A Harvest of Hope Page 3

  When the machine was full, she watched Gray Cloud put in the first load of sheets and other white things. She’d only needed to show these students something one time, and they would do it, both at the hospital and here, even though they didn’t yet understand the necessity of all the washing and cleaning.

  “Do you know what your class is on today?”

  “More bandaging.” Neither of the women wasted words.

  The banging from down at the barn announced that the milking was finished, and soon she could hear Manny’s crutches on the porch floor. She set his bowl of oatmeal on the table, and Freda cracked two eggs into the grease in the frying pan. His lunch already waited in the lard pail on the counter.

  As soon as he washed his hands and sat down, she took her chair across from him. “Manny, I’m thinking you and I and Carl and Inga, oh, and Emmy too, should go fishing when you get home from school. Do you think you can make it down the riverbank?”

  His eyes lit up. “’Course. Or scoot down on my rear.”

  “Good. I’ll call to make sure the others can go. A fish fry tonight sounds mighty good to me.”

  “I could stay home and we could go earlier.”

  She started to answer firmly and then, catching the glint in his eye, realized he was teasing her. She and Freda swapped astonished looks. She looked to Emmy, who was sitting quietly as usual. “Do you want to go fishing?”

  Her grin said more than her nod.

  Hanging the wet sheets on the line was one of the chores Ingeborg loved, but even better would be taking them down later, smelling only like sheets dried in the wind could smell—fresh and perfumed by God’s own breath. With the sheets flapping around her, she stared toward the garden. They would bring in the squash and pumpkins today and maybe get the onions dug so they could be braided and hung in the cellar. Good thing Haakan had dug them a large cellar, as big as the entire house. He’d dreamed of someday putting a furnace in the basement.

  So many dreams buried in the box along with the dreamer.

  At nine o’clock the two Indian women left for the hospital, and while Freda washed a couple more loads, Ingeborg washed the butter, filled the molds, and set them in the icebox. Then taking out eggs, she gathered the ingredients for a cake and set to mixing up the batter. After that she would bake cookies. If Inga was coming, there had to be gingerbread men in the cookie jar. Maybe they wouldn’t get to the squash today after all.

  “I’ll send Inga out as soon as she changes clothes after school,” Elizabeth said when Ingeborg telephoned.

  Ever since summer, Inga had walked to the farm by herself, something she had pleaded to do some time before permission had been granted.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “About the same. Some days are better than others. Ingeborg, have you given any thought to helping more at the hospital? I hate to ask, because you are always so generous, but if you taught some of the nursing classes—like you and Kaaren did, was it last summer?—that would make it easier on Astrid.”

  “Ja, I can do that.”

  “I hate to ask that right now, but . . .”

  Ingeborg shook her head. “You don’t understand. Trying to make things easier for me is kind of you, but the busier I am the less time I have to feel sorry for myself. Grief will take over your life if you let it, so I believe more work is the best medicine, and helping others makes it even better. Does that make any sense?”

  “You must be related to Thorliff. I hardly see him lately.”

  “How is he?”

  “Taking his pa’s death hard, but then we all are. Coupled with his concern for me and the baby, he is riding himself with whip and spurs.”

  “Ja, making himself too tired at night to do anything but fall into bed. I know.” She’d seen the black circles under her son’s eyes, and he had lost weight, enough so that it showed. He and Astrid were quite a pair.

  And what kind of example am I to my children? The thought struck like a lightning bolt.

  “Ingeborg! Are you there?”

  Ingeborg blinked and stared at the black mouthpiece. “Uh, ja, I am. Just got lost in a thought is all. Did I ask you if Inga can go fishing after school? After all, that was my main reason for telephoning you.”

  “Of course, and I hope you know you do not have to have a reason.”

  “Takk. Tusen takk. You are doing what the doctor ordered?”

  “Yes. But the days I feel like myself again . . . well, let’s just say, Thelma would make an excellent prison warden or general.”

