[Home To Blessing 01] - A Measure of Mercy Page 4

  “Thank you.” Astrid laid the back of her hand against the young man’s cheek. Cooler but still hot. She felt the sheet, and wherever it touched his body, it was already dry. She fetched another sheet from the linen closet in the hall and dunked it in the tub, leaving it dripping to put over the other sheet. If they changed only the top one, propriety would be maintained.

  * * *

  DAWN WAS PINKING the sky when Mr. Baxter said he needed to leave to do chores at home.

  “That is all right. There are enough of us to care for him. Do you have a telephone in case we need to call you?”

  “No. But I will come back.”

  “Get some sleep first.”

  He shrugged, squeezed his son’s shoulder, and headed out the door, fighting to keep Astrid from seeing his tears.

  Pastor Solberg brought in a wet sheet. “Any improvement?”

  “No. But I don’t think he is any worse.” Mutterings from the patient drew her back to his side. “He’s been delirious off and on.”

  Mrs. Baxter entered, tying the ends of her head scarf at the base of her neck as she came. “My husband?”

  “Left to do chores just a few minutes ago,” Astrid said, speaking slowly and clearly.

  “Ah, chores.” She nodded her understanding.

  “We are keeping your son wrapped in cold sheets to keep his fever down.” Astrid pointed at the sheets.

  “Looks like we are through the worst here, so I will be on my way. Can I bring you anything?” Pastor Solberg stopped at the doorway.

  “Thank you, Pastor.”

  “Call me if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  A bit later Thelma brought in a breakfast tray for Mrs. Baxter. “I have yours ready in the dining room,” she told Astrid. “Doctor and the mister are eating now.”

  Astrid nodded. “I just changed the sheets again, and Mrs. Baxter helped me, so now she knows what to do.” She turned to the woman. “You eat now and drink your coffee. I will come back later.” Astrid raised the bell on the small table by the bed. “Ring this if you need anything.” Another nod.

  Astrid followed Thelma out the door. She’d made it to the dining room when a wave of exhaustion nearly slammed her against the wall. Sinking into a chair at the table, she laid her head on her crossed arms.

  “Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I will be. I didn’t know we had waves like that in North Dakota.”

  “Eat what you can and then head for bed. Doctors have to be careful not to wear out too.” Elizabeth heaved a sigh. “And thank you for letting me sleep.”

  “She needed that,” Thorliff said, patting his wife’s hand.

  Astrid thanked Thelma for the cup of steaming coffee and propped her elbows on the table so she could hold it. Proper or not, sometimes elbows helped keep one going. “What else can we do for him?”

  “Nothing that I know of. Try to get some nourishment into him, keep the pain as low as we can, pray he is strong enough to fight the infection.” Elizabeth jotted a note down on the pad she kept beside her. “I’m going to consult with Dr. Morganstein and ask if there is anything else we can do.”

  “Good.” Astrid stared at the scrambled eggs and toast on her plate. After swallowing three bites she laid down her fork.

  “Go to bed before you fall sleep in your chair. Can you make it up the stairs?”

  “I’ll help her.” Thorliff stood and came around the table. “Come on, little sister. Bedtime for you.”

  Astrid stumbled up the stairs, held upright by his strong arm. She fell across the bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  LATE AFTERNOON SUN slanted across the floor when she woke, her body demanding relief. After using the necessary, grateful anew for the indoor plumbing, she washed her face, combed her hair, and bundled it into a snood. A glance in the mirror reminded her that her apron was dirty, so she threw it into the laundry chute and made her way downstairs. In the kitchen Thelma handed her a cup of coffee.

  “I was about to come check on you.”

  “Sorry, you should have woken me up.”

  “You’ll be needed again tonight. His father is with him now.”

  “How is Vernon?”

  “Young Baxter is weaker. They keep changing the sheets. I took them ice chips, and we wrapped some in a towel and put it at the back of his neck.”

  “Maybe we should put him in a tub of cool water.”

  “Maybe there is nothing more you can do—but wait. And pray.”

