good question, and one I know concerns us all.”

Sophie raised her hand. “I asked Thorliff if he could talk with the Indian agent up north and see what their needs are.”

“And what did he find out?”

“The agent said the government has been providing according to their agreement this year. Since the new agent took over, the supplies have been getting through, so the people are not starving to death like they were before. He said they need more school supplies and will need more seeds for planting gardens and fields come spring. He has convinced more of the families to take up farming practices to help feed themselves.”

“That is wonderful.”

“Did he say anything about sickness?” Ingeborg asked.

Sophie shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”

“Thank you for following through on that. Anything else?” She glanced around the room. “Then I will call for a raising of hands. How many agree that we should assist the reservation that Astrid asked donations for?” She nodded and counted. “And against?” She nodded and counted again. “The majority rules. We will be collecting provisions for the Rosebud Indian Reservation. Who would like to be in charge of writing to them to see what supplies are needed most desperately?”

Kaaren raised her hand. “I will.”

Ingeborg breathed a sigh of relief. Now she didn’t have to. Her volunteering would have roiled the waters for sure. A
humph
from behind her made another woman’s position quite clear.

“Is there any other business we need to address today?” Mary Martha waited a moment. “Good, then we can begin our quilting.”

Ingeborg raised her hand. “I want to thank you all for helping make Emmy’s quilt. She loves it. That and her doll go with her everywhere.”

“Ellie made her the doll, right?”

“She did. Perhaps dolls for little girls would be a good thing to make for the wagon.”

“Do Indian children play with dolls?”

“Isn’t that the way every culture passes on how to care for their children?”

“I don’t know. Just asking.”

“Well, if anyone feels like making rag dolls, go right ahead. You know, I was thinking. What if we asked the schoolchildren if they would like to be involved in this project?”

Silence fell while they considered the new idea.

“Okay, let’s take our places, and we can talk about such things among ourselves,” Ingeborg said. “Kaaren, are you planning on reading to us today?”

“If you want.”

“Ja, we want,” Mrs. Geddick said.

Ingeborg felt like someone was staring daggers into her back. She didn’t bother to turn around. This time Hildegunn could not blame her. Other than for the fact her daughter was the one who sent the request.

As the work got underway, she chose the first shift on the sewing machine. This way she would not get badgered into an argument.
Uff da,
she scolded herself.
You are not feeling very Christian, and here
there wasn’t even an argument. What had happened to change the hard
feelings from last month?

She turned around when a chair scraped back. Hildegunn stood and fetched a box from the side of the room. “I have to say that I don’t approve our being coerced into helping those Indians so far away when there are those closer to home that need help too, but here are two quilts that I finished at home so we can start filling the barrels.” She laid them across two chairs. “My Benny helped me choose the colors.”

Coerced.
The word made her want to jump up and scream in Hildegunn’s face.
But she brought two quilts. This makes no sense
whatsoever.

Kaaren leaned over her shoulder. “Prayer in action, dear sister. We just saw a miracle happen.”

“But isn’t there something about giving with a joyful spirit?” she whispered back.

“True, but praise in everything tops that, I think, at least in this case.”

And to think I wasted good sleeping hours stewing about this meeting.
Father in heaven, I stand, or rather sit, in awe.
My Benny
, she’ d said.
Was that part of the transformation?
Whatever it was, God had done it. A miracle indeed. Now if He would work another and bring Astrid home.

6

Dear Mr. Landsverk,

I owe you the most abject of apologies. Today in the mail I received a large envelope from the hospital in Chicago. It contained two letters you had written to me that somehow had gone astray in the mailing process. I felt hurt that you had not lived up to your word to write to me, and therefore I did not write to you either. It wasn’t your fault, and I should not have jumped to conclusions.

Joshua felt like jumping himself. He had finally heard from Astrid. He continued reading.

So please accept my plea for forgiveness and forgive me.

Another act of forgiveness. Was this a lesson he had to keep learning over and over? His first rush of feeling was to continue being angry. But now that he was reading the letter for the second time, all he could find was gratitude—and indeed forgiveness. He reinforced the knowledge by repeating one of the verses he’d learned. “ ‘Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.’ ” He said it once more for good measure. Maybe this was something he would have to repeat for the rest of his life. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. He stared at the letter, the ink blurring on the page. So much had happened. How would he get it all sorted out?

I am at a college in Athens, Georgia, enrolled in their four-month missionary school. I have applied for a two-year term of service, and we shall see if that is approved.

Was it being Christian to pray that she not be approved? He grimaced. Good thing God could see the whole picture and would do the best for everyone. Where had he heard that? Most likely from Pastor Solberg. And to think he almost didn’t get off in Blessing when he returned from Iowa but had planned to continue on west until the train tracks ran out. Except he kept remembering Astrid.

