[Home To Blessing 01] - A Measure of Mercy Page 2

  “Ah good. You are here, John.” The older woman smiled at their pastor, John Solberg.

  “I’ve been out here praying for what seems like hours.”

  “That’s because it has been hours.” Elizabeth tipped her head back, stretching muscles too long tense. “Mr. Baxter, you did a fine job as our anesthesiologist. You can let your son come more alert now. The pain is going to be atrocious, so we will keep him sedated as much as possible for the first couple of days.” She held a syringe filled with morphine. “This will help with the pain,” she said as she inserted the medicine into his buttock.

  “You will keep him here?” Mr. Baxter looked around. “Where?”

  “We have rooms for such as this.” Elizabeth checked the patient’s pulse.

  “Where do you want us to put him?” Waiting in the doorway, Thorliff Bjorklund looked at his wife.

  “Let’s use the bigger room. Mr. Baxter, my husband and our pastor are used to moving patients. They will show you how to assist them.”

  Astrid watched their patient. First his eyelids fluttered, and then he grimaced. “We better move him quickly. He’s coming around.”

  The women stepped out of the room to give the men the space to do their job.

  “This certainly shows our need of a surgical room with decent lighting and enough room to move about. Astrid, you passed today’s examination with flying colors. Even without formal surgical training, I’d rather have you assisting me than any other doctor I know.”

  “It seemed as if the two of you could read each other’s minds, you worked so smoothly together.” Ingeborg leaned against the wall. “Astrid, how did you know what to do?”

  “I guess I’ve memorized the pictures in Gray’s Anatomy. But I can sure see the value of working on a real body.” Now that it was over Astrid realized that, though physically she was tired, her mind was racing trying to process all the new information the surgery had given her.

  “So has this convinced you to go to Chicago?”

  Astrid thought for a moment. Elizabeth had been insisting she go for more formal instruction at the Alfred Morganstein Hospital for Women and Children. Since she already had so much practical experience helping at the surgery in Blessing, she would only need to go for the surgical training. If she could pass the tests on all the other required classes first. But Chicago was so far away! Yet working with Dr. Althea Morganstein, Elizabeth’s own mentor, would be invaluable. Astrid knew her sister-in-law had taken her on with this plan in mind. She also knew Elizabeth would take it personally if Astrid didn’t pass the rigorous examinations Dr. Morganstein required.

  Astrid glanced at her mother and nodded. “Yes, I am certain.” Was that a whisper she’d heard or had God really spoken? Or just sent this test for her?

  Ingeborg blinked at the moisture gathering in her eyes and returned the nod.

  The trio followed the men into the larger of the rooms with beds on the first floor, the one they’d designated as the recovery room, and checked to make sure there was no blood leaking. When the young man groaned, his father took his hand.

  “You rest easy, Vernon. The doctors are doing their best for you.”

  He thinks I’m a real doctor, Astrid realized. The thought made her smile inside.

  “Do you want me to take the first shift?”

  “No, I will.” Ingeborg took her place in the chair. “You two go get something to eat and rest a bit. There are more people in the waiting room, but I told them it would be some time yet.”

  Astrid and Elizabeth swapped smiles. Doctors or not, sometimes mothers still took charge.

  “Thank you, we will. After we clean up.”

  “Oh, and Thelma said to tell you she’d take care of the surgery. The soup is simmering on the stove, and the coffee is hot.”

  “Do you mind if I stay here for a while?” Mr. Baxter asked.

  “You stay as long as you want. Have you had dinner?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll bring you a tray.”

  “Thank you, but you don’t need to do that. I mean . . .” He lowered his eyes at the look Elizabeth sent his way. “I’d be obliged.”

  Astrid and Elizabeth found Thorliff and Pastor Solberg in the kitchen. “You want coffee?”

  “We’ve not had dinner either,” Thorliff said. “You want company?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Let’s eat out on the porch, where it’s cooler.”

