The Forgiving Heart (The Heart of Minnesota Book 1) (31 page)

             
“Mind if I sit beside you?” a familiar voice startled him.

             
Benard scooted over to make room for Sig Gunderson, his sister's mother-in-law.

             
“I take it,” she handed him a sandwich wrapped in a napkin, “you did not find a job today?”

             
“Men are come home from var now. Der iss no reason to hire mann vit German assent.”

             
Sig took a bite of her own sandwich and chewed for a while.

             
“Did you try the hardware store?” she sat, looking off into the distance.

             
“
Ja.
They haf son uf neighbor.
”

             
“Will said he heard of an opening at the mill.”

             
“I vill go now,” he stood up, “vere is this mill?”

             
Sig didn't rise, “Will would like to take you in the morning.”

             
“Is far away?”

             
“Not really,” she patted the seat beside herself. “You’ll be able to ride a bike to work, but Will would like to talk to you about the owner before you go in.”

             
Benard sat back down, “Is a problem vis ze man?”

             
Sig smiled up at him and took a bite, not answering.

             
Will Gunderson came into the kitchen several hours later to find his guest repairing a kitchen drawer, “How did your job search go today?”

             
Benard continued to work, “I vas much sorry for I am still vis no job.”

             
Will sat down on the opposite side of the table, “You have to realize, Ben, that Sig and I are not concerned about you finding a job immediately.”

             
Benard looked up, “You are kind to say, but a man must haf work.”

             
“This is true,” Will could not disagree, “and I do not mean to say you should stop trying, but you must not feel we are upset about it.”

             
“You are kind to me,” Benard stood and slid the drawer into its spot, “I vill not vish to. . .how is it you say to get more than you are given?”

             
“Take advantage?”

             
“Yes,” Benard began cleaning the table of the mess he had made, “I vill not vish to take advantage.”

             
Will scooted back in his chair, “I heard of a job opening.”

             
“Yes,” Benard looked serious, “at a mill.”

             
“Yes, but there are some things you should know about Mr. Kluge before you go into it.”

             
“Is telling tales?” Benard frowned at the older man.

             
Will was pleased Ben was concerned about it, “It is not gossip,” he paused to think, “at least not about Mr. Kluge.”

             
Benard still looked skeptical.

             
“You're going to have to trust me on this, Ben. If it strays to gossip, you can stop me.”

             
Benard remained silent.

             
“Mr. Kluge is a German, but he has lived in the United States most of his life.”

             
Benard looked relieved that this was all Will was talking about.

             
“Do you fear I vill haf trouble vorking for German man?”

             
Will shook his head, “No, Ben. I know you will judge the man for himself. The problem is that Kluge's workers – men who had been working for him for ten and fifteen years – quit when the war began.”

             
“Because he is German?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“How did he be making money if business stop?”

             
Will shrugged, “There is no other mill nearby. People still needed lumber.”

             
“And how does he get vork done vis no vorkers?”

             
“There was not as much need for lumber during the war, so he was able to keep going. He had a few teenage boys who would stop by and help if they thought they could do it without getting caught by their parents. It was a good way to earn a few bucks.”

             
“Bucks?” Ben was clearly unfamiliar with this term.

             
“Dollars.”

             
“Vill I speak to him tomorrow?”

             
“If you like, but I have to tell you there is more.”

             
“Oh?”

             
“If you work for Mr. Kluge, there is a chance you will be ostracized. . .that people will treat you worse because you are working for a German.”

             
Benard nodded, “So ve vill go first think in ze mornink?”

             
Will smiled broadly and clapped a hand on Benard's shoulder, “Bright and early.”

             
Will’s daughter, Sara, listened to the men converse from out in the hall. She could not understand how Benard could willingly subject himself to the treatment he was sure to get. Perhaps he did not know just how bad it might be.

             
Sara stepped away from the kitchen door, not wanting to be caught. Climbing the stairs to her bedroom, she wondered if there was something she could say to make Benard understand. It was hard enough for him to get a job and make friends with his thick accent. Nobody would want to be seen with a man who worked for a Gerry.

             
She sat down on her bed and opened her school books. The trigonometry was really getting tricky. She sighed as she re-read the instructions.

             
“That was quite a noise,” Ellie came in and sat on her own bed.

             
Sara looked up, “I spent the morning at the library and an hour this afternoon with Mrs. Horn trying to figure this out, but I still don’t understand it.”

             
“I'm not surprised,” her sister snorted, “Mrs. Horn never could make me understand my math either.”

             
Sara clamped her lips together in disapproval, “That is because you hated math, and you never listened to her.”

