To Everything a Season (28 page)

“You don't understand!”

“Oh, yes I do! I understand far too thoroughly.”

“Listen to me. It is just one man. Just one opinion, and—”

“Which he voiced in no uncertain terms, and half the people were nodding, agreeing with him. This is why I don't go to any church, and believe me, from now on that includes yours.”

“As I was saying, I mean this Father Devlin is just one man, not Valders. It's not like we have a whole host of people who don't like our church and want to go to some other church. They—”

“There are plenty of unhappy workers. Most of the construction crews out of the East are
not
members of your church. They belong to many churches. You have no idea what they want, what they are saying, or how much they need a church of their own. And certainly that Mr. Valders does not.”

“If they want us to know what they're saying, let them come to church speaking English.”

She stood up and slapped her napkin on the table. “Thank you for the soda, but I'd rather go back to my room. I have things to do.”

He stood up.

Her eyes were blazing. “Don't bother. I can probably find my way home.”

She snatched up her reticule and stormed out, that funny little hat perched precariously in her thick mane of hair.

Women! How could she be so cool and in command one moment and so wildly hotheaded and wrong the next? She didn't even listen to what he was really trying to say.

Onkel Hjelmer always said it was no wonder women were denied the vote. A person that irrational can't be trusted to make good choices.

He was about done with women. Any woman.

Especially
that
woman!

Bah!

A
ll right, so what is really going on?” Astrid stared at Elizabeth, her tone saying far more than the words.

Elizabeth leaned back on the settee on the porch, her face as pale as winter snow.

Astrid realized immediately that she'd lost more weight too, and the rest she'd prescribed didn't seem to be helping.

Ingeborg moved to the settee and sat on the edge, taking Elizabeth's hand in hers. “We can only help you if we have more than an idea of what the problem is.”

“It shouldn't be a problem. We should all be rejoicing.”

“Where is Inga?” Astrid asked.

“Playing over at Sophie's.” A tear trickled from the edge of Elizabeth's eye, meandering over her cheek.

“Have you told Thorliff yet?”

A shake of the head. “He is already worried and probably has figured it out. But then again, perhaps not. Men don't usually count such things.”

“So how many cycles have you missed?”

“Two, for sure. We were so very careful, I should not be pregnant.”

“There's only one sure way.” Astrid leaned against the back of her chair, eyes closed and weighted down with such dark thoughts, she could hardly breathe. How could she help keep Elizabeth alive this time when they almost lost her last time? Suspecting this, she'd not tried to lay out a plan yet, so intently hoping it wasn't true.

The distant song of a meadowlark, usually soothing, couldn't penetrate the miasma. She glanced over to see her mother, eyes closed and lips moving, doing the thing that always kept her sane. Prayer didn't always work that way with her daughter or her daughter-in-law.

“Do you think I do not carry enough guilt already?” Elizabeth finally asked.

“It takes two.” Astrid knew she was being cruel, but— But what? What was she to do? What was Thorliff to do? Ingeborg had her work cut out for her—prayer.
Lord, I am trying to
learn to trust you, but preventing a pregnancy would have
made this easier for all of us
. Of what use . . . She decided to go no further with that line of thought. But how would she get through the months ahead being the only doctor, running the hospital, training nurses—including the two Indian women soon to arrive—and fighting to keep Elizabeth and her baby alive? The load threatened to cut off her breathing, it sat so heavy.

“When will you tell Thorliff, or do you want me to?”

“I will.”

“Does Thelma know?” Ingeborg asked.

“Of course. She's the one who told me what was wrong. Oh, Astrid, Ingeborg, I want the joy that carrying a baby brings, a baby sister or brother for Inga, perhaps a son for Thorliff. A baby to hold in my arms and . . .” Another tear followed the first. “And yes, I do understand the ramifications of this pregnancy. But I will do everything you, we, all of us think best.”

