[Home To Blessing 01] - A Measure of Mercy Read online

  You would be hard to forget. Astrid found herself struggling to breathe normally. “I remember she was so pleased that you came in and paid your bill before leaving town. Some others hadn’t, I guess. She and her kids just came back to town a few weeks ago, and then her husband, Hjelmer, joined them a week later. There are lots of stories about what has gone on in Blessing.”

  “All good, I hope.”

  “Not necessarily.” Astrid pushed back her chair. “I need to get back.” No you don’t, her heart chastised. She picked up her glass and stood. “Thank you for the soda.”

  “I’ll take those to the counter and walk you back.”

  “We are having a barn dance on Saturday if you’d like to come,” she said when he returned and they started walking.

  “Sophie already invited me. She saw my guitar and mentioned that I might like to play. I hear you have a great piano player now.”

  “Yes, Jonathan Gould. He’s here for the summer. He’s attending agricultural college in Fargo this fall. He and my cousin Grace are engaged.”

  “Mrs. Wiste’s twin sister?”

  “Yes. Grace is back East teaching at a school for the deaf.”

  He stopped walking for a moment. “It must have taken a great deal of courage for her to leave Blessing.”

  “Yes. We were all surprised she went, even Grace herself.” As they walked along the road, she pointed out the houses and who lived in each one. “See, more changes in Blessing.” When her arm brushed his, she caught her breath. Did he feel that too? Like when one walked on the rugs in the winter and got sparked by touching another person? Only this time it felt good. No, exciting was a better word. Every time she looked up, he was looking at her.

  When she mounted the stairs to the surgery, he touched the broad brim of his low-crowned hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” His smile made her feel warm all over.

  She opened the screen door and went inside before she turned to watch him go whistling down the walk. Jaunty. Confident.

  “Now, that is one handsome man.” Elizabeth joined her at the door. “You leave with Sophie and come back with a man. Not a bad exchange.”

  “Elizabeth Bjorklund, the things you say sometimes.” Right then Astrid wished for a fan. She could feel her face and neck flaming. “His name is Joshua Landsverk. He used to live here.”

  “I see.” Elizabeth removed her apron and tossed it in the laundry. “Thorliff brought the mail. We have a letter from Dr. Morganstein. You want to read it?”

  “No.” Astrid felt the anger rising in her again.

  “No?” Elizabeth turned to her with a worried expression.

  “You read it to me. Out on the back porch. It’s a bit stifling in here.”

  As they passed through the kitchen, Elizabeth asked Thelma to bring cool drinks out to the porch, where they took both of the rocking chairs, a round wicker table between them. Elizabeth drew the letter from her pocket.

  “Did you hear Grace is coming home?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Of course. I was surprised she didn’t come with Jonathan, but he said she had some things she had to finish up at the deaf school first.”

  “Oh. Well, so much for surprises.” Elizabeth looked up from the envelope when Thelma set a tray on the table. “Thank you. Would you like to join us?”

  “No, I’m right in the middle of baking for the dance tomorrow night. You want we should take two chocolate cakes, or one dark and one light?”

  “Two chocolate. You make the best chocolate cake.” Astrid reached for her glass. “And please put the fudge frosting on one.”

  “I will do that. Anything else?”

  “Mor says we are frying chickens tomorrow,” Astrid added. “You want to come help?”

  “No, thank you. I draw the line at butchering chickens. Too much blood.”

  Elizabeth stared at her retreating housekeeper and then at Astrid, and the two of them fought to hide their giggles. Thelma was not one to be funny. With all the blood Thelma cleaned up out of the surgical rooms . . . They laughed again, well aware of each other’s thoughts.

  “I’ll practice my surgical skills on eviscerating and cutting up chickens.”

  “Are you all right after our last surgery?”

  Astrid paused. Should she tell her? Instead of answering she just shrugged.

  Elizabeth drew the paper out of the envelope.

