A Harvest of Hope Page 5

  “How can one charge when there is no money to be had? When they can, people will pay, and often they pay with their labor, or whatever they have. One woman is doing the laundry to help pay after we cared for her.”

  “Never fear. God himself will bless ye.” He started to leave, but Daniel pointed to the table where Amelia was setting a full plate down.

  “Sit, man. Anything can wait while my mother feeds you. If you don’t, she’ll feel she failed in her duty.”

  Amelia tsked and shook her head. “Pay no attention to him, but it would be a shame to waste this good food. I know it is good, because Daniel had thirds tonight.”

  Father Devlin raised his hands, and Astrid motioned to the sink. Hands washed, the priest sat down, said a brief grace, and cleaned his plate, mopping the gravy with the last of the sliced bread.

  “More?” Amelia hovered by his shoulder.

  “Ah no. Thank ye. I be—”

  “As big as you are, you can eat more. We do not stand on politeness here.” She brought the pan over and dished up what was left. “You wouldn’t want to waste this last bit, now, would you?”

  “Well, since ye put it that way.” He smiled up at her. “I never be one to waste God’s good gifts.”

  “So how was your trip?” Daniel asked. “Your horse held up?”

  “That he did. Like everyone else, life in Blessing brings health to the broken.”

  “What a thing to say.” Astrid stared at him.

  “Well, ye have but to look about. A hospital, a church where people truly believe in our God and His power to bring healing, people who treat outsiders as family from the beginning. Not my church, not exactly, but close enough.” He laid his fork by the plate.

  Daniel studied him closely. “What exactly is your church? Catholic?”

  Father Devlin licked his lips and paused for a long moment. A simple question. Why did he hesitate? He smiled. “I know not how much ye ken of the liturgical church, that is, the Roman Catholics, the Orthodox, the Anglicans, the Copts. A few other groups. Nor how much ye’re aware of Ireland’s troubles. ’Tis a long and tangled history since the seventeenth century. Basically, we’ve two sets of folks in Ireland.”

  Daniel frowned. “Is this the green and the orange?”

  Father Devlin shrugged. “It be infinitely more than that, but the idea’s there. I be of the orange sort and an ordained priest of the Anglican communion rather than Roman Catholic, as ye call it.”

  Astrid wagged her head. “You did several Catholic rites, Father.”

  “Aye.” He paused again, as if he were marshaling his thoughts. “But not exactly. The old Anglican and present Roman rites be very close. When a dying man be wanting to reconcile with his God, I doubt he’d quibble much. Ye’ll recall, yer nurse Miriam assisted. In a truly Roman rite, a woman would never be permitted to do that. Nor would I, in the Roman tradition, be allowed to set foot in yer Protestant church. It simply cannot be done. Rules, ye know.”

  Daniel stared at his coffee mug. “Now I’m confused. Ma, may I have some more coffee?”

  “Are you sure you’ll sleep tonight with all this coffee?”

  “Believe me. I’ll sleep.”

  “This is all new to me.” Astrid propped her head in her hands.

  “There is a hymn from around 1800, from Ireland’s blessed St. Brigit, and I translate roughly:

  ‘I would have an ale-feast for the king of kings,

  And the heavenly host to be drinking it for all eternity.

  I should like there to be hospitality for their sake;

  I should like Jesus to be here forever.’

  “Now I ask ye: Can ye fault a faith and a devotion that expresses itself as a grand party hosted by a woman?”

  Daniel laughed out loud, and it was the first in a long time that Astrid had heard him do that. He nodded.

  “Exactly! And I be thus torn. How to reconcile it all and serve the risen Christ as well? Now in St. Brendan’s day, if ye needed to sort things out, ye became a white martyr. Ye cast yerself asea in a boat, wandered into a foreign land, or some such. ’Tis a means of the getting of wisdom. So I am, as ye see, a vagabond, a white martyr, seeking a true faith that all me heritages and training might embrace.”

  Astrid nodded. “I remember the peace in that patient’s face. You gave him exactly what he needed, what he hoped for. It was a gift from God.”