  Astrid stared at the housekeeper, sometimes nurse. “Are you giving up?”

  “Up to you and the doctor.”

  Astrid squeezed her eyes shut. I hate giving up.

  * * *

  VERNON SLIPPED AWAY with the morning star two days later. His mother and father washed the body, loaded it in a wagon, and took their boy home to be buried next to their church.

  Astrid struggled against the tears, fighting to contain the anger that waged war within her.

  “We did all we could,” Elizabeth said softly, tears puddling her words.

  “It’s not right. I trusted that God would add His healing to what we did. Mor prayed—we all prayed—and he looked to be getting better, and then he died. Was God not listening? Mor, Far, Pastor Solberg—they all say God is love and He cares for all of us. So why did He let Vernon die? His parents prayed. I don’t understand.” She stomped out a counterbeat. “If there was no hope . . .”

  “Why did we try?” Elizabeth said as she studied her protégée.

  “What could we have done differently?” Astrid spun around as if the words had finally penetrated her diatribe. “Yes! Why did we try? Why did we stitch the intestines back together? Fight through all that blood?”

  “Because as doctors we have to try.”

  “No, not all doctors do. I’ve read about cases from the Civil War. Some of the wounded they left by the railroad tracks. They tried to save the ones they thought they might have a chance with. Belly wounds were always the worst.” Astrid stared out the window, tears now streaming down her face.

  “Maybe we should have just shot him and saved ourselves all the agony,” Pastor Solberg said from his chair in the corner.

  Astrid spun around, her jaw nearly on her chest. She tried to sputter an answer but could make no sense of it. “Why? Just answer one simple word: Why? ”

  “There is no answer. At least none that I’ve found.”

  Astrid stomped across the room, slamming the palms of her hands on the window frame. She clenched the wood, her nails digging into the paint. Words erupted, inner fire burning her mouth. “Not fair! It makes no sense. A good son like that! I hate this.” She pounded the wall in time with her words.

  “Ah Astrid, all I know is that God knows best. I have to trust Him because I know no other way to live. He is my God. Jesus is my salvation. He is and was the same for that young man who now resides with Him. Would you wish him back here?” He waved a hand around the sickroom, the pile of sheets, the smell of death. “In spite of anything and everything, I choose to trust, and that is the only way I can get through all this mess called life.”

  Astrid stared at the man she’d respected all her life. “Is there nothing else?”

  “Not as far as I can see.”

  “Well, I think this is more rotten than the wounds.” She spun around and stormed out the door. What ever made her think she wanted to be a doctor?

  4

  JULY 1903

  Let’s go get some ice cream.” Sophie Knutson Bjorklund Wiste laid a firm hand on her cousin’s arm.

  “Where are all your children?” Astrid glanced around looking for the twins, who were just learning to walk, and Garth’s son and daughter. For someone who hadn’t thought much of motherhood, Sophie had her hands full with the boardinghouse and four children.

  “Deborah is taking care of them, and I’m taking care of you. You’ve not even answered my telephone call.” She pulled Astrid towa
rd the door of the surgery. “You might want to take off your apron.”

  Astrid looked over to Elizabeth, who was smiling. “You go. As you can see, we have no one here in the waiting room at this moment, and I have no appointments written down.” She raised a hand as Astrid started to object. “And you do not need to study right now. Go!” She pointed toward the door, dramatically flinging her arm out. “And enjoy a break.”

  “Well, you don’t have to get all official on me. I’m going. I’m going. You know Sophie never gives up. She’ll nag me until—”

  “Until you come along like a good girl.” Sophie, who had bossed both her twin sister and her cousin since they were tiny, held the door open.

  “You’re letting in the flies.” Actually Astrid was grateful for an escape. These last few days it had been difficult to concentrate, let alone pretend she still wanted to continue her studies. But she knew even if she decided against going to study under Dr. Morganstein, she could still use the experience Elizabeth gave her. Besides Mor always insisted that they not make drastic plans when upset, and so far, since Vernon’s death, she hadn’t calmed enough to think clearly.