  “My dear Elizabeth,

  “What a blessing it was to receive your letter. I so look forward to working with Astrid, or shall I say Dr. Bjorklund? I have a feeling that her coming here is not strictly necessary, but I am sure there are things we can teach her. I understand your concern that she be allowed to study a cadaver. I well remember the hours you spent in the dissecting room. I want you to know that we have improved the ventilation since you went to school here.

  “Our next rotation begins the first week of September, but I recommend she comes in August to have the time needed in the anatomy hall—the sooner the better. Also, we will need several days for her to take all the written exams so that I can see where her strengths and weaknesses lie.

  “Mrs. Issy Josephson, who has aged considerably since you saw her, inquired about you and your practice the other day. We still meet weekly for tea, along with several of our other benefactors. I do wish you could come along and meet with all of them. As you know, the more they believe in you and see firsthand your successes, the more they will donate to the hospital. Attending events like this are very important for long-range planning.

  “Again, I so look forward to meeting your protégée. Let me know when we can expect her.

  “Sincerely and with great joy,

  “Dr. Althea Morganstein”

  Elizabeth laid the letter on the table, set her glass on it to weight it down, and looked across the table at Astrid. “Why are you shaking your head?”

  Do I tell her? “Do we have to make a decision right now?”

  “No, but soon. You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?”

  “You said it wasn’t absolutely necessary that I go to Chicago.”

  “And it isn’t. I just believe that is the best plan. Especially after all the work you have done here. You are gifted, Astrid, and this will improve your skills.”

  So more patients can die? Astrid pushed the thought away as she slid back her chair. “I need to go home, get back to the farm to help Mor.” She stood up and walked down the stairs. Looking back over her shoulder, she added, “We can talk later. You and Thorliff are coming to the dance, aren’t you?”

  Elizabeth hesitated as if she wanted to say something more but then grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it. Besides, we have to bring all the chocolate cake you asked Thelma to make. You want to take the buggy home?”

  “No. I’ll walk. It is cooling off some.” Astrid opened the gate of the picket fence, waved once more, and strode down the street that would connect with Bjorklund Road, as everyone now called the road leading out to the Bjorklund and Knutson farms. Cutting across the fields would be faster, but she didn’t want to fight the barbed wire that fenced off the pasture.

  Walking gave her plenty of time to think. Picking up a stick, she slashed at the weeds along the graded road. Maybe thinking wasn’t such a good idea after all. Taking a whack at a thistle, she chose to ignore the dilemma of getting more formal medical training in Chicago and instead let herself think about the man with the sodas. Dreaming about Joshua Landsverk was far more fun. For a while she’d been sure again that going to Chicago was the best thing for her. And then Vernon Baxter died. Would more training on her part have kept that from happening? Or did God just decide not to help out?

  5

  Ingeborg stopped in surprise. “I thought you were still sleeping.”

  Astrid looked up from her perch on the wide board that topped the low wall of the back porch. “Thought I’d watch the sunrise.” She shook her head slowly. “No, I just couldn’t sleep.” H
er thick night braid of wheat gold hair hung over her shoulder. While she had dressed in a loose summer shift, she’d added a faded to near white apron over it.

  “I’ll have the coffee ready by the time the sun breaks the horizon.”

  “I started the stove.”

  “Oh, I thought it was Haakan.”

  “No, I was adding wood to the first flames when he headed for the barn, Jonathan right behind him.” Astrid leaned her head against the porch post. “Can you sit here with me a moment? Look at those colors.” She pointed toward the eastern horizon.

  Ingeborg joined her daughter but remained standing. She stroked Astrid’s hair. “Even those few clouds make the sunrise more beautiful, just like they do the sunset.” She inhaled the sweetness of the honeysuckle vine that was sending pea green tendrils up the strings to the hooks so as to provide shade for those retreating to the porch in the heat of the summer. The summer room, Ingeborg preferred to call it, since they shelled peas, snapped beans, hulled strawberries, hand-sewed garments, and shared lemonade or coffee there. The rocking chairs and the steps were favorite places to work and catch any breeze that deigned to pass through.