“Bed rest with nourishing food, limited but planned exercise, and taking everything we can find to build your strength,” Astrid started. “We will move you into one of the patient rooms downstairs—no stairs, no lifting. We will contact the Chicago hospital and any others we can think of to get the latest information on a problem like this.” As the instructions flowed like water on a gentle slope, Astrid was surprised. She had no idea Elizabeth had been thinking along these lines, obviously expecting this diagnosis.

“Yes, Doctor. I can at least keep the books and order supplies.”

“As long as it doesn't make you tired. You have to stop before you get tired. Oh, and worrying will do that worse than anything.”

“I figure the baby was conceived end of May or so.”

“So we might be two and a half months along, so sometime in February.”

“I so love playing the piano for church.” Elizabeth heaved a sigh. “Good thing we have Jonathan back.”

“When will you tell Thorliff?” Ingeborg spoke gently, all the time stroking Elizabeth's hand and arm. “I'm thinking we need to bring Reverend Solberg into this immediately, and Kaaren. Any others are up to you, as to when you make an announcement, not that making an announcement is necessary, but you are one of the doctors here, and people will wonder why you are not treating patients.”

“I guess we'll wait and see on that. Right now I'm glad that none of the nurses are staying here.”

Astrid nodded. “True, but that might be a possibility, if we feel that can help you.”

“Thelma will be a combination sergeant, nurse, and town crier.”

Ingeborg and Astrid exchanged a look full of questions.

“So we are in agreement, then?” Astrid asked.

“As to actions?”

“Yes. Mor?”

“Then we pray God's will be done. And we pray for strength, but even more for peace and for Him to bathe Elizabeth and Thorliff in His love and protection.”

Peace did flow gently on the breeze, settling like butterfly wings
. If only I
could hang on to this peace,
Astrid thought.
Peace is
not something I've experienced much lately
. Not with all the dissension regarding the Valders and the workmen and the town. Unrest was afoot, not peace.
Why is it that
we can't rejoice in the new man in town
who has so much to offer?

“Mor, have you and Reverend Solberg talked about Anner Valders and how to handle the mess he is causing?”

“We are praying for God's will and wisdom and an extra dose of love.”

“I really like that Thomas Devlin. He was so good with Mr. O'Flaherty, and I've heard that his sense of humor has spread among the building crews. I hope he will stay here. And no, I am not afraid of another church moving in here. I've not canvassed the workers to see what faith they belong to. Some have come to our church. Maybe we need to make a better effort at inviting the others.” Astrid paused to think. “Amelia has quite a large class learning English. They have to meet at the school because the only other places big enough are our church and the dining room at the boardinghouse. The school seems most appropriate, but perhaps we should move it to the church.”

“I wouldn't ask Mr. Valders about that.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Has anyone heard what Hildegunn has to say?”

“She parrots
Mr.
Valders.”

Ingeborg chuckled. “She has always said that, but I really thought she was the one in charge.”

“Me too. Guess it goes to show you just never know.” Astrid rose. “I need to get back to the hospital. I have asked Deborah to keep good track of what medicines and supplies we need. She'll turn the inventory in to you. Having a manager for the hospital would help, that's for sure. Make sure you pray we have no major crises. I, for one, am grateful you were not in contact with Mr. O'Flaherty. Nor the other immigrant workers.”

The nurses were changing shifts when she walked in the door. For a change, Trygve was not waiting to walk Nurse Hastings home or to the Soda Shoppe, as they'd done so often. Come to think of it, she'd not seen him for a few days. She stilled her curiosity with stern instructions to mind her own business and sat down to check through the charts and see what had transpired in the last few hours. Hopefully not much. Some patients they could send home. Here was a new case of pneumonia. That could be bad this early in the season. And Grant Wiste, Sophie's stepson, was here with a broken finger. That child got into more scrapes.

But mostly her mind and her worries went back to Elizabeth. Dear Elizabeth.
O God,
why do you do these things to us?

Manny was napping again.

Haakan watched the boy's breathing and remembered his own sons at Manny's age. He thought at first that they were simply getting lazy when they slept so much, but Ingeborg said differently.
“Please be patient
, Haakan. Look how many helpings the boys eat at every
meal. They are getting their growth and changing from boys
into men. They won't stay ‘lazy' long.”
And she was right. She was almost always right. Now they were diligent and faithful workers—all his children were.