I didn’t make the final decision until the day before I was to leave Chicago, and I still struggle with the question of whether I did the right thing. I know it caught all of my family by surprise. It did me too. I will have time at home before I leave for Africa, if I am chosen to go, so we can talk then.

That was his glimmer of hope. He counted off the months. March, April, May, June. She’d be home the end of June. If only he could have his house done by then. But as soon as they were able, he and Trygve would be heading south to dig wells and install windmills. No matter where he was, he’d be back to Blessing when Astrid was home. He had to be if he was to know God’s will for them. He read the second letter.

Dear Mr. Landsverk,
   So I have to apologize again and commend you for your courage in returning to Iowa to speak with your father. Forgiving one another seems to be a difficulty for all of us at one time or another. Perhaps that is why Jesus told so many stories about it. I should have read both letters before I replied, but I was so compelled to write immediately that I didn’t, and then someone knocked on my door, as it was time for another appointment.

I have now met all my instructors and all the people in the missionary program. This promises to be an interesting four months. Actually three months and three weeks now. And yes, I am counting the weeks until I get on the train to head west. I miss my family and Blessing so very much.

Mr. Landsverk, are we good enough friends that I can write to you my heart and struggles?

Sincerely,
Dr. Astrid Bjorklund

Joshua sighed and stared at the perfect penmanship. Did she do everything so perfectly? Maybe if he wrote more often, she would write more often, and they would indeed get to know each other better. He shook his head. Writing letters, putting ideas and thoughts on paper, was not easy for him. If only he had done so for his mother, that would have pleased her so much. The thought manacled his throat. He could never ask her to forgive him. It was too late. What if he’d not gone to Iowa? It might have been too late there too. He heaved a sigh that made him shake. Gratitude for the one and sorrow for the other. The light and the dark of it. Was all of life to be like that?

Hearing the bell tinkle for supper, he folded the letter and laid both envelopes on the bedside table. Now he knew what he was going to do that evening. Work on that idea for the windmill self greaser and write to Astrid—or rather Dr. Bjorklund, in spite of the fact that she was Astrid to him and always had been. He hesitated at the thought. If they were to have a future together, he needed to understand her as a doctor too. Putting those thoughts aside, he headed for supper.

The new man at the boardinghouse was standing in the arched entry to the dining room. Miss Christopherson had mentioned him last night, but he had eaten before Joshua came back.

“Hello. I’m Joshua Landsverk.” He thrust out his hand.

“Daniel Jeffers.”

“Do you have a table?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t realize they were assigned.”

“They aren’t, but when one has been here for a time . . . well, we are all creatures of habit. You can join me if you’d like.”
Joshua
Landsverk, this is not like you. What is going on?

“I’d be pleased. Conversation is always pleasant during a meal.”

Joshua thought of all the years of silence at his father’s table. And how much he enjoyed a meal at the Bjorklunds’. Again, light and dark.

Once they were seated, he asked, “What brings you to Blessing?”

“It’s a long story, convoluted, with no ending in sight.”

“Really?”

“Did you know a man who bought the general store here, called himself Harlan Jeffers?”

“No. When I lived here before, Penny Bjorklund owned it, and when I returned, she had it back. I know there was some unpleasantness with the interim owner.”

“The man purported to be Harlan Jeffers. Jeffers is my father’s and, of course, our family’s last name. My father disappeared on a trip west, so I came looking for him. I hoped and prayed the man I’d heard was here was my father. It wasn’t. That man had somehow appropriated my father’s name and took the money he had with him.”

“So you caught him?”

“No. He was encouraged to leave here by the good folks of Blessing and was gone before I came to town.”

Miss Christopherson stopped at their table. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m glad to see you have met. Supper tonight is baked chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. How will that suit you?”

“Are there choices?” Mr. Jeffers asked.

“Yes. You take it, or I could look for some leftovers from dinner for you.” She smiled.

“Chicken sounds fine. It smells wonderful.”

“Mrs. Sam is the cook here, and this boardinghouse is known all up and down the railroad as the place to get a good meal.” Joshua looked up at Miss Christopherson. “I’ll have the chicken too.”

She nodded and glanced back at Jeffers. “Mr. Landsverk usually has coffee. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, of course.”

When she moved on to the next table, Jeffers watched her. “They are fortunate to have such a good staff here.” He turned back to Joshua. “Do you want to hear more?”

“I do.”

“When I learned of the havoc the imposter Jeffers had wreaked here in Blessing, I was more determined than ever to clear my father’s name. And to find him, or at least a trace of him. So I took the train back East, stopping in every town the train stopped at and asking the same questions. Did a man named Harlan Jeffers stop here during the fall of last year? I’d go to the saloons, the sheriff’s office, the banks, any public place. When I left, I always made sure everyone had my address just in case.”

Miss Christopherson set their plates before them, and Lily Mae filled their coffee cups. “Anything else, gentlemen?”