To Everything a Season (22 page)

Shaking her head, Elizabeth stared into her teacup. “I'm not going to mention this to Thorliff until we know for certain. I'm still not sure Thelma is correct, so I refuse to worry about it until I know.”

If only we
knew what goes on in her body that she has
such a terrible time carrying babies to term
. “I must get back to the hospital. If you have anyone needing a doctor, send them over there.”

And you can start your own study program by reading all you can about women who lose babies.

H
e could not get her out of his mind.

“Trygve? Hello, Trygve.” Ingeborg leaned over and tapped him on the arm. “Woolgathering? This isn't like you.”

“Oh, sorry.” He blinked and mentally shook himself. This was not like him at all. No female had ever taken up residence in his head like this. She had stepped off that train, and she was all he could see. Or hear, for that matter. She didn't really have an accent but did have a lovely lilt to her voice. Tiny, but he had a feeling she packed a wallop, not to be underestimated at any point.

Ingeborg patted his arm. “I heard about you at the train station. Astrid said you looked like someone had whacked you one. You couldn't take your eyes off her.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Probably only to those who have known and loved you for a long time. One of the other nurses, Vera, I believe it was, tried to get your attention, but it sounds like you never even saw her.”

“Who?” He was trying to think who she meant. He had met all three nurses, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember either of the others. He'd hauled their baggage to Astrid's house,
but they had insisted he not drag the trunks upstairs, since they would be moving to the boardinghouse as soon as it was ready.

“See what I mean?” His aunt arched an eyebrow and turned to see Haakan come out on the porch. “Good morning again.”

Haakan yawned and stretched his arms above his head, tapping his fingers on the tongue-and-groove ceiling. “How can I sleep so much? This is outrageous.”

“Making up for all those years you never got enough sleep, perhaps?” Trygve studied his onkel. He certainly looked far better than he had, but this whole sick thing had aged him—a lot. “You ready to walk to town with me?”

“Can I have a cup of coffee first?”

“I imagine. Where's Manny?”

“Down at the barn. He and Inga are playing with the calf that was born on Sunday. He tries to act like she's a little kid and not to bother him, but you know Inga. She'll get through to him better than anyone. She and Benny. He is still amazed at all that Benny does.”

“Aren't we all?”

“True.” He accepted the coffee Ingeborg poured for him and leaned against a porch post, looking out over the wheat fields starting to turn in some spots. “Harvest will be starting right on time. The wheat's losing color.” He looked toward Trygve. “You going with the harvest crew this year?”

“No. Far and I talked about it. Samuel and Jonathan will go, but I will remain here. Andrew too, right?”

“Someone has to do all the chores here. I am hoping I'll be able to milk again one of these days. That shouldn't endanger anyone, other than me if I get kicked or something.”

“Freda and I have not lost our ability to milk cows, you know. Are they taking any of the immigrants along? I know that Jessup fellow misses farming. He said so at church on Sunday.”

“Really?” That caught Haakan's attention. “Perhaps I should talk with him.” He turned back to Ingeborg. “You know, I'm surprised we've not gotten any responses to our letters to Valdres. Do you suppose the mail got thrown overboard?”

“I seriously doubt that. Perhaps they are trying to decide who will come, if anyone. It's not easy to make such a decision.”

Trygve watched her face take on a faraway look, but only for a moment. He knew thoughts of her life growing up in Norway sometimes intruded. His tante had confided once that for all these years in Dakota she had refused to dwell on memories of home. In fact, had refused to even let them out of the trunk where they were stored, for fear they would leap out and make her homesick. What must it be like to leave so much behind?

“You ready?” Trygve asked Haakan when he had set his cup down.

“Let's go.”

Trygve smiled inside but didn't let it show. Had Haakan caught on to the fact that every day someone different appeared to walk with him? If not to town, out in the fields. The other night, he'd gone fishing with Ingeborg, Inga, and Carl. He'd come back crowing that this little grandson of his was quite a fisherman. Not that Inga and Ingeborg were not, he hastened to add, but Carl seemed to have a knack for bringing home the most fish. But Inga caught the biggest.

And then Inga tattled that Haakan was having such a good time watching the others that he didn't pay a lot of attention to his own pole. Inga kept it from being towed down the river and landed his fish. “You got to pay attention, Grandpa,” she had reminded him. Inga and Carl took fishing seriously.

Haakan vowed he'd not had so much fun fishing in a long time.

Trygve joined the fish fry that night—fresh fish, along with
new potatoes that Inga and Carl had learned how to dig out properly. Ingeborg dug under the plants with her fingers, rather than pulling the plants out. That way the plant could keep on producing. The children acted like they were on a treasure hunt, which was not far from the truth. New potatoes, many the size of a walnut, were such a summer treat. That and fresh string beans, and Ingeborg's famous lettuce salad with her dressing made of sugar, cream, and vinegar didn't need dessert to top it off. It had been a lovely evening to cherish. He figured he appreciated these things more now that he'd been gone so long.

“Going to be hot again,” Haakan said as they walked.

“'Fraid so. I have to have another talk with Hjelmer. He's still mad that I backed out of the well-drilling crew.”

“But you got the team off, right?”

“And got the old wagon all ready for a second crew, but he is having trouble finding men to go.”

Haakan chuckled. “He might be forced to offer more pay.”

Hjelmer was famous for holding his money tight to his chest, rather than paying top dollar.

“Or use some of the immigrants. But speaking English is necessary, at least for the foreman. He needs to be able to talk with his crew.”

“So he wants you to go out with this wagon and train a new crew?”

“Right.”

“Are you going to?”

“No. I feel I'm needed here.”
And besides, I want to get to know
Miss Miriam Hastings. I wonder if she has a man
in Chicago waiting for her.