  The yellow climbing rose that matched the one by the front porch was already covered with buds, the bees hovering, seeking the first sip of nectar.

  “Would you like to talk about whatever is keeping you awake?”

  Astrid tipped her head back to look into her mother’s face. “What if I don’t want to do surgery? Ever again?”

  “Not go to Chicago?” Ingeborg studied her daughter; the decision to go had been so difficult for her.

  Astrid nodded. “Why go? After all we did, Vernon died anyway.”

  “And that woman who you fought so hard for, she died too. And yet you say you love helping babies into this world.”

  Crossing her arms over her bent knees, Astrid rested her chin on them. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “As you’ve heard both Elizabeth and me say, we do our best and leave the rest in God’s hands.”

  “But God didn’t save Vernon.”

  “No, He took Vernon home.” Ingeborg gently pressed her daughter’s cheek into her side. “Life and death are His provenance, not ours.”

  “Then why do we try to save lives?”

  “Ah, my dear, the questions you ask. There are no easy answers.” Ingeborg stared at the gold rim just breaking the horizon. A rooster crowed, a cow bellowed, as if both of them thought that waking the sun was their personal assignment. Birds twittered in the cottonwood tree, whose arms now shaded the house.

  “God’s Word says that we are all given different gifts, all of them for blessing the body of Christ. By helping someone feel better, I feel as if I am walking in His shoes. Jesus went around healing the sick, restoring sight to the blind, and making the lame walk again. He showed His love through those events.”

  Astrid waited while a tear meandered down her cheek.

  Ingeborg realized she had never spoken like this with Astrid before. “He calls us to be like Him. The greatest gift of all is love. Even though sometimes it is not easy. And He calls us to be close to Him. I feel the closest when I help that baby take its first breath, and when I close the eyes of someone who has passed on to glory. Life and death—all part of who we are—along with everything in between. I believe He calls you to use those same gifts, and now it is your job to learn to use them to the best of your ability.”

  “You want me to go to Chicago?”

  “If that is where He wants you to go.”

  “But what about inside of you? Do you really think and feel I should go?” Astrid turned her head to stare up at her mother.

  “Ah, Astrid, no mother wants to send her daughters or her sons off to some distant place, but if God calls you to do that, His calling is far more important than my feelings.” She paused and allowed herself to imagine life there without Astrid. A tear matched that of her daughter. She inhaled the morning freshness and let it out on a sigh. “I want you to come back with all your new knowledge and be here to help Elizabeth. I want us to build a hospital that will make life better for many others around here.” She paused and smiled. “Guess I have all kinds of wants.”

  “I hate to leave all of this.” Astrid swept her arm out to include the houses, the farms, her town, her people.

  Ingeborg stroked her cheek.

  “Do I have to go?”

  “No. You need to seek His face so He can guide you.”

  “I’m not very happy with Him right now.” Astrid wrapped her arms around her middle, as if holding a pillow.

  “I know. I’ve been there too, and the sooner I let go of what was making me angry, the sooner I felt safe and loved again.” She kissed the top of Astrid’s head. “It is a fact that God is happy with you. He rejoices over you with singing.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because He said so.” She kissed her again. “I’ll bring the coffee out.”

  “I’ll come help.” Astrid stood and hugged her mother close, then arm in arm they entered the kitchen.

  As Ingeborg poured the water into the coffeepot, she let her prayers rise with the steam. Father, only you can tell my daughter what you want her to do. Please make it clear and heal her hurts. And mine if she leaves. This was one of those times when she was sure she heard Him chuckle.

  “All will be well” floated like a happy breeze around the kitchen.

  Instead of taking their coffee back out to the porch, Ingeborg stirred eggs and flour into the sourdough batter she’d started for pancakes the night before. Astrid brought the ham from the wooden icebox that now resided in the kitchen corner and began slicing off pieces to fry for the men. That done and the ham beginning to sizzle, she moved the frying pan toward the back of the stove.

