Rebecca's Reward Read online

  The sun was setting, gilding the drifts, as the train headed west. She ate her supper from the basket she had packed and declined the offer of coffee from the pot on the stove that warmed the car. Several men were playing cards at the other end of the car, but the seats around her were empty. When the conductor came through, she raised her hand to get his attention.

  “Please, sir, if I fall asleep, will you wake me when we reach Bismarck?”

  “I’ll make sure of that, miss, but most people have a hard time sleeping through my announcements. This your first train trip?”

  “I left Blessing earlier today.”

  “You didn’t get to see much of Fargo, then.”

  “No, just what’s along the train tracks.”

  “Fargo’s an up-and-coming town. So is Bismarck.” He nodded to a call from someone else. “Have a good trip.”

  “Thank you.” But gazing out the window only made her feel more lonesome. Once in a while she saw a light from a farm window, but there was a lot of empty land. They stopped at Valley City, Jamestown, and every small town on the western route. The conductor was right—she heard and felt every stop, even though she drowsed in between, too weary to take out the knitting she’d brought or the shirt she was sewing buttonholes in for little Swen. Astrid had told her to bring along things to do. And she had, but the lamplights didn’t give very bright light, and the cigar smoke from the men at the other end of the car irritated her eyes. She wrapped her blanket around her and pillowed her head on the softer of her bags, letting her thoughts roam along with the weeping cry of the train whistle. She gripped the package from Gerald. Next time she took a train ride, she hoped to have someone else with her. Anyone else.

  5

  “Dear Astrid,

  “I’m sorry it has been so long since I have written, but Mor assures me that she shares my letters with you and Tante Ingeborg. School here is going well. Because we have so many more students than the school in Blessing, I teach four to five classes each day and spend the rest of the time preparing for the next day. As you know, we teach all the subjects, so it is more like our regular Blessing school during the daytime, but like at Mor’s, the children never go home.

  “I am teaching the secondand third-grade combination class. When new students come, they have to be fairly proficient in sign language before they are moved into the regular classrooms. I have two women who assist me with my twelve students. I never dreamed I would love teaching in New York as much as I do. While I still get so homesick at times it makes my stomach hurt, I am so grateful to God for this opportunity that I cannot thank Him enough.

  “In answer to your question, yes, Jonathan and I correspond regularly. I will be going to his family’s house over Easter break for a week, and I am indeed looking forward to seeing him. You would love his little sister. Perhaps I should suggest she come to visit in Blessing. Jonathan has his father’s permission to transfer to Fargo for school next year to study agriculture. He is working very hard to maintain top grades and spends as much time as he can with the school gardener, whom he says is as wise as Solomon.

  “I must be ready for supper in a few minutes. I wish you could come here and visit, but I will be home for the summer in May. I’m glad all you girls had such a fun party and glad to know also that I was missed. We must do that again this summer.

  “Love always,

  Grace”

  Astrid looked at her mother over the top of the paper. “And to think she was the one who didn’t want to leave Blessing at all.”

  Ingeborg nodded. “We just never know what path God has laid out for us. When I was your age, I never dreamed I’d be living in North Dakota rather than in Norway.” She widened her eyes. “And that I’d live in a flat river valley with not only no mountains but not a hill in sight.”

  “Do you miss Norway?”

  “Not so much anymore. But those first winters in the soddy, the wind howled worse than the wolves. I know why people go crazy at times.”

  Astrid looked around the kitchen. “You can still hear the wind, but I’m glad we have this nice house and don’t live in a sod house any longer.”

  “Me too.” Ingeborg set the cooled flatiron on the stove, detached the handle, reattached it to one of the hot irons, then went back to her ironing. During the winter they hung the washed clothes out on the porch and, when they had frozen dry, brought them in and ironed them.

  “You want me to do that?”

  “If you like, but I thought you were studying.” Turning the pillowcase, she folded the top half over the bottom and ironed it again. With one more folding, she set the iron on its end and folded the pillowcase in thirds to form a square. She set the next one in place on the wooden ironing board and started again.

  “I am.” Astrid tucked the letter into the back of her textbook and picked up her pencil to take notes as she read.

  Ironing was one of Ingeborg’s favorite chores. The fresh scent of newly ironed linens and clothing always made her grateful for the riches of her household. Sheets for the beds, warm quilts, pillows stuffed with the goose down she saved from all the geese hunted and eaten, feather beds to help keep them warm in the winter. Wool skirts and petticoats, stockings she knit from her finest spun wool, and sweaters and vests. Just like counting the jars in her cellar, ironing made her feel that she was indeed taking good care of her family.

  Her lesson that morning had been from Proverbs, where she had read about the godly woman and all she did. Having servants would indeed make life easier in some ways, but then there would be more people to take care of. Her cheese house could be compared to selling purple dyes, and her husband was indeed a respected man in the community. They were for sure blessed in all ways.

  She changed the iron again but took a minute to put more wood in the stove before continuing her ironing. The beans baking in the oven added another fragrance to the kitchen. When she finished the ironing, she needed to churn butter. Interesting how many things one took for granted until forced to go without. She had resolved to remember to be grateful every day for the milk, cream, butter, and buttermilk they now had again.