  Fresh rolls waited on the counter in the cheerful kitchen, which was really Thelma’s domain. She had geraniums blooming in the east window, white curtains with red trim, and braided rag rugs in front of the stove and the sink. The cushions on the oak chairs matched the red-and-white print of the tablecloth.

  “Oh, this smells so good.” Astrid inhaled the aroma of freshly baked rolls. “Operating rooms smell even worse than the milking barn in winter.” She stopped at the sink, took off her bloodstained operating apron, dropped it in the tub of water set for soaking, and began scrubbing her arms and hands. “Scrub before we operate and wash up afterward.”

  “That young man needs a real scrubbing too.” Thorliff took a platter of sliced meat and cheese from the icebox, along with a bowl of freshly washed lettuce leaves, and set them on a tray.

  “That can be done later.” Astrid stepped back from the sink so Elizabeth could wash up. She dried her hands and arms and used the towel to wipe her forehead and neck. Taking bowls down from the cupboard, she dished up the soup and handed the full bowls to Thorliff to set on the tray. When they were all seated around the table on the porch, they bowed their heads and let peace flow around them.

  “Heavenly Father, thank you for the gifts of healing you displayed here today,” the pastor began. “Thank you for willing hearts as we wait for you to finish what has begun. Thank you for the food before us, for this moment of rest. And, Lord God, whatever happens, we will give you all the glory. In your son’s precious name, amen.”

  “Thank you. I cannot begin to tell you how much it means to me to know that you are out in that hall praying while we work on people like this one today. Between you and Ingeborg, you keep us sane.” Elizabeth’s lips curved in a deep smile.

  Pastor Solberg smiled and nodded. “My privilege. So what is your prognosis on this case?”

  “We’ve done what we can. Most people would say this one is impossible.”

  Thorliff took his wife’s hand. “But, as Mor reminded me, with God all things are possible.”

  “And we have seen Him do the impossible before.”

  “That we have.” Elizabeth glanced over at Astrid. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know. A wave of tiredness just rolled over me. I can hardly pick up my spoon.”

  “That’s not surprising. Just make yourself eat and drink plenty of lemonade. It’ll pass.” Elizabeth did as she’d told Astrid. She turned to Thorliff. “What did you do with Inga?”

  “She’s out at Andrew’s, playing with Carl. I took her there when I saw the man in the wagon. I knew you would be busy, and I didn’t want her to see such carnage.”

  “Thank you.”

  Astrid drank half the glass of lemonade and buttered a roll, putting slices of meat and cheese and a leaf of lettuce on it. Her feet were aching, her back was whining, and her hands were shaking. Her eyes burned as if she had been crying—or would be shortly. Taking a bite of her roll, she ordered herself to chew. Elizabeth was eating her roll and laughed at something Thorliff said. Pastor Solberg nodded and joined in the laughter. All Astrid wanted to do was throw up what little she had eaten and cry herself to sleep. She’d made it through the worst surgery of her life. What was wrong with her now?

  2

  Ingeborg checked Vernon’s pulse. Slow but steady. Amazed that he was doing this well after the surgery he’d been through, she sat down in the chair and picked up her prayers again. They felt tangible, like something she could hold in her hands. She closed her eyes, the idea of hands continuing like a gentle stream flowing through he
r mind. Only instead of her own hands, now she pictured God’s hands, mighty and yet tender, holding this young man securely in His palm, His fingers gently stroking the inert body.

  Thank you, Father. You bid us come to you, to bring you the broken of body and heart. Thank you that you promise to heal, to restore, to comfort. I ask peace for this child of yours—peace in his body and in his mind. Let him feel your presence, your great love. Father, I praise you and thank you for your never-ending love and mercy. You know all things, and you know his needs far better than I do. I thank you that we can trust you to do the very best. She leaned back in the chair, her praises continuing with each breath, each beat of her heart.

  Please protect him from the infection that lurks from all the debris we couldn’t find. She laid the back of her hand against his cheek and forehead. Still cool. Thank you, Father.

  Dr. Elizabeth stopped in the doorway. “How is he?”

  “Vernon is one strong young man. He is holding his own.”

  “Call me if you see any change?”