  “We could call her General Thelma.” Ingeborg smiled when she heard a slight chuckle. Good. They all needed to be laughing more. She was counting on Inga and the others to help her laugh. Lord, please take away my sad eyes in time for Inga to come.

  “We will try to bring home enough fish for all three houses.”

  “I’ll tell Thelma to be ready.”

  “Just in case.”

  “Ja, just in case.”

  When they hung up, Ingeborg stared out the window at a world with a sheer covering. She saw Patches leap off the porch and go running toward the barn, then Andrew leaning over to pet him.

  “I’m going up to the cheese house,” Freda announced from the back porch. “Your cake should be done soon.”

  And I better get the cookie dough mixed. She stopped long enough to make the call to Ellie to ask if Carl could go fishing. Her chuckle still clung around Ingeborg’s shoulders.

  A platter of gingerbread men with raisins for eyes, a smile, and a button nose was waiting on the counter when she heard Manny’s crutches thumping on the porch floor. For a change she heard Manny’s and Emmy’s voices too. Words were never wasted between the two of them.

  “Something sure smells good,” Manny announced as he sniffed his way in the door. His eyes lit up when he saw the mound of cookies. “Is Inga coming?”

  “Manny McCrary, you are getting too smart for your britches. But yes. As soon as she gets here, we will go. There is buttermilk in the icebox or plain milk to go with the cookies. Carl is already down at the barn digging worms. He didn’t even come up to the house, just got out the manure fork.” She had seen him with his bucket and dragging the fork that was taller than he. When that grandson of hers was born, God gave him an extra dose of determination.

  Emmy fetched the glasses and the pitcher of buttermilk without asking Manny what he preferred, set them on the table, and then ran up the stairs to change to her home clothes, as she called them.

  Patches’ yipping of delight announced Inga before she called, “Grandma, I am here.” She burst through the door, Carl and his worm bucket right behind her. She threw her arms around Ingeborg and squeezed. “Oh, I have missed you so much.”

  “Ja, me too.”

  Inga looked up, not releasing her hold, a grin splitting her face. “You miss you too?”

  Ingeborg shook her head. “You caught me again.” One had to be careful around Inga; she picked up every nuance.

  After another squeeze Inga danced over to the table. “You made gingerbread men without me.”

  “I sure missed my raisin stickers.”

  Carl looked up at her with a slight frown. “I coulda helped you.”

  She bent over and kissed his nose. “Next time I will call for you. Did you get lots of worms?”

  “I did, so we can catch lots of fish.” He pulled out his chair at the table and climbed up. “Goodie wanted to come too, but I told her she was still too little. Can I take her a cookie after?”

  That was Carl, always watching out for his little sister, Gudrun. What a good big brother he was. Ingeborg shot a thank-you heavenward. Such gifts God had given her in these children, grandchildren indeed.

  By the time they got down to the river, Manny had slid down, but not by plan, sending the others into paroxysms of giggles.

  Inga looked up at her. “Grandma, your sad eyes are gone.”

  “Good. Now let’s catch some fish.”

  “If we didn’t sca
re them all away. Too noisy.”

  Leave it to Carl.

  Emmy’s bobber was the first to go under, and in spite of Carl’s dire predictions, the fish were not only biting but nearly leaping to catch the worms before they hit the water. Ingeborg never did get time to throw out her own line. She was too busy pegging the fish through the gills, the stringer tied to a stake in the bank.

  “Next time we need to bring a bucket,” she said and turned to help Carl get a hook out of the fish’s mouth, but then Inga screamed that her pole was leaving and splashed into the water to save it.

  Ingeborg dropped the fish and went after her, grabbing her pinafore strap at the same moment Inga slipped. Dragging the soaking girl back to the bank and sending thank-yous sky high, she realized the others were nearly collapsing in laughter.

  Inga dragged the pole, and a huge fish jumped out of the river, hooked. “I didn’t want to lose Grandpa’s pole.” She turned and jerked the pole, sending the fish flying over their heads to slap on the bank.