  “I’ll go feed the chickens and see if there are any eggs yet.”

  “Watch out for the speckled hen. She’s setting and is meaner than a wounded badger. Like to tore my finger off the other day.”

  “She’s getting old. I thought she’d probably go in the stew pot this winter.” Astrid picked up the lard bucket of vegetable scraps they kept for the chickens. “Need anything from the well house?”

  “Bring in that jug that has a red stripe. Your far will love having sour cream on his pancakes.”

  “Any chokecherry syrup?”

  “Down in the cellar.”

  Ingeborg paused to watch her daughter swoop the cat up in her arms, hug and pet her, then set her down, grab the scraps can again, and head on out the door whistling. Ah, the resilience of youth, stumbling over a decision one minute, then whistling the next. “Astrid, you have no idea how much I will miss you. You make my heart sing.” Her whisper joined the others heading for heaven and a heart that always hears.

  By the time the men came up from milking, breakfast was ready to be put on the table, including a bouquet of sweet peas Astrid had picked from the garden. She set the flowers between the cut-glass creamer and the sugar bowl, which either sat in the middle of the table or on the windowsill for the sun to sparkle it.

  Now that summer had arrived, the men washed outside at the bench set up with basins of water and soap; towels hung from hooks along the side of the house.

  “Betsy stuck her foot in Haakan’s bucket,” Samuel crowed on entering the kitchen.

  Ingeborg glanced at her husband, who both nodded and shook his head. “You can’t let your mind wander with that one.” He rubbed the youngest Knutson’s head as he passed by. “From now on, you get to milk her.”

  The sixteen-year-old shrugged, his blue eyes dancing. “No matter. She likes me. I bring her corn from the garden.” They’d been thinning corn the day before.

  “Leave it to you.” Lars nudged his son with his elbow. “Always charming the ladies, be they two-footed or four.”

  “He’ll get lots of practice tonight at the dance.” Haakan smiled at Trygve, the older Knutson son. “Just like you.”

  Trygve ducked his head, a tellta
le blush brightening his cheeks.

  Ingeborg glanced over to see Jonathan watching the byplay. He’d told her once that the teasing that went on at the farm never happened in the home he grew up in. She often felt sorry for him, for in spite of his family’s wealth, they didn’t seem very close to one another. He grinned now, obviously enjoying himself.

  Samuel crowed and Andrew laughed along with the other men as they all sat down at the table for Haakan to say the blessing. At the amen, the pancakes, ham, fried eggs, and applesauce disappeared as if carried away by a tornado. Ingeborg brought another platter she’d kept warming in the oven and handed it to Jonathan, her hand resting on his shoulder as she did the others.

  His smile always warmed her heart. Though reared in New York City, the second son of a wealthy family, he fit in here as if he’d been part of Blessing all his life. “When is Grace coming home?” she asked.

  “This afternoon. She sent a telephone message last night. She was able to catch an earlier train.” The glow that lit his eyes told of his delight. While he and Grace were not formally engaged, everyone knew it was only a matter of time, since he’d already spoken to Lars about marrying his daughter.

  “Good for her. What a nice surprise.”

  “I know. She said not to tell anyone, but since no one here would blab—” He stared at Samuel, who was known to not keep a secret very long.

  “Who would I tell?” Samuel raised his hands in the air, trying to look innocent.

  “Oh, Sophie, or Dr. Elizabeth, or—”

  “They’re not everybody. They’re family.”

  “I rest my case.”

  Chuckles danced around the table. Teasing Samuel was always good for a laugh, until he managed to turn the tables and get even.

  Astrid thumped her younger cousin on top of his head as she set another platter of meat on the table. “Just save a dance tonight for me, Romeo.”

  He grinned up at her. “I heard that new guy will be on the guitar tonight. Sophie said he likes you.”