Tender Mercies Page 4

  But in the meantime, she’d better get the bread to rising.

  We’re going to need more desks, Pastor Solberg thought as he counted the children lining up from the smallest to the largest in front of the school door. A bit of a scuffle ensued toward the end of the ranks where the bigger boys vied for position. A wagon coming from the north promised more pupils. He’d have to talk to Olaf Wold and see when he would have time to build a couple more tables and benches, but for now they’d have to crowd closer together.

  “Children, quiet now. Please count off.” He nodded to Ellie Peterson Wold. “You begin—one.”

  “One.” She glanced over her shoulder to Andrew Bjorklund.

  “Two.” He looked toward the wagon. “Deborah will be three.”

  Two girls jumped from the wagon and raced toward the lineup. “Sorry,” Manda Norton MacCallister panted as she skidded into her place in front of Thorliff.

  “You’re three,” Andrew whispered to Deborah, loud enough for the crow flying above to hear.

  “No, I ain’t. I’m five,” Deborah hissed back, stepping into place behind him.

  “We’re numbering off,” John explained, hiding the smile that tugged at his lips. He’d learned early on that if he was strict and stern the first few days of school, he could relax and be himself later and not encounter any discipline problems. Sometimes that was hard, as right now. The little ones were so earnest. He glanced up to wave good-bye to their driver and was forced to try to hide his shock. Miss MacCallister had driven the children in. He finished his wave, grateful she couldn’t see the heat rising up his neck. He’d been so rude the other day. The guilt of it flamed him every time the thought returned. He’d been ungentlemanly, let alone unpastoral. While she visited here, she was part of his flock and deserved respectful attention. He would have to apologize.

  “Twenty-nine,” called out fifteen-year-old Swen Baard.

  “Thank you,” Solberg called back, hiding his surprise that the Baard boys returned this year. Joseph had grumbled last spring about needing his sons in the fields, that they had all the book learning they needed. Agnes must have put her foot down.

  “Since we have more pupils this year, we will be somewhat crowded until we get new desks, so I expect you all to treat each other with good manners.” He dreaded the thought of having the older boys and girls sharing the higher benches, especially because of the teasing that went on with the Baard boys. He’d almost looked forward to their not being here this year.

  He looked down at a tug on his coattails.

  “Pathtor Tholberg, I brung you thith.” Slender to the point of emaciation, Anna Helmsrude held out a bright red apple for him. “I picked it juth for you.”

  He wanted to gather the little girl into his arms and shield her from all harm. “Thank you, Anna,” he said, his face as serious as her own. The Helmsrude family had more pride than possessions, but Anna insisted on bringing him presents. How would he ever find time this year to help her get over her lisp when he had so many students? Dear God, help her get through another winter. She is so frail. Praying for his pupils, as well as his congregation, was as natural as breathing. Listening for the answers took more doing.

  He turned and led the way into the soddy classroom that was formerly the church and school combined. As the children passed the line of pegs along the back wall, they hung up their coats and set their lunch pails on the shelf built for that purpose, then made their way to the benches. Just as he feared, there were more boys than girls in the upper grades.

  Baptiste and Swen eyed the same seat.

  Thorliff raised his hand. “I can sit on the floor today and bring a chair tomorrow.”

  “I can stay home.” The giggles that answered Baptiste’s reply showed how the children had come to accept him as one of their own.

  “Thank you, Thorliff, but why don’t you go over to my house and get a chair from there for today? We’ll work something else out tomorrow.” Actually he’d thought of having Thorliff help him with the younger children. The boy learned quickly and was so far ahead of the others that keeping him busy took plenty of forethought.

  As Thorliff left the room, the others settled in.

  John Solberg glanced around the room. Most everyone had slates, and several had new books they raised with pride when they saw him looking. Those who read well were already studying the bookshelves, one of which held all new books he’d ordered over the summer. Other books had been sent by his mother, who had impressed the ladies of her church to consider Blessing School their mission for the year. He hoped to have boxes for the children to open and delight over once in a while.

