The Reaper's Song (7 page)

Like David of olden times, dancing for joy before the Lord seemed about the right thing to do. So much to be grateful for. Words just didn’t seem enough.

She sent another thank-you winging skyward as she picked up the basket and carried it to the bench, setting it in the shade next to Goodie’s. Then gathering up the sleeping baby, Ingeborg strode toward the soddy on the other side of the center pasture. “Blessed be the name of the Lord,” Ingeborg declared to the glorious world around her. Astrid whimpered at the skip her mother threw in for good measure.

“Hey, wife, you look good in that sunbonnet.” Haakan turned from the wash bench and dried his hands and face on the towel hanging from a peg in the wall.

“Thank you, sir,” Ingeborg said. She knew what he was about with that compliment, but it felt good anyway. Haakan tolerated her donning of men’s hats and pants but much preferred her in skirts and sunbonnets.

“Thank you again.” She smiled up into eyes that always recalled the blue of Norwegian fjords on a summer day. Bjorklund blue, so many called it now, as if it were a color all its own. A shock of wheaten hair flopped forward, breaking the line of tan and white that bisected his and every other farmer’s forehead. A fedora hat brim didn’t do much to shade a man’s lower face, but it did save his eyes.

As usual, her heart beat faster at the sight of his broad shoulders, square jaw, and the smile that sent warmth flooding through her body. While Haakan smiled and laughed easily, this smile he saved
for her alone. Perhaps tonight they would come together and the life of their son would begin. He nodded, just a dip of his chin that said he understood and wanted the same thing. A son for Haakan, a son of his own, since both Thorliff and Andrew were Roald’s sons. Close kin but not the same. While he said nothing could make him happier than his daughter, Astrid, she knew he wanted a son, many sons. All men did.

The men and boys sat down at the well-set table, and the women stood behind them while Haakan bowed his head, followed by the others. “Father God, we thank thee for this food thou hast given us this day. We ask thee to continue thy protection over and around us and fill us with thy peace. Amen.”

The others chimed in with the “amen,” and Baptiste reached for the mashed potatoes before the n finished sounding. Ingeborg cleared her throat, and he shot her a questioning look before dropping his hand. At her nod, he reached again, as did the others. The bowls of food emptied swiftly and Kaaren filled them again from pots on the stove.

“We have a letter from home . . . er . . . Nordland.” Ingeborg caught her error. So hard it was to always remember that the prairie, not the mountains of her fatherland, was now home forever. “I can read it while you eat.”

Haakan looked up from cutting his baked ham. “From Bridget?”

Ingeborg nodded and slipped the letter from the envelope.

“Can I have the envelope when you are done?” Thorliff spoke around a mouthful of potatoes and gravy.

Ingeborg gave him one of her son-you-know-better-than-that looks. A glance that covered a multitude of meanings.

He ducked his head and finished swallowing. “Sorry. But can I?”

“May I.” Kaaren, ever the schoolteacher, laid a hand on his shoulder as she set another platter of meat in the center of the table.

Thorliff sighed and tried again, his eyes rolling in the look of persecuted children, no matter their age. “May I have the envelope when you are finished?”

“Of course you may.” Ingeborg and Kaaren kept their exchanged look hidden from the three boys at the table. Teaching manners and proper English was a never-ending task. Ingeborg unfolded the flimsy sheet of paper and began reading, enjoying the second time almost more than the first with the added comments from her family.

She glanced at Andrew, wondering why he was so quiet. Usually
he had sixty-five things to bring to everyone’s attention. Did his face look more flushed than usual? Continuing to read, she walked around the table and laid the back of her hand along his bright red cheek. Sure enough, the child was hot with fever. Could it just be from playing so hard in the hot haymow? But inside she knew. Something was wrong.

A
choo!” The sneeze nearly knocked her off the ladder.

Penny Bjorklund swiped the last bucket rim with her feather duster and scrambled down the ladder she’d used to reach the top row of merchandise just under the high ceiling of the Blessing General Store. Another sneeze caught her by surprise and then a third that doubled her right over.