             
“Teacher's pet,” Ellie laughed as she moved to her desk.

             
“Was not,” Sara knew Ellie was right though. Apparently, she still was since her old high school teacher had called to say she would be willing to help Sara any time throughout the summer. Unfortunately, Mrs. Horn's understanding of this material was fairly limited.

             
“I don't understand why you would take trigonometry by correspondence anyway. Wouldn't it have been easier to do it during the school year when you had plenty of teachers around?”

             
Sara flopped back on her bed, “Now you tell me.”

             
Ellie laughed at her sister before turning to write her letter. She had gotten a letter from Sam just that morning and wanted to reply quickly so it could get in the morning mail.

             
Dear Sam,   July 10, 1945

In answer to your question, yes, I am very happy to be out of school. The hospital here is not in need of nurses like the ones up in the Twin Cities. I have a job, of course, but I feel as though my skills could be put to more use in a different setting. My parents are not excited about that idea, but I feel it is time for me to leave the nest.

I have applied to St. Mary's hospital in Rochester as well as St. Joseph's in St. Paul. Mother hopes I will get the position in Rochester, but I enjoyed the Cities while I was there last year for school. I wouldn’t like to live in the city all my life, but I think it’ll be an interesting thing to tell my children someday.

Michael and Karlijna will begin building their house next month. I know they feel they are imposing on John and Louisa, but Louisa says she will miss the help with little Rosie.

Do you know yet when you get to come home? I am sure your mom and dad are eager to see you. Michael said he plans to come visit you once you are back as long as you don't wait until harvest time. Karlijna is excited to go as well because she wants to go back to Chicago with               Michael since she only saw it in the dark before.

I told my mother I could apply to a hospital in Chicago, but she was not amused. I didn't mean it to be funny, I was just trying to point out that St. Paul was not that far away. My father's older sister went to teach in California during WWI. I have no plans to do that, but I think wars have a tendency to scatter people about.

Do you plan to go back to med school when you arrive back in the states? I know you said your uncle would like you to come work for him. Your mother is right that it would be a solid profession. There is new construction going up everywhere. I mentioned that to Michael and he raised his eyebrows at me. I'm not sure what that was supposed to mean. Karlijna said if you pray about it, God will certainly tell you what to do. She is right, of course, but the words don't always sink from my head to my heart when someone tells me to do that.

I helped set a compound fracture last week. Dr. Morgan thought the boy would lose his leg, but now it looks like he is going to heal just fine. I'm glad I don't get sick at the sight of blood because there was a lot of it.

I should get down and help Mom with supper. I am sure it is chicken again. I should be grateful for meat at all, but I do long for beef.

             
Ellie

             
Ellie closed up the envelope and rose from her place.

             
“I kinda thought you would quit writing to Sam now that Michael is back,” Sara lifted her head from her book.

             
“Oh,” Ellie frowned. “Why?”

             
“I don't know. I guess because you were writing to him as a favor to Michael.”

             
Ellie sat back down, “But Sam still doesn't have anyone else to write to him.”

             
“You don't think you are giving him the wrong idea do you?”

             
“About what?”

             
Sara looked at Ellie like the younger girl had lost her wits, “About the two of you?”

             
Ellie laughed, “Believe me, there is nothing like that going on. Sam's letters are as unromantic as anyone's could possibly be.”

             
“And yours?”

             
Ellie held up the newly drafted letter, “You want to read it? There is nothing private in it.”

             
Sara did not reach for it, “I just hope he isn't planning on coming home and finding you waiting.”

             
“He's not thinking that or anything else like it, Sara.”

             
Sara shrugged and went back to her trigonometry.

             
Ellie went downstairs to check on her mother.

             
“Did you write back to Sam already?” Sig looked up from the pot she was tending.

             
Ellie nodded, “Mom, do you think there is something strange about me writing to Sam? I mean, do you think he could think I am interested in him?”

             
“Aren't you?” Sig replaced the lid and wiped her hands on her apron.

             
“I mean, do you think he might think I want to have a more personal relationship with him?”

             
Sig put her hands on Ellie's shoulders, “There is always that possibility, Ellie, but I’ve read Sam's letters and yours to him. Unless he is really hiding his feelings from you, he isn't thinking about you in that manner, and you have certainly given him no reason to think you are looking for more than friendship.”

             
Ellie breathed deeply in relief before taking plates from the cupboard to set the table.

             
“Why the sudden concern?”

             
“Sara said something,” Ellie offered.

             
“So, you hadn't thought of it before that?”

             
“Never.”

             
Sig handed some napkins to her youngest, “I wouldn't worry about it.”