  “To me, that is serving Christ. It’s what I pledged to do. And in me Celtic heritage ’twould be warmly welcomed. So ye see how torn.”

  “I see.” Amelia was listening just as intently. “So have you gotten any wisdom yet?”

  Father Devlin laughed. “Nay. But I see a real need for me services here in Blessing. Although I fear I strike a divisive note.”

  “It’s not you.” Daniel’s voice was hard, bitter. “It’s others.”

  “I shall qualify that. Like any big family, there are some who think they know best for everyone, and they can get a bit uppity over one thing or another. But well ye know, they usually come around when they decide to let the good Lord be the Lord and not try to take over His job themselves.” He leaned forward. “John and I have been talking, and we have an idea or two. Ye know ye cannot put two clerics together without getting more than two ideas out of it. But when we keep the faith, good will come about.” He looked at the three around the table. “Ye believe that, aye?”

  “Well, yes.” Astrid looked to Daniel, who looked to his mother, who was nodding emphatically.

  “Meself detects a note of hesitation, and I understand that. But God promises to bring good out of evil and bad things, and I think we are going to have a chance to see Him in action. We will all agree to pray and praise God for the answers before we see them, for that be what faith is about. Then we wait and see.” He nodded and kept right on nodding before he pushed his chair back and stood.

  “And now, I thank ye all for this fine dinner, the company, and letting this chatty priest bend yer ear.” He stopped at the door. “Tomorrow John and I will bury that baby right in the churchyard, the place for God’s children, no matter the age or faith.” He set his hat back on his head, touched the brim, and out the door he went.

  Astrid and Daniel sat looking at each other, slowly wagging their heads.

  “Now, he is a force to be reckoned with.”

  Amelia was wagging her head too. “No, son, he is not the force. It’s the God he serves. Why, I feel like a whirlwind just blew through here, all in the guise of a man. I think I will make him a new shirt so I can wash that one he is wearing.”

  Chapter 6

  How could forty-eight hours last a week?

  If Trygve Knutson never milked another cow, it might be too soon. At least he’d not drawn the troublemaker this time. He stripped out the last drops and picked up both stool and bucket at the same time. On his way to the milk can, he stopped by Manny.

  “You said you had a favor to ask.”

  “Mister Trygve, you think Benny could ride a horse?”

  Trygve looked back to the boy, who was just stripping out the cow he was on. The smile Manny sent him made all the doubts worthwhile. The boy was indeed fitting into life in Blessing. “Well, I don’t know. Never thought about it.”

  “If someone helped him on, we could strap his legs to the saddle. Use a couple belts, y’know?” Manny handed Trygve the bucket and went through the gyrations he used to get upright.

  Trygve dumped both buckets in the strainer, waiting with the second until the first had gone through. What a thought!

  On the way up to the house, Manny continued. “I been thinking on how to help him walk too. Did you read Moby Dick?”

  “I did, years ago. Why?”

  “Well, that Captain Ahab gets a peg leg after he loses the leg, right?”

  “True.”

  “Why can’t we carve Benny two pegs? He’d prob’ly have to use crutches, but he has such strong arms.” He turned to Trygve. “Worth a try, ain’t it?”

 
“Isn’t it.”

  “Isn’t it? We could make the crutches adjustable for when he grows. Or make him longer ones. And the pegs too. Pad the stump ends with sheep’s wool and leather, like we did my crutches. How come no one thought of this before?”

  “We’ve been trying to design a chair for him, with wheels like one we saw in a catalogue.” Trygve stopped and stared at Manny. “Are you reading Moby Dick or—?”

  “Grandma reads part and I read part. Emmy can read real good.”

  Trygve clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll be. I am so proud of you.”

  “’Twarn’t nothin’. I ain’t—er, am not stupid.”

  “That I know for sure, but you are learning mighty fast. Reverend Solberg must be happy as can be.”

  “Mrs. Jeffers is helping me too.” Together they clumped up the steps to the porch.

  Emmy looked up from setting the table when they came into the kitchen. “Wash your hands.”