  “We will now stand for the Pledge of Allegiance and our morning Scripture reading, after which we will ask our heavenly Father to bless this school year.” The older children got to their feet, and the younger followed suit.

  Pastor Solberg pointed to the American flag hanging in the corner and put his hand over his heart. The older girls helped the younger children get the right hand in place, and they all stood erect.

  “I pledge allegiance to the flag. . . .” John spoke slowly and clearly so that the children could follow easily. At the end he turned back to his class. “Very good. We’ll work on memorizing that for all the new ones here.” He picked up his Bible and waited for the rustlings to cease. “Today we are reading from Matthew, where Jesus is talking to His disciples and a large crowd. ‘He said, “Suffer the little children come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” ’ ” John looked up at the serious faces before him. “You see, Jesus has a special place in His heart for little children, but we are all His children, some of us just older than others.

  “Shall we pray?” He waited again until all heads were bowed, eyes closed, and hands folded.

  “Heavenly Father, we thank thee for the life and death of thy son, Jesus the Christ. We are glad that He is here with us right now to bless our school and our hearts and minds so that we might learn quickly and behave in a quiet and godly manner. Be with us now, in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  Lifting his head he looked at his students and breathed a quiet prayer that God would give him the wisdom needed to guide these lives entrusted to him.

  “You may be seated,” he told them.

  He took up his pad of paper and newly sharpened quill pen to write the children’s names and ages, later to fill in their grade according to their level of learning. Some still spoke little English, but he had resolved to no longer talk Norwegian in the schoolroom. These children would learn to speak English if he taught them nothing else. It wouldn’t be long before the weekly language classes for their parents would begin again also.

  “I would like all of our new pupils to come forward and line up beside my desk. The rest of you may choose a book from the shelf and read to yourselves until I am finished.” He ignored the two groans, feeling fairly certain which throats they came from. Baptiste would never say a word, but the Baard boys were not so reticent. He knew for certain who it was when their younger sister Anji hissed at them. He had a fair idea that Agnes would deal with them when they got home.

  One by one he wrote down the names of the four youngest, asking them their ages and how to spell their names. He looked at Ellie. “It is Peterson or Wold now?”

  “Wold.” Her smile lit her face.

  “So the adoption is final?”

  She nodded. “Pa said so.”

  All but one passed with flying colors, and that was because he only spoke Norwegian. When John translated, the little boy did fine.

  “Very good. Now, can you recite your alphabet?” At their looks of confusion, he said, “your ABC’s?”

  Andrew led the way. “A.” He glanced at the other boy. With only minor prompting from the teacher, they rushed through to the end. “Z. That’s the sound the saw makes. Zzzzzz.” Andrew flashed a grin up at the teacher.

  “You’re right. And that’s the sound of bees buzzzzing too.” John smiled at each of them. “
Now, how far can you count?”

  Ellie went the furthest with twenty-nine. She’d shut her eyes to remember the last numbers, so when she opened them, the teacher smiling at her made her cheeks turn red.

  “Very good. Now, you four may take your seats and write your letters on your slate. Anji Baard will help you if needed.” As they filed away, Toby and Jerry White, soon to be Valders, stepped forward.

  “We ain’t had no schoolin’—”

  “ ’Cept what our new mama gived us.” Neither of the boys looked too excited about it now either.

  “Can you spell your names?” They shook their heads. “How old are you?” Shrugs. John had talked with Hildegunn Valders, and they decided the boys were about seven and nine, Jerry being the eldest.

  “I . . . I can count.” At the teacher’s nod, Jerry scrunched his eyes closed and rattled 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-10 without a breath.

  “Nine.”

  “Huh?” His eyes popped open.

  “Nine. Nine comes before ten.”

  “Oh, I forgot.” He shut his eyes again, rapid fired through eight, added nine, and his eyes flew open again. “Ten!”