  “I will. You look tired.”

  “Surgery like that takes every ounce of energy and skill. Thank you for your prayers, both for him and for us.”

  “God is in control.”

  “I know. Thank you for the reminder.” Elizabeth brushed her hand over her forehead.

  “Can you lie down for a bit?” Ingeborg asked, watching her daughter-in-law’s face.

  “I just sent Astrid up to lie down instead. She got a bit worn out. Not unusual for what she’s been through. I remember reacting much the same. One time I fainted. Any surgery is grueling, but this was beyond anything even I’ve ever done.”

  “I’m not surprised. This was her first surgery inside a body, wasn’t it?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “She has stitched up many superficial wounds, set bones, and birthed babies. But having your hands inside the body of a living person is a whole different matter. I was proud at her willingness to put aside her discomfort and concentrate only on what needed doing.” Elizabeth chuckled. “And she is just as amazed, I think.”

  Ingeborg sensed her patient moving before he actually opened his eyes. “Be still, Vernon. You are here at the doctor’s. Your father went home to bring your mother in. All will be well.”

  Elizabeth crossed the room and stopped by the other side of the bed, picking up his hand. “We are keeping you sedated so the pain will not be as severe. If you can understand me, please squeeze my hand.” She smiled at the light pressure from his fingers. “Good. Go back to sleep now. You are in God’s mighty hands.”

  He blinked, then closed his eyes and drifted off again.

  Thank you, Father, that Elizabeth is acknowledging you more and more. Thank you, thank you. Ingeborg’s mind filled with songs of praise and thanksgiving, lifting her spirit as well as her smile.

  Elizabeth glanced over at her. “What?”

  “I’m just thanking God for you and for all this that has happened. God is so merciful.”

  “Right now I need His strength, along with the mercy and grace.”

  “You have it.” Ingeborg smiled at her.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I asked and you asked, and He says where two or three are gathered and agree, He will do it.”

  “Thank you both.” Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. “I think I’ll walk outside a couple of minutes before I go back to my waiting patients.”

  “Good idea. Fresh air is another of His gifts.”

  Elizabeth paused before she went out the door. “How is Haakan?”

  “Stronger all the time. I can tell a difference in the strength between his two hands, but he says he can milk as well as he used to. Milking cows is good therapy for hands and arms.”

  “Good.” Elizabeth yawned. “I’ll be back in a minute or two.”

  We never have enough time to visit, it seems. Ingeborg’s mind flitted to her strawberry patch. Next week she’d have the final picking. The season was early this year. They usually had strawberries in time for the Fourth of July. She’d just slipped back into praying when Thelma entered the room with a cup and spoon on a tray.

  “I chipped some ice for the young man. A spoonful whenever he comes to will do.”

  “Thank you. I was about to come and get some for him to suck on.”

  Thelma nodded. “I will bring more later.” She set her tray on the table next to Ingeborg. “Can I bring you something cold to drink?”

  “That would be lovely, but I can come and get it.”

  “You sit there and put your feet up.” She scooted the footstool over in front of Ingeborg. “Do you have your knitting?”

  “No, I left in too much of a hurry to grab it.”

  “I’m making a dress for Inga. You could hem it if you like.”

  “I’d love to. Mange takk.” Sewing for her little granddaughter and namesake always lightened Ingeborg’s heart.

  The young man groaned, and his fingers twitched on the sheet that covered him.

  Ingeborg let the songs in her mind murmur aloud and watched as the lines in his face smoothed out. She felt his cheek again. Still cool.

  Astrid, after tying on a fresh white apron that covered her from shoulder to ankle, stopped in the doorway. “Singing him to sleep?”

  “It seems to help. Did you sleep?”

  “Like a cat in the sunshine.” She stretched and yawned. “Did Elizabeth mention that I got so shaky I could hardly stand?”

  “That isn’t surprising. The wonderful thing is that you were able to do what was needed. I’ve seen big men faint from far less. Elizabeth has told stories of nurses and doctors in training fainting in surgeries or having to leave because they were vomiting.”