  The sound of boots on the porch caught her attention. Must be Andrew coming to milk.

  “Did Far and the others leave this morning as planned?” her younger son asked as he came through the door, scraping his feet on the rug.

  “Yes, they did. What a long day they’ll be having on the train.”

  “Do you think he’ll call when they get there?”

  Ingeborg pulled the coffeepot forward, tsking as she did so. “I can’t imagine they would.” To think one could make a telephone call. She still thought telegrams were amazing. “You have time for a cup of coffee? We made gingerbread men this morning.”

  “You know I can’t turn down gingerbread men.”

  “I have some to send home for Carl.”

  “He always eats the heads off first. Did we do that?”

  “You did and thought it hilarious. You had the most contagious belly laugh. Thorliff would make silly faces to make you laugh.” She shook her head. “Listen to me. Today must be a day for remembrances.”

  While all the flatirons heated on the stove, she fixed a plate of cookies and set them on the table.

  Andrew sat down by Astrid, who’d looked up to give him a smile then went back to her book. He tweaked the thick braid that hung down her back. “More tests coming up?”

  “Always. Elizabeth is determined I will be so far ahead of the others that they will be embarrassed.”

  “And then they’ll hate you and make your life miserable. You’d do better to just stay here and not go to Chicago at all.”

  “Therein lies the wisdom of Andrew. Will you let me operate on your arm so that I know how to fix it if you break it?”

  “You really plan to cut up bodies?”

  “Dissect cadavers? Yes. While butchering hogs and chickens has taught me a lot, the human body is different.”

  Andrew looked at his mother.
“There she goes again. Think of all the people you helped, and you never went to school.”

  “Ah, but had I had more knowledge, I might have been able to help some of those who died.” Ingeborg poured three cups of coffee and set them on the table. “But then, school isn’t the only place to find learning. I always figured I did what I could and then depended on God to finish the job.”

  Astrid looked up from her book and took a cookie from the plate. “Do you miss being the doctor of Blessing?”

  “I get to do enough with Elizabeth. I never chose to become the doctor here. It just happened. I was always interested in medicinal things—my mother kept simples too—and then Metiz taught me all she knew. Or at least as much as I could learn. Experience is an excellent teacher.”

  “But you have a gift for healing, Mor. Elizabeth always says that too.” Astrid dunked her cookie in her cup of coffee and nibbled the soaked edge.

  “I believe God gives the gifts that are needed to His people. He knew we needed medical help here, and He provided. Just like He provided a pastor when the time was right, and a schoolteacher.”

  “How’s Carl?” Astrid asked her brother.

  “Still coughing but back to being busy. Ellie was rocking him when I left, but there isn’t much room on her lap for him right now.”

  “Soon there will be.”

  “Won’t be too soon for her.” He drained his cup. “I better get on to the barn. Did you already pick the eggs?”

  “Ja. I didn’t want them to freeze.”

  “True. I’ll leave the milk in the springhouse, then?”

  “Take what you need, and I should have the butter churned by then if you need some.”

  “Think I’ll put one of the milk cans on the sled and take it over to Tante Kaaren. She must be needing milk by now.”

  “Takk.”

  He waved as he went out the door.

  One more of the myriad things to be thankful for, Ingeborg thought as she ate the last of her cookie. That son who takes care of all of us without being asked and always goes the extra mile. She opened the oven door to check on the beans, gave them a good stir, and setting the lid back in place, closed the oven door. Baked apples sounded like a good idea.

  Bismarck, North Dakota

  “Bismarck, miss. Our next stop.”

  Rebecca jerked away, not aware she’d really fallen asleep, even though it could only have been a few minutes since the last stop. “Th-thank you. How long?”

  The conductor checked his gold watch, the chain looping from one vest pocket to the other. “About fifteen minutes. It is nearly midnight.” “Will someone be there to meet you?”

  “Yes, my cousin.”

  “Good. I hope you have a good visit.”

  “Thank you.” She reached up to touch her hat and, realizing it was askew, unpinned it and set it in her lap so she could smooth her hair back into its bun. Pinning her black felt hat back in place, she thought of the absurdity of the article. Too small to do any good to keep her warm and highly likely to get blown across the prairie, although Penny had written that there were rolling hills here, not flat terrain like the Red River Valley. She should have worn her knit stocking hat with the earflaps, but she’d so wanted to be at least a bit fashionable. After all, she was a young lady now, no longer a girl.

  Feeling as if she were being stared at, she raised her gaze to see that one of the men a few seats away was studying her. She could feel squirmies wriggling up her back. Why was he watching her like that? She controlled the urge to touch her hat again and make sure it was still there. When he smiled slowly around the cigar between his teeth, she raised her chin slightly, narrowed her eyes, and turned to look out the window. At least there were a few lights out there now, not just expanses of white with a dark dot of farm places once in a while.