  “Very good.” Pastor Solberg looked up, hoping to catch Thorliff ’s eye, but the boy had his nose in a book. The whole soddy could blow down before Thorliff would know it. John had learned it did no good to call the boy’s name. He wouldn’t hear. So he laid a hand on Toby’s shoulder and pointed to the boy on the chair. “You go ask Thorliff to help you and Jerry with your numbers and your alphabet.”

  The two did as asked, and John turned to three stairstep children standing before him, all looking so much alike except for their height that he’d have sworn they were cut from matching cookie cutters. They spoke only Norwegian, would have to have smile training, and the eldest, Mary, obviously didn’t want to be there. When John quizzed them in Norwegian, they answered in monosyllables. The Erickson sisters made reticent Hamre Bjorklund seem like a chatterbox.

  By dinnertime, Solberg had cabin fever as bad as the children. Since Indian summer had given them a glorious day, he sent them outside to eat and run off some of their boundless energy.

  Eight new pupils. How would he handle so many children with such a variety of ages and education? Or lack thereof? Last year had been easy in retrospect.

  A girl screaming from outside drew him flying to the door.

  Chapter 5

  “Miz Bjorklund, there’s a drummer here wants to talk with you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Valders, I’ll be right there. On second thought, send him back for a cup of coffee. He can show me what he’s selling here.” Penny Bjorklund glanced around her kitchen, which turned into a restaurant for the noon meal. She had just served dinners to eight men who worked on the track repair gang for the railroad. Several of them had become regulars, two wondering when there would be a place in Blessing for them to sleep.

  They really did need the boardinghouse or a hotel. She thought back to the months she’d worked in the Headquarters Hotel in Fargo while finishing high school. And waited for Hjelmer.

  “Mrs. Bjorklund?” The man paused on the other side of the curtain between the store and the Bjorklund home.

  “Yes, come on in.” Smiling, she looked up from clearing the last table. “How can I help you?”

  A man not much taller than her five foot six inches edged through the door with his sales case first. Setting the carryall down, he removed his black bowler hat and glanced around the cheerful room. “Ah, now isn’t this like home?” Hat over his heart, he nodded and almost bowed at the same time. “The man out front said I was to talk with you. Not Mr. Bjorklund?” The tentative note in his voice showed as wrinkles on his broad forehead. While he didn’t appear older, his hair had begun to recede, making his prominent nose even more so.

  “That’s right, unless you need to speak to the banker or the blacksmith. Hjelmer is both.” She brushed the last crumb into her palm and gestured to the straight-backed chair. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee. You take cream?”

  He shook his head and sniffed the air. “Smells like home too. I ain’t been home for a long time, you see, and this . . . this room and . . . and you, why, my Emma would think she was looking in a mirror.” He slid into the chair Penny had pulled out and continued to look around, smiling at the things he saw.

  While Penny poured him a cup of coffee and placed cookies on a plate, she followed his glance. Red-and-white gingham curtains at the window, a braided rug in front of the door and another in front of the cast-iron stove polished to a high sheen, woodbox newly filled, thanks to cousin Ephraim, white painted cupboards along one wall with a counter for her to work on. Two square tables and one round table with four chairs at each took up much of the room, leaving only a corner for Hjelmer’s rocking chair.

  They really did need more space if the business continued to pick up as it had been.

  She set the food in front of the man. “You know my name, but . . .”

  “Oh, pardon me.” He half rose and ducked his head. “I’m Alfred Drummond, proud purveyor of Singer sewing machines, the latest invention to make life easier for America’s women.”

  “Sewing machines?” Via some of the others who provided her with merchandise for her store, Penny had heard tell of some newfangled machine that could sew faster and stronger than anyone with a needle.