As they walked into town, Haakan turned to go to Thorliff's house. “I promised Elizabeth I would stop here for her to listen to my heart after the walk in.” They both stopped and looked
ahead to see a stranger leading a horse into town. Coming from the east.

Haakan watched. “Wonder who that guy is.”

“His horse is limping mighty bad. Probably why he is leading it.”

“There's Pastor Solberg. Looks like he's going to talk to the fellow.”

Trygve watched as Haakan opened the gate and then mounted the steps to the back porch. Then, hands in his pockets, Trygve strode on up to Main Street. Seemed strange to call it that. They'd just platted out the town and named some streets earlier this spring. Somehow saying Main Street sounded puffed up, like they thought they were bigger than they were. Not wanting to eavesdrop, he waved and turned to go to the post office.

Hjelmer said to meet him for coffee at the house at ten and it was nearly that now. He'd rather have met him at the office at Thorliff's, so he'd have backup if necessary. But then, when did he ever get his rathers?

Blessing.

Lovely name for a village.

So
, Father Devlin ruminated,
does the name bestow blessing upon its
denizens, or do the denizens bless the town?
Most likely it was mutual. At any rate, perhaps they would have a livery stable here. And that would indeed bless Father Devlin.

He walked slower than usual, leading his lame horse. The horse stumbled, even though there was not a stone in sight, so Devlin slowed more.

The snail's pace as they entered town enabled the father to admire it better. Houses and outbuildings appeared tidy and in uniformly good repair, unlike those in so many prairie frontier
towns. Most had pretty picket fences. From behind one of the fences, a small towheaded girl grinned and waved enthusiastically, so he waved back enthusiastically too, grinning.

He walked on.

Ah, now
this is hopeful. Very hopeful
. There seemed to be quite a bit of new construction. Hammering, shouting, and there was a large building attached to a building with a sign saying it was a boardinghouse. He was an excellent carpenter and woodcarver, so perhaps he could fatten up his purse before moving on. It was mighty flat now.

A tent city sprouted out in the distance beyond the railroad. Could that be where the workers lived? Devlin knew he could fit into that quite easily.

He dropped a rein over a hitching post in front of the boardinghouse, the only tying necessary to hold this old nag, and started toward the tents.

Down the boardinghouse steps came a cheerful fellow in a clerical collar that looked similar to Devlin's collar, except that his was clean. Blessing was looking better all the time.

The man extended a hand. “Welcome to Blessing. My name is John Solberg.”

“Me name be Thomas Devlin. Delighted to meet ye, Father.”

This John Solberg with the clerical collar chuckled. “Locally, they refer to me as Reverend or Pastor, not Father.”

“Eh, then so shall I, Reverend Solberg. I was looking mayhap for a livery stable or stockyard. Me horse went lame, and I'd like the advice of someone who is a good hand with horses.”

“Perhaps I can help, or I know someone who can.” He led the way toward the street, so Devlin fell in beside him. “Just about everyone in this area is a good hand with horses.”

“Everyone in this area save meself, Reverend. I be a complete ninny with horses. I grew up in Dublin and Philadelphia,
transported by cabs and trolleys, and left the matter of horses to others.”

Reverend Solberg lifted the rein off the hitching post and led the horse two steps. He stopped, dropped the rein, and picked up its left front foot. “Mm.” He let the foot down gently and snapped his pocket knife open.

“Eh, I'd not dreamt surgery would be required.” Father Devlin bent over to watch as the man lifted the horse's foot again and braced it on his knee.

The fellow chuckled as he pointed with the knife blade. “A loose bolt.”

“The shoe be
bolted
on? I thought—”

“No, your gelding picked up the bolt walking on the road. It wedged in the hoof here at the shoe. You see? The more he walks on it, the worse it digs in.” He wielded his knife blade purposefully. “I am trying to pry it loose and get it out of there.”

The horse threw its head up and jerked back, pulling its foot off his knee.

A very pleasant young man appeared beside them. “Trouble?”

“Daniel, would you hold the horse, please? This may be uncomfortable for him.”

“Certainly.” The young fellow stepped to the horse's head and seized it, not by the bridle but by clamping its head under his arm and grasping an ear and the nostrils. Good hand with horses? These men both were. They knew instantly what to do and did not have to coach each other on the proper next step.

Reverend Solberg worked on his patient a few minutes, released the foot gently, and then stood erect. He handed Devlin a small iron bolt. “If possible, you might let him rest a couple of days. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's not hopeful. There is damage in the hoof wall, and it could become
inflamed. That is, laminitis, which can turn into founder. And at his age, if he founders, the most humane thing you can do is put him down.”

“'Twould be sad, he being only nine years old.”

Both of these gentlemen studied him in an odd way.

Daniel asked, “May I show you something?”

“Of course.”

With his thumbs, the young man drew the horse's lips apart. “In a very young horse you can read the age by the number of teeth that have erupted. After age five or six, you look at these front teeth here. See how steeply they slant forward. They slant farther and farther forward as he ages. And do you see the heavy wear on the crowns of these teeth here?”

“Oh my.” Devlin frowned. “How old might ye think he be?”

“Fifteen at least, probably years older. Eighteen or twenty.”

Reverend Solberg was nodding.

“'Tis a powerful lesson to me, gentlemen. Never take the word of a horse trader at face value. I appreciate yer ministrations immensely. Might I pay ye for yer time?”

“Not at all.” The reverend smiled. A warm smile he had. “Anything else we can do for you?”

“Eh, since ye mention it. Be there work for a practiced journeyman carpenter? I am also known as a good woodcarver.”

Daniel looked at the reverend and grinned. The reverend returned the favor.

Daniel motioned. “You could not have come at a better time. Come right this way. I'll introduce you to our foreman, Andrei Belin. You can begin work immediately.”