  Good thing Ingeborg ducked. “Better the pole than you.”

  “Grandma, I know how to swim.” Inga handed her the pole and sloshed her way over to grab the flopping fish by the gills. “He’s a big one, all right.” Patches, who’d been barking at the fish, leaped beside her.

  “Biggest yet.” Carl always kept track of the biggest fish. “Inga wins today.”

  Not waiting for her heart to settle back into place, Ingeborg asked, “How many have we got?”

  “Fourteen with that one.” Carl might not be old enough for school yet, but he knew his numbers, especially when counting fish—or eggs.

  She glanced over at Manny, whose eyes were as big as his face. “Guess we’ll have enough pretty soon for all three houses.”

  He nodded, saw his bobber go under, and jerked the pole before sitting down again. “That was close.”

  About the time the mosquitoes started making a full-on attack, they wrapped the lines around the poles and buried the hooks in the cork bobbers. After stringing the fish on two long branches, they struggled up the bank, Ingeborg taking two trips, one to help Manny, much to his disgruntlement.

  Inga stared down at her muddy clothes. “Ma is not going to be happy.”

  “But we caught fish. Twenty-four fish.” Manny looked across the fields to see the cows lined up at the barn. “I’m late for milking.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “But—”

  “Go.”

  He stumped along the path as fast as he could, and the others gathered up the poles, Emmy and Inga with one stick of fish, Ingeborg and Carl the other. Each of them carried poles and Carl the worm bucket. Since they’d not used them all, he would stop at the barn and carefully put the remainder back in the manure pile for the next time.

  As she listened to the children’s chatter, Ingeborg realized she’d only thought of Haakan one time . . . when they first got there, and she remembered how much he loved taking the little ones fishing.

  So sad that he’d not gone fishing more often.

  Chapter 4

  You let me sleep!” Dr. Astrid Bjorklund Jeffers accused when she found her husband on the porch.

  “I know. I checked with the hospital, and there was nothing there they couldn’t handle, so I didn’t call you.” Daniel Jeffers watched his wife carefully, trying not to be obvious.

  “But I had a class to teach at one.”

  “Deborah took that over. She said she knew the information well enough.”

  Astrid sank down on the settee, and instantly her mother-in-law, Amelia Jeffers, set a cup of coffee beside her along with a sandwich.

  “You’ll feel better once you get something in your stomach.”

  Astrid sucked in a deep breath and reminded her jaw to unclench. Wagging her head, which still twinged with the headache that had forced her to lie down for just a few minutes but ended up well over two hours, she muttered something unintelligible.

  “Now eat. If they need you, well, that’s why we have a telephone.”

  Knowing he was right didn’t make it any easier. After a bite of sandwich, she cradled her coffee cup with both hands.

  “Can I warm up your coffee?” Amelia arrived with the coffeepot and filled her son’s cup. “Astrid?”

  “Just started on it. Thanks for the lunch.”

  “It’s good to see you sitting down for a change.” She filled a cup for herself and returned the pot to the kitchen. Before sitting down on the porch, she set a plate of cookies on the table.

  Astrid inhaled the aroma of molasses. “I wonder how long it has been since I baked cookies, or anything for that matter.”

  “I can’t count that far.” Daniel flopped the corner of his paper forward enough to wink at her. “Good thing there are others who take good care of your poor neglected husband.”

  “Really?” Astrid lowered her cup but relaxed again when he winked at her. “I do worry about that, you know.”

  “Haven’t you enough to worry about with the hospital, training the nurses, caring for patients? Do you have to borrow trouble?”

  Amelia rolled her eyes this time and tapped Daniel on the arm. “You should talk. Let’s see, creating a training program for new workers, overseeing the ones you have, fixing the machinery when it breaks, selling the machinery you have produced—”

  “Don’t forget turning Pa’s plans into reality,” Daniel interjected.

  “Oh, and helping whoever needs something.” Astrid joined the game.

  “Do you mind if I read my paper in peace?”