  “Wait until you see how fast you can sew a seam.” He talked around a mouthful of molasses cookie. “Making a dress takes no time at all. And strong, just like store bought.” He slurped his coffee and dunked the crisp cookie again. “Why, you could carry a line of Singer sewing machines right here in your store, like you do the John Deere plows outside.”

  Sewing had never been Penny’s favorite pastime, so when he said speed, he had her undivided attention. “How much are the machines?”

  “See those curtains up there, why you could hem a houseful in a short afternoon.” He drained his cup. “If I could set one up and show you, I know you would be both surprised and pleased. Every woman in Blessing will want one.”

  Penny glanced at the clock. Anner Valders, who did the bookkeeping for the bank and sometimes worked in the store for her when cousin Ephraim was needed elsewhere, had asked if he could go home early today. Since he never asked for favors, she had agreed.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time today. Will you be coming back through here again?”

  “I can wait.”

  “Until tomorrow?” Hjelmer had gone to Grafton on the morning train, or she would ask him. There was no one else unless Ephraim came back early too.

  “I could set it up in a corner of your store, and then if any ladies come in, they could come and see what I was doing. Surely you have some tea towels or sheets or something that needs hemming.”

  If he only knew. Her basket of sewing and mending had been mushrooming lately. Somehow she just never got to it. And with all her dinner guests, she needed more napkins every day, as well as tablecloths. Even though she knew the railroad men ate in cookshacks at long trestle tables and were lucky if the plates were clean, she made sure they had a taste of home in her kitchen. If only she had room and time to set up more tables.

  If Bridget doesn’t build that boardinghouse, I will. And hire her to run it . The thought made her catch her breath. That’s what she would tell Hjelmer the next time the discussion arose. And since he already thought she had more than she could handle, he would be forced to agree to his mother’s petition for a loan.

  “Miz Bjorklund.” Anner Valders’ call from the store brought her back from her musings. She looked up to find Mr. Drummond staring at her. He must think her addled.

  “Coming,” she called to Anner, then nodded to the man at her table. “Come, I’ll show you a place and bring you some muslin to hem for napkins.”

  “Thank you. You won’t regret this, you know.”

  A long whistle blew south of town. As the train drew nearer, the floor began to shake, and the pots hanging above
the stove rattled together. Since Valders was leaving, she would have to put the mail out too. And she hadn’t set the chicken to roast for supper yet. They might be having pancakes again. She could always serve chicken and dumplings tomorrow to the dinner crowd.

  “Mail’s here,” sang out the conductor. She heard the sack thunk on the counter in the store.

  “Come, Mr. Drummond, I am needed in the store.”

  She showed the man where to set up his machine, provided the chair he asked for, and took over from Anner Valders in sorting the mail, inserting it into the slots with the names of the area families written below.

  “See you tomorrow, then?” Valders untied his apron.

  “Sure enough.” Penny reached into the peppermint stick jar. “And take these to Toby and Jerry to celebrate their first day in school.”

  “I got me a feeling it’s going to take more than peppermint sticks to make those two like school.” He shook his head, stuffing the candy in his shirt pocket. Since he had lost an arm in a threshing accident, his pockets served almost as another hand. “Mrs. Valders’ been working with them two, but they ain’t much for book learning or even sitting still. I got to help them tonight with their numbers.”

  Even though his tone grumbled, Penny knew he was right proud of his two adopted sons who’d come in on the train during the summer and got caught stealing food from the store. Near as anyone could tell, how the two had made it this far in the world was one of God’s special miracles, and that He’d brought them to Blessing when He did, another. Anner and Hildegunn had needed the boys as much as the boys needed a home.

  Penny heard laughter and a buzz of conversation from the group gathering at the front door. She tossed several pieces of mail on the counter to be opened by herself later, then flipped the Mail’s In sign and stepped out of the way of the customers. Many of them would pick up other things on their way out, so while Penny didn’t get paid much from the United States Postal Service, she made out in the long run.

  “Any cheese?” called Mrs. Johnson. “That Ingeborg makes the best cheese.”