“God bless you.” A deep voice from the doorway sent the telltale blush whooshing from her neck clear to her forehead. Would she never outgrow that silly habit? Feeling twelve years old again, she quickly wiped her nose on the side of her apron and turned to face her customer.

“Thank you. Mercy, the dust coats those saddles and things faster than I can keep them dusted. Should take them down and give them a good cleaning with saddle soap. You don’t by any chance need a well-padded, deeply carved western saddle, do you? The horn is built especially sturdy for roping cattle.”

The man removed his wide-brimmed hat and held it over his heart. “No, but if I did, I surely would buy it from one as comely as you.”

There went the blush again. Penny ignored it and gave him a smile fit to warm anyone’s heart. “How then can I help you?”

“Well . . . ah . . . is your father here, miss? I could use some help in choosing new boots.” He glanced down at boots that looked to have seen more gravel than grass. “You do carry boots, don’t you?”

“I sure do. Right this way.” She led the man down to the third aisle toward the smithy. “But my father won’t be able to help you. He died years ago.” Penny hid the grin that her comment brought to her lips. Whatever made her answer like that? She knew she
should have put her hair up. Wearing the curly mass of gold down her back did nothing to make her look matronly. And the pink ribbon she’d tied in a bow at the collar of her gingham dress didn’t exactly help either. Maybe if she could keep from smiling so much or take the bounce out of her step. . . .

“Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I just thought . . . ah . . . is your . . . ah . . .”

Penny took pity on the gentleman. “Look, mister, my name is Penny Bjorklund—Mrs. Hjelmer Bjorklund—and this is my store. My husband has the blacksmith shop right next door. Now, if it’s boots you’re wanting, I know a whole lot more than he does about the line of boots I carry here, since I did the ordering.”

Now it was the man’s turn to suffer the pangs of discomfort. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. You look hardly old enough to be out of the schoolroom, and . . .”

She could see the awareness of what he was saying dawn in his eyes.

He clapped his hat back on his head and turned toward the door. “Do you mind if I go out and come back in? We can start this conversation all over again, and maybe I’ll be able to keep from chewing on these beat-up old boots of mine. They don’t fit too good in my mouth, you see.”

“I’m sure they don’t taste too good either.” Penny smiled and gestured toward the straight-backed chair she’d set in the aisle just for this purpose. “If you’ll sit down and tell me what size you wear, I’ll bring you a pair to try on.”

“I don’t rightly know.” He raised his foot in the air. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll bring several, and we can put them against yours till we get close.” She studied the boot a moment longer. Thinking size ten to twelve, she lifted several pairs down and returned with an armful.

“My pa made these boots before I left home.” He looked up, studying her face in the sunbeam that streamed through the sparkling clean windows. “You know, you look mighty familiar. You got any family living in Ohio?”

Penny stopped opening the boot in her hand. She gazed at him intently. “I used to. We were from near Lima, but after my pa and ma died, I went to live with my aunt and uncle. We came out here.”

“You know where your pa come from before that?”

Penny wrinkled her forehead, trying to remember. “Maybe somewhere around Cincinnati? I’m just not sure.”

“Well, I’ll be. Was your name by any chance Sjornson?”

Penny nodded.
Please, God, let this be true. Does this man really know my family?

“And your pa was Able Sjornson?”

Penny nodded again. She couldn’t force any words past the lump in her throat.

“Well, I’ll be a gallopin’ gopher.” The man stood and extended his hand. “My name is Ephraim Nelson. My ma is your pa’s older sister. You look just like her—my ma, I mean.”

He took off his hat again, revealing a receding hairline above the hat mark on his forehead. With the crinkles at his eyes and creases in his cheeks, he wasn’t as young as she’d thought originally.

“My ma was a lot older than him, her being the eldest and him the last of ten children, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” Penny studied the box in her hands. When she looked back up, a sheen of moisture made her blink. “Ma and Pa didn’t say much about their families. I got the feeling there was something that happened.”