  “Then hurry.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “There’s someone I want you to see.”

  “Who? Sophie, what is the matter with you?” Astrid clutched the top of her head. “I don’t have a hat on. I can’t meet anyone.” She dug in her heels so that Sophie had to stop or let go. “Is this someone male or female?”

  “I’m not telling.”

  “You have a hat on. You are all dressed up. I am wearing my work clothes and no hat!”

  “You look just fine.” Sophie grabbed her hand again. “Come on!”

  Letting Sophie have her way was a lesson Astrid had learned when they were little girls and inseparable, always traipsing across the small pasture separating their two houses. Why try to change years-long patterns? She let Sophie pull her along, no longer resisting but not making it easy either. As they neared Rebecca’s soda shop, she heard laughter, a man’s laugh but not one she recognized. The female laughing was Rebecca. She grabbed a post to the overhanging porch roof and jerked Sophie to a stop.

  “Who is it?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “No I won’t, because I am not going one step farther until you tell me.” Astrid had her own brand of stubbornness, and she knew Sophie recognized it.

  Sophie, her sky-blue dimity dress swirling about her ankles, glared at her. “The ice cream is my treat. Come on.”

  “Sophie!”

  “This is someone you almost met several years ago, and now he has come back to town. I think you should welcome him back. That’s only polite, you know.”

  “Sophie, I will get you for this. Just you wait.” Astrid tried to turn and head back the direction she came from, but Sophie caught her arm.

  “Please, just say hello and—”

  “Well, hello!” The deep timbre in his voice, his wide smile, and flashing dark eyes caught her attention like none other.

  “Astrid Bjorklund, I want you to meet Joshua Landsverk. Several years ago, he sold his cows to your mother and his land to your father, and went back to Iowa. Now he’s returned to Blessing.”

  “I . . . I’m glad to meet you.” So tall she had to look up, he had an ice cream soda in one hand and wore a smile that wrapped itself around her heart and gave a tug. Had she dreamed of this man, or why did he look familiar?

  “Me too. I saw you the day I met with your mother. You rode off to get your pa. You were wearing a blue calico dress with a white apron with knee prints from where you’d been kneeling in the garden.”

  “Ah, hello. Welcome back to Blessing.” How do you remember all that? Are you visiting, passing through, come back to stay? The thoughts darted through her mind like an evening flycatcher diving for insects. Where have you been? Why are you here? What is the matter with me that my heart is racing?

  “Do you like strawberry?”

  She blinked at the question. “What?”

  “Strawberry sodas?” He handed her the one in his hand. “Or I could get you another flavor. I haven’t touched this one. I mean . . .” He glanced at Sophie. “Am I being too forward?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Landsverk. We love strawberry sodas around here.” She nudged Astrid with a discreet elbow. “Miss Bjorklund, or rather Dr. Bjorklund, needed a break.”

  Astrid’s heart tried to skip out her chest, but she sucked in a deep breath along with an order to settle down. “No, I mean, ah . . . yes. I do like strawberry sodas.”

  “Mrs. Valders said they are fresh strawberries.”

  “Mrs. Valders?” Astrid caught her gaffe. She still had a hard time thinking of Rebecca as Mrs. Valders. That title belonged to her mother-in- law, the woman who for years had tried to rule the town. “Yes, they would be fresh. Rebecca always uses the best of everything in her shop.” Talk about inane. When would her usually quick mind kick into motion? She glanced down at the soda in her hand. She tried to hand it back to him, but he shook his head and took a step backward.

  Sophie broke the lengthening silence. “Good seeing you again, Mr. Landsverk. I need to get back to the boardinghouse. Let me know if you need anything. We try to take good care of our newcomers here in Blessing.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Wiste.” He touched the brim of his hat, but his gaze never unlocked with Astrid’s.

  Astrid sucked on the straw in the soda glass. Strawberry flavor exploded on her tongue. She could feel a smile stretching her cheeks. “This is really good.”