Today was bright and hot without a cloud in the sky. This
morning the boys were out getting the combine and wagons ready. Except Andrew, who was helping Lars today. They would haul the harvesting equipment to the fields tonight. Tomorrow at first light, wheat harvest would begin, and not a moment too soon.

There was another point of pride. Haakan simply gazed out across the distance over the golden rippling wheat, admiring its sheer beauty. And promise. They would bring in a rich harvest this year. Bumper crop. Thick stand, full heads. A couple days ago, Haakan had walked out to the field to check. The wheat had been on the edge of perfect ripeness then. It was ready now.

Wait. He stood up and strained his eyes. What was that out in the wheat? Something moving. Uff da! That brown cow. She had somehow broken through the fence. The boys were gone. Ingeborg was in town. Manny was still useless. That left Haakan.

He picked up his walking stick beside the door and carefully went down the steps. He found himself almost smiling. For weeks he had watched the work go on without being able to help at all. The few times he'd tried, the boys had to bring him home, as if he were some old invalid. Right now, though, he would make the difference between a full harvest and a lost harvest. Determined, he marched out to the field. If one cow was out, the others would follow within a matter of minutes. A herd the size of theirs would knock the entire field down before he could find help.

If the cows knocked the mature wheat down, the combine could not pick it up. If the combine ran over it and could not pick it up, it was pretty much lost. Scythes couldn't pick it up very good either. People with sickles could save some of the downed wheat, but not much. Anyway, who could afford time to sickle fallen wheat during this, the busiest time of harvest?

He found the break in the fence. And there was another cow picking her way over the fallen fence! Three in the field now! They could ruin the whole field! And a fourth . . . Haakan swung his walking stick and shouted. Startled, the fourth and her followers turned aside and trotted off.

He watched them for a moment, then climbed clumsily across the fallen fence and broke into a sort of trot toward the other three. Look at the mess they were making of his prime wheat!

He was winded by the time he had worked his way around behind the cows. His walking stick was very handy. He tied his handkerchief to the end of it. Now when he waved it, it frightened the cows enough to get them moving back toward the break.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to get all the cows back into the pasture where he wanted them. In his youth, he could have done it in three.
Ah, but Haakan,
it's no matter that you are an old man.
You did it! See? You did it!
He leaned against a fence post for a few minutes, simply mustering his strength.

He got to work on restacking the rails, mending the fence break as best he could with no tools. It took him a long time. Was his mending job good enough? Possibly not. That brown bossy would only have to lean into it and she'd break it down again. He should put them in the south pasture.

No, since he was headed home anyway, he would drive the cows with him up to the barn. Then the boys could let them out into the other pasture when they returned. That would be a lot easier, and anything easier was good. Haakan was now very weary. His whole body thudded. He was no longer in good shape, but then he knew that. He also knew he'd been getting stronger with all his walking. Right now he might have argued the effort.

The cows had made their way down to the riverbed. Appar
ently wandering around in a wheat field makes a cow thirsty. He followed them down the steep slope, leaning heavily on his stick. His handkerchief was still tied to the end of it, so he would have no problem driving them home.

He was now absolutely spent. Worn out. Instead of driving the cows back to the barn, he would climb out of the riverbed and go back to the fence break. Protect it, keep the cows away from it. He would sit down and wait there until either Ingeborg or the boys returned. They would see he was gone, come looking, and he would flag them from where he sat. He would not even need to stand up to signal them. He would just wave his walking stick. The handkerchief would be easily seen. And he could shout. That too.

They would mend the break properly and all would be well.

He drove his stick into the dirt and leaned on it heavily, beginning the long climb from the river bottom back up to the field. Another step. Another.

His legs buckled and he landed heavily on his side. They would not see him down here. He must get back up to field level. Could he climb back up on his feet? He made a few useless attempts. No. He would crawl up and out on his hands and knees. That would have to do.

He could not get up onto his hands and knees. He would have to rest a while. If he heard voices, he would shout.