  Sit still, she commanded herself. Ignore him. No gentleman would be so rude as to stare like that. The feeling reminded her of the last time she went to the store and Mr. Jeffers watched her like a cat with a mouse. She folded up her blanket and stuffed it into the bag behind her feet—anything to busy herself and keep from glancing back at him.

  “Bismarck. We are arriving in Bismarck.” The conductor’s voice cut into her fussing. As the train screeched to a halt, steam billowed up, blinding the windows.

  “May I help you with your bags, miss?” The man’s voice grated on her already strung-out sensibilities.

  She looked up to find him standing right beside her. The smell of his cigar made her wrinkle her nose. “No thank you. I can manage.” She waited, hoping he would take the hint and leave. But when he still stood there, she pulled her bag from under the seat and stood.

  “This yours?”

  Before she could respond, he pulled her other bag down from the overhead rack. Short of wrestling him for the handle, she had no recourse but to straighten her spine and comply with his gesture to precede him down the aisle. “Thank you.”

  “At your service.”

  At my service, my right foot. Where do good manners end and selfpreservation begin? She took the conductor’s hand as he helped her from the metal step to the stool and down to the wooden planking of the platform. “Thank you.”

  The man in a checked coat was so close behind her that she could feel the heat of him in spite of the blast of North Dakota winter that greeted her. Is this what all the men from larger cities are like? Penny, Hjelmer, where are you?

  “They’ll bring your trunk into the station, miss, in just a minute.” The conductor glanced from her to the man behind her and then back to her valise. “I’ll see that she gets inside. Thank you for your assistance.”

  Gratitude poured like warm water through her veins. She smiled to the man in the uniform who stood beside her, while the cigar smoker touched the brim of his hat and moved on. “Thank you, sir.” She heaved a sigh that felt a heavy load lift from her shoulders.

  “You are welcome. This way.” He took her other bag and headed for the golden light that looked like the only warm thing in the blustery darkness. A blast of heat met her when he pulled the door open and ushered her in.

  “Rebecca.”

  The sound of Penny’s voice brought a lump to her throat. Rebecca turned and saw Hjelmer and Penny striding across the room. Never had the sight of anyone been such a relief. She forgot her bags and flew across the marble-floored room to be crushed against Penny’s bosom, the wool of her coat cold and scratchy against her cheek.

  “Sorry we weren’t out there when the train stopped.” Penny hugged her cousin again, then stepped back, hands on Rebecca’s upper arms.

  “That’s all right. Oh, Penny, I’m so glad to see you.” She hugged her again.

  Penny turned to Hjelmer, waiting slightly behind her. “She grew up since we left, didn’t she?”

  “That she did.” His deep voice hadn’t changed, even though his face wore lines that hadn’t been there before. “Welcome to Bismarck, Rebecca. I’ll see to the bags and meet the two of you in front.”

  Penny tucked her hand through Rebecca’s arm. “I am so thrilled you are actually here, that you came to visit us.” Her eyes misted. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I miss everyone in Blessing.”

  “Even Mrs. Valders?”

  Penny stopped and turned to look at her guest, then burst into laughter. “You are the one to tease me. But I tell you, I’ve been so homesick that even a good round with Mrs. Valders would make me happy.” As they walked across the near empty room, Penny asked question after question, as if she were perishing from human contact.

  “Haven’t you made friends here?” Rebecca asked.

  “Oh yes, but Blessing is my family.” They pushed open the heavy double doors to be attacked by the bitter wind again.

  Hjelmer waved from the sleigh as he pulled up in front of them. “I have all your things. Climb in so we can get on home.”

  “Where’s your automobile?” Rebecca asked.

  “In the barn. It doesn’t do well in the snow.
”

  Penny held up the robe for Rebecca to crawl in and then joined her. As they tucked the robe around themselves, Hjelmer hupped the team and off they trotted.

  “This is a big city.” Rebecca held the robe up to cover her nose but gawked from side to side at the three- and four-story buildings.

  “It likes to think so.”

  “Those are gaslights?” She pointed to the lamp poles along the street.

  “Yes, and we have gaslights at our house. It most certainly is convenient. And we have running water too.”

  “Really? All that?”

  “Really. Life is easier here, but …” Her voice trailed off. “Tomorrow you have to tell me more about my store. Or rather, Mr. Jeffers’ store.”

  Rebecca trapped a yawn with her mittened hand. “Excuse me, but I never stay up so late.”

  Sometime later, snuggled under the quilt that her own mother had made for Penny all those years before, Rebecca thought back to their conversation. Penny really didn’t sound too happy—not like the old Penny before the move. And Hjelmer. He had the same look all the men in Blessing had worn when the plague had struck.

  6

  Blessing, North Dakota

  February 1903

  SOMETIME IN THE DARK of the night, Ingeborg heard a pounding on the door, and before she could get untangled from the sheets and blankets, an out-of-breath Andrew appeared in the doorway, calling “Mor” as he came.

  “What is it?”

  “Ellie is in labor, and she says the baby is coming fast. I ran across the field, but I’ll harness the horse and sleigh for you.”

  “Call for Astrid too.”

  “I’m coming.” The voice came from upstairs.