  “The smell was horrible.” Astrid shivered a little. “Worse even than when we burned the cattle.”

  “Because of the damaged intestines, but you persevered.”

  “You think helping butcher animals and chickens made me tougher?”

  “Probably. Being out in the open air helps blow the stench away, not like in that small room.” Ingeborg picked up the cup and held a chip of ice to Vernon’s lips. “Try this,” she said softly and smiled as he did so.

  “I need to help Elizabeth with the other patients. I’ll come back later so you can go home.”

  Ingeborg nodded and spooned another small chip into their patient’s mouth.

  Noise in the hallway caught her attention a bit later. A man’s voice first and then a woman’s.

  “My son. I want to see my son.” The mother’s anguish swirled into the room ahead of a rounded woman with graying hair knotted in a bun. The lines in her face that bespoke hard work now slashed deeper with fear.

  Ingeborg stood and motioned to her chair. “You sit here so you can be near him.”

  “Mrs. Bjorklund, this is my wife, Wilma. We came back as soon as we could.” Mr. Baxter clutched his hat to his chest and stared down at his boy. “He is still alive.”

  “Yes, and he has swallowed some ice bits. It is there in the cup. He can have some every few minutes as long as he can swallow and keep it down.”

  The mother’s tears dripped onto her son’s hand as she clutched it to her cheek. She spoke in tear-seasoned German, but the tone sounded only of love.

  Vernon’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared into his mother’s face, then turned slightly to look to his father. The faintest of nods welcomed their presence before he drifted off again.

  “Can I get you anything? Something cool to drink?” Ingeborg asked.

  Mr. Baxter shook his head. “Thank you. Perhaps later.”

  “I’ll be back in a while. Call if there is any change or you need anything. The necessary is right down the hall.”

  “Not outside?”

  “No. There is running water to wash with too. We all wash our hands to try to keep infection down. I can show you how to use it.”

  “Ja, that would be good.” Mr. Baxter followed her from the room and down the hall. “
This is most amazing.”

  “I know.” Ingeborg opened the door. She turned the handles on the faucets, pulled the chain above the commode, and showed him the bar of soap and the hand towels. “Please wash and then show your wife how this works. We scrub our hands with brushes like the one there.” She pointed to a brush on a glass shelf above the sink. Please, Lord, let him not be offended.

  “Danke.” He spoke his thanks with a slight bow, a look of amazement etched on his face.

  Ingeborg headed for the kitchen and a cup of much needed coffee.

  “You go sit on the porch, where there’s a bit of breeze. I will bring the coffee.” Thelma paused. “And the dress.”

  Ingeborg nodded, and out on the porch she sank into a rocking chair with thick red plaid cushions. A breeze lifted the tendrils of hair that had loosed themselves from the braids fashioned in a crown framing her face and neck. She let her head rest against the back of the chair and reveled in the cool air on her skin. A robin sang from the elm tree just off the porch. Swallows dipped and darted after bugs and brought daubs of mud to their houses in the eaves of the porch. Thelma set a tray on the table and the dress on a chair beside Ingeborg, then with a smile she returned back inside the house.

  A plate of molasses cookies sat between a cup of coffee and a glass of lemonade. She started with the lemonade, holding the cold glass against her forehead and cheeks.

  Inga’s black-and-white cat mounted the steps and rubbed against her skirt, eyeing the birds as she mewed to be picked up.

  “All right, come ahead.” Ingeborg set her glass back on the tray and patted her knees. The cat didn’t need a second invitation and leaped into her lap, bumping her head under Ingeborg’s chin before turning around, kneading with her front paws, and curling in a circle. Ingeborg stroked the cat, enjoying the soft fur and the purring motor that started up with the first stroke. Smiling, she reached for the cup of coffee and a cookie. “Now if this isn’t the life. Sitting here in the middle of the afternoon and ignoring all the work that needs doing.” She eyed the pinafore with ruffles along the crossed straps and ties for the back of the gathered skirt. She knew the pink-and-white checks of gingham would delight her granddaughter.