  “Let’s go get me one, and then we can sit here and catch up on the last few years.” He held out his bent arm, and she put her hand through the crook as if she’d been doing so all her life.

  Good thing the other Mrs. Valders wasn’t here or she’d have spread the news that Astrid was talking so familiarly with a strange man at the soda shop. She thought of backing away, but her hand felt comfortable against his arm. Together they entered the shop, dim inside after the bright sun.

  “Astrid, hello. How do you like the new soda?” Rebecca, formerly Baard until she married Gerald Valders a couple weeks earlier, grinned at her friend from behind the counter.

  Astrid glanced at the glass forgotten in her hand. She drank from the straw. “It’s very good. I take it you’ve met Mr. Landsverk?”

  “I have.” She nodded up at their guest. “Would you like a strawberry soda for yourself? Or some other flavor?”

  “Strawberry will be fine.”

  Astrid swallowed and let out a breath she’d held so long it was crushing her lungs. She could listen to that voice all day and not get tired of it. Deep baritone, not a bass, with a bit of Iowa twang or accent. Norwegian? Possibly, but not like others she knew.

  “So, what brings you back to Blessing?” Rebecca asked as she filled the glass with fizzy soda water.

  “Some unfinished business.” He nodded at Astrid. Accepting his glass, he paid Rebecca and turned to leave. “I’m sure you’ll see us often.”

  Us? Who did he mean by us? Had he brought a wife and family along? That wouldn’t be surprising. What was surprising was the lump in her throat at the thought of his being married. Now stop this, Astrid Bjorklund. You’ve not seen this man in three years, and then only from a distance. Would you begrudge him happiness? What kind of a woman are you?

  He set his soda on the white-painted table and pulled one of the two wire-backed chairs out for her to sit down. The touch of his hand on her back sent shivers clear to the soles of her feet and up to the highest hair on her head.

  She hid behind her soda glass, forcing small sips past the lump. I have to know. “So, are you bringing your family out to show them where you used to live?”

  He stared at her with a line between his eyebrows. “My family? My folks have no desire to come out here and aren’t really pleased that I left. Pa was hoping I would stay there and keep working on the homeplace.” A silence stretched.

  So why didn�
�t you? Look at him, silly, what is the matter with you? The voice sounded amazingly like Maydell telling Rebecca how to get a man interested in her.

  “I guess I just wasn’t cut out to be a farmer. I’m hoping to find another kind of work here.”

  She could feel his gaze touching her hair, her chin, her hands. When she glanced up from under her lashes, she was right. He was looking straight at her—not smiling but with a look that could only be titled tender. Astrid swallowed. And closed her eyes. When she looked again, he was leaning back in the chair, sipping his soda and still smiling. She must have been mistaken.

  “When did you get here?” Surely that was a safe question.

  “On the morning train. I took a room at the boardinghouse. That’s when I talked with Mrs. Wiste. Does she really have four children?

  I mean, when I left you were all young girls still in school, and now she is married with four children.”

  “Sophie had twins, and her new husband already had two children.” She didn’t give him the long story of Sophie running away with Hamre and being widowed. That wasn’t hers to tell.

  “And the boardinghouse?”

  “When my grandmother and her husband died, they deeded the boardinghouse to Sophie.” Her straw gurgled on the bottom of the glass.

  “Would you like another?”

  “No thank you. I . . . I should get back to the surgery in case I am needed.”

  “Sophie, er, Mrs. Wiste said you are in training to be a doctor?”

  Or was. The thought brought back all the sorrow of the last few days.

  “What is it? All of a sudden you went sad.” He leaned forward and raised his hand as if he were going to touch her cheek.

  Tell him. Don’t tell him. The inner argument picked up again. “I . . . we lost a young man a few days ago to a severe injury. I so wanted him to live.” She looked up to see her sorrow mirrored in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Blessing is fortunate to have doctors here in town. So much has changed since I left. The flour mill, new houses, the new building for the bank, telephones. I was surprised when I went into the mercantile and Mrs. Bjorklund remembered me.”