  “Good morning. Breakfast will be on the table as soon as you sit, Manny.” Ingeborg turned from the stove, pancake turner in hand.

  Freda slammed the dough over on the floured counter. “Trygve, do you have time to wax the cheese wheels today?”

  “Can I help with that?” Manny asked, pumping the handle to run water into the washbasin.

  “Sure. You can build crates. That’s a sitting-down job but a very necessary one. Can’t ship wheels without crates.” Trygve smiled at Freda. “I’ll come by when Manny gets home.”

  “Takk.”

  Trygve left, thinking all the way home about putting Benny on a horse. And about Miriam, of course. Always thinking about her. He climbed the familiar stoop into the Knutson kitchen.

  His mor was putting the fried potatoes out. “Are you working for Thorliff today?”

  “Ja.” He stepped to the sink to wash his hands. “The boardinghouse is coming along well. I’m helping with the roof. They’re going to have some extra shingles, ’cause we won’t use most of our last bale. Do you need any patching at the school?”

  “No one has reported a wet ceiling, but I haven’t looked at the roof. Go up and look if you would.”

  “I shall.”

  His father stomped into the kitchen and plopped into his chair. He lowered his head and started rattling off grace so quickly, Trygve almost didn’t get his head bowed in time. Far reached for the potatoes even as his head came up. “I’ll want your help caulking the windows this afternoon.”

  “I’m helping Thorliff pretty much full time. Can Lemuel help you?”

  “He’s got a new job besides delivering the papers. Butchering or something. Or putting up chickens.”

  Trygve smiled. “He is not fond of dressing chickens.”

  “Money is money. Hjelmer is managing Lyme’s farm now and wants to get rid of the chickens.”

  His mor sat down and helped herself to the scrambled eggs. “Your little lady comes in tomorrow, you say?”

  “Ja. She should be boarding the train today. This train is the one that stops at every single little whistle-stop on the route. And they change engines at least once, she says. Takes forever.”

  Kaaren nodded. “If you’re helping Ingeborg and working on the boardinghouse and building your own house, when are you going to go courting? I assume you want to.”

  Trygve paused to study her. Where was she going with this? “Ja, I do.”

  “Please don’t forget to make time for her. With all you’re committed to, it will be very easy to get too busy.”

  What could he say? “Takk, Mor.” That’s what he always replied to her unsolicited advice. Of course, her advice was usually very good. Could he get too busy for Miriam? Never! But as he thought about it, never became maybe. It was something to watch out for.

  Wax the cheese wheels. Trygve shouldn’t have said he’d do that, but he did, so he would. That afternoon he laid shingles until he saw the school let out, then picked up Manny in the buggy and drove out to the cheese house.

  While Trygve and Freda coated the big clumsy cheese wheels with the wax to keep them fresh, Manny sat down with the stack of one-by-three precut boards and, with hammer and nails, assembled the crates. The stack grew beside him.

  “Good job,” Freda said. “You’re getting faster and faster.”

  “It helps to not waste time hitting your thumb.” Manny stuck the offended member in his mouth. He eyed the lumber pile and the stack. “We’ll need to cut more.”

  “I’m sure we have enough for this shipment. I’ll crate the wheels first thing tomorrow. You were a big help, Manny.” Freda shut the door behind them as they stepped out into the sunshine. “It could freeze any time,” she mused, apparently talking to no one in particular. Manny crawled up into Trygve’s buggy.

  What did Trygve hear? He looked to the northwest. Sure enough, that was the steam engine he had heard. “Here comes the threshing crew.”

  “Uff da!” Freda hiked her skirts and clambered up into the buggy. “We’d better get more dinner ready.”

  Trygve drove into Tante Ingeborg’s front yard and left the two to get out of his buggy by themselves. He rapped at the door and entered. “Threshing crew.”

  “Ja, I heard.” Already, Tante Ingeborg was stuffing more stovewood into the firebox.

  Trygve crossed to the telephone, lifted the receiver off the hook, and asked the operator to call the deaf school. His mother answered. “Mor, the threshing crew is crossing the river.”