  “Not at all. What does Thorliff have to say this week?” Astrid watched her husband over the top of her cup. Was he looking tired too, or was it the shadows on the porch? She finished her sandwich and reached for a cookie at the same moment the telephone rang the two times for their house. One ring was Thorliff’s. She motioned Amelia to stay seated and strode back into the house.

  “They need you at the hospital,” reported Gerald Valders, who was now the manager for the telephone company as well as taking the switchboard when needed. “Deborah said it wasn’t a critical emergency. One of the construction workers got a bad slice on the arm.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get right over there.” Astrid hung up, grabbed her bag, and waved to the others as she left the porch. “I’ll do rounds too before I come home.”

  “Supper will be waiting.”

  “I have a meeting at seven,” Daniel called, raising his voice to make sure she heard.

  She waved an acknowledgment and continued her fast walk. Jogging didn’t seem necessary. If the man was bleeding dangerously, the nurse would have said so. They needed to attach numbers to the word emergency, but they all understood stat.

  She pushed open the hospital door to be greeted by the fragrance of red and yellow blooming roses, a bouquet that always adorned the desk, thanks to Amelia’s rose garden. She renewed it as needed. Roses smelled better than disinfectant any day. She could hear the nurses in the first examining room. Stopping in the doorway, she watched them at work. Nurse Vera was cleaning the wound, Gray Cloud arranging the tray, Dawn Breaking with her fingers pressed on the inner side of his elbow, and Deborah supervising, making suggestions as needed.

  She turned to smile at Astrid. “This one needs stitches.” She raised her hands. “I know I could have done it, but we are working with protocol, right?”

  Astrid nodded. “Do you have a name for our patient, and does he speak English?”

  “Mr. Buchmeister and yes.” Deborah smiled at the man on the table watching their every move.

  Astrid smiled at him. “You are in good hands, Mr. Buchmeister. We’ll get you fixed up right away. By the way, I am Dr. Bjorklund.” With that she stepped to the basin to scrub. “Everyone scrubbed before touching the patient?” They all nodded. Astrid shook her hands and walked over to Vera to look over her shoulder. “Good. Have you examined it closely for any remaining detritus?” After a nod, she added, “and irrigated it with sterile water?”
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br />   “We had to stop the bleeding first.” She nodded to Dawn Breaking, who was pressing against the artery to stop the flow.

  “Is the blood coagulating?”

  Vera nodded. Gray Cloud shot Astrid a questioning look.

  Deborah explained the term, and the Indian woman nodded.

  “All right, Dawn. Release the pressure slowly.” When the blood started flowing again, Astrid asked. “Is the flow less now than in the beginning?”

  They all nodded.

  “Good. Vera, will you check to make sure the tray is supplied?”

  When she started to say, “But we . . .” Astrid continued. “Always double and even triple check. Mistakes are far too easy to make, and when you are under a lot of pressure, even easier. Establish good habits, and that will save a patient’s life at some point.”

  “Now irrigate the wound again with carbolic acid, and we’ll close it up.” She turned to their patient. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is going to sting pretty bad.”

  “Yoost get it done. Danke.” Though his accent was heavy, at least he could understand them.

  While Astrid closed the wound with small, perfectly spaced stitches, she explained each step to her nurses, then asked Vera, “Have you ever sutured a wound before?”

  “No.”

  “Then come here beside me. Do you know how to sew and tie knots?”

  “Well, yes. We covered that in training, just never on a patient.”

  “Remember what you did.” Astrid demonstrated on one more stitch and then, after cutting the silk, handed her the needle. “Now you do the next one.”

  Vera sucked in a deep breath. “I’d never get a chance to do this in Chicago.”

  “Probably not.” Astrid watched carefully. “Good, good. Now see, that wasn’t so hard. I suggest you take one of our needles, since they are different than those used in fabric, and practice. Let’s see, how many more stitches do you think we need?”

  “Uh, two maybe?” Vera looked to Deborah, who nodded, and then to Astrid, who did the same. “You want me to do them?”