Ephraim nodded. “There was a falling out.” He reached for the boot box and sat back down in the chair. “To think I’m buying boots from my own cousin, clear out here in Dakota Territory. If that don’t beat all.”

Questions fluttered in Penny’s mind like moth wings against a lamp chimney. Did he know anything of her brothers and sisters? If he was her cousin, did he know others? Would she really have a family again, after all?

“Looks a mite small.” He looked up again from checking the new boot length against his own. “That there a bigger pair?”

Penny jerked back to pay attention. “Why, yes, it is.” She handed him the boots. “Excuse me, I need to go call my husband.” Without waiting for an answer, she clutched the third pair to her bosom and dashed out the back door. “Hjelmer! Hjelmer, where are you?” She checked in the blacksmith shop, but all was quiet. Not even the cat was in the barn. She spun back. The sack house. She knew Olaf was cleaning it out to get it ready for the new wheat deliveries when harvest started. Had he gone to talk with Olaf? She heard the bell tinkle over the door to the store. Gracious! Was Mr. Nelson—Ephraim—leaving without paying?

She darted back in the shop to see her stranger still working with the boots. She let out a sigh of relief. Hjelmer had given her a lecture just the other day about watching people more carefully so nothing
was stolen. With all the strangers coming through town on the railroad, a thief could be riding the rails as easily as an honest man. While Penny had agreed with him in principle, she hated the thought of someone stealing from them. If they needed a thing that bad, they could just ask, and likely as not, she’d give it to them.

Hjelmer also said she was a sucker for a sad story.

“Excuse me.” She handed Ephraim the other boot and went in search of her latest customer. “Why, Mrs. Valders, how are you today?”

“Fine, fine, Penny, and you?” Hildegunn Valders patted Penny’s arm. “I just need a few things. Anner says he needs to take the wagon into Grafton for a wheel fitting later this week, so he will pick up the staples.”

“Hjelmer could tighten the rims, you know.” Penny forced herself to stand still when she really wanted to take three steps back.

The woman in front of her shook her head. “You know that and I know that. And Anner does too, but he is so stubborn. He wanted to buy that land from Mr. Booth, you know.”

How long, O Lord, will we pay for Hjelmer’s land-buying deals?
“Yes. Well, it is better to let bygones be bygones.” Now she sounded just like her aunt Matilda.

“You know that, I know that, the Good Book says that, but men, sometimes they have a hard time forgetting.”

Penny sighed. Men could be so stubborn. “What can I get for you, then?”

“You have some of Ingeborg’s cheese?”

Penny nodded. “I just got in a shipment of needles too.”

“Oh good, I’ll take a packet.” Mrs. Valders fingered the yellow-and-white checked gingham. “This would make such a lovely dress for my niece, don’t you think?”

All Penny could think of was the man over by the boots. “Yes, yes, of course.”
Where is Hjelmer?

The bell tinkled again. “Excuse me. Why don’t you think about the gingham, and I’ll see what this person wants.”

“Good afternoon, Penny. You have any mail for me?” Reverend John Solberg tipped his hat and smiled his sunny smile. Seeing him and his cheerful ways could make anyone feel good.

“I most surely do.” Penny stepped behind the counter to the rows of cubbyholes with names above them. Besides owning and running the store, she’d been appointed postmistress by the Dakota Territory once the train started tossing off a mailbag when it stopped
for water. While the pay wasn’t much, many people purchased things they needed when they came for the mail. Anything to increase business.

She handed him a letter and a flat package. “Here you go.”

“Ah, wonderful. My book has arrived.” Reverend Solberg put the letter in his pocket and began untying the string. “I ordered this from St. Olaf College, you know.”

Penny handed him a pair of scissors.
How is Ephraim doing with the boots?
She kept the thoughts and the impatience off her face. “Can I get you anything else? Ingeborg just brought in cheese and eggs this morning. Oh, and butter.”