  “Oh good.” She paused. “Tell Ingeborg and Freda I’ll send some food over. That’ll be easier than feeding them all here today.”

  He gave the message and headed outside to set up the trestle table benches that were leaning against the house. Emmy ran to help him.

  “What can I do?” Manny asked.

  “Slice the bread.”

  “It’s a good thing I baked bread today.” Freda brought a pot of soup from the icebox and then headed to the cellar. “We can add more vegetables.” The extended soup was heating on the stove by the time they heard a horse and wagon pull up.

  Ingeborg glanced out the window. “From Kaaren. We can set all the food on the table in here.”

  Emmy appeared at the door, so she gave her instructions. By the time they had the food all set up on the table, they could hear the racket of two steam engines pulling the separators, the cook wagon and team, and five teams pulling wagons. Grace and Kaaren both came running over from the deaf school, and they all welcomed the returning crews.

  The wagons drove in first, with Jonathan in the lead. Grace met him at the barn and greeted him with open arms. Trygve was sure she was crying. She’d not looked at him since they met on the way to the barn. Joseph Geddick leaped to the ground, and one by one, the others arrived, with Solem Brunderson driving the steam engine that Haakan used to drive. Trygve went to stand by Ingeborg. The steam engines shut down, and the sudden silence almost hurt one’s ears.

  Kaaren put an arm around Ingeborg’s shoulders, but she stood tall, ignoring the tears streaming down her face. At the sight of her tears, Trygve fought the burning in his throat and eyes. Surely grief was contagious.

  After the crew had eaten and everyone had headed off to their own homes, Trygve finally got over to his basement, or what would one day be a basement or cellar. Right now it was just a hole. He’d been digging a short while when two men peered over the side.

  “Could you use some help?” Reverend Solberg asked. “Tommy and I here need some physical work for a change. Our brains are tired.”

  Father Devlin threw a shovel down into the hole. “Or would you rather we started up here?”

  “Anywhere you want. As you can see, there is plenty of opportunity for all.” Trygve slammed his shovel into the ground and trundled the wheelbarrow up the ramp. He’d dug deep enough that he could no longer just throw the dirt over the side as he had several weeks earlier.

  Devlin stared down into the hole. “There’s not room there for three shovels. I’ll start here.”

>   Trygve saw Samuel, hands in his pockets, whistling his way across the field toward them. When he got close enough, he studied the hole. “You didn’t get very far. We’ve been gone what, a month?”

  “Somehow I had lots of other things that demanded doing.”

  Samuel grinned at Solberg. “I’ll stay up here with Father Devlin.”

  Within the hour, Andrew showed up, as he’d said he would, and the dirt flew out of the rapidly expanding hole. A while later, Emmy appeared with a bucket and dipper, offering a drink, and Inga carried a basket with cookies.

  “Grandma sent these.”

  The men climbed out of the hole and gathered around.

  Inga peered down into the hole. “Still lots to go, huh?”

  “You’d better be glad we didn’t ask you to come help,” Samuel teased.

  “We didn’t have to bring the cookies.”

  Several of the men chuckled. Andrew took the last cookie. “Is Carl at Knutsons’ or over at Grandma’s?”

  “Grandma’s. He and Manny are hauling more pumpkins and squash in from the garden. But they’d rather be fishing.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Andrew heaved a sigh. “Better get back at it. Takk, ladies.”

  The girls headed back toward the house, and the men returned to work. They stopped when the cows began lining up at the barn.

  “They’re as good as an alarm clock.” Andrew stuck his shovel upright back in the dirt.

  “Thanks for the help.” Trygve was the last to climb out. With Samuel back, he could bypass the milking, but right now milking sounded like a nice reprieve.

  The triangle rang at Tante Ingeborg’s. Her voice carried faintly across the field: “Coffee’s ready.”

  As if under orders all five men made a direct line across the field to the Bjorklund house. The fragrance of apple pie welcomed them to the porch.

  “Have a seat and we’ll bring it out.” Ingeborg, with the two little girls, returned with plates of apple pie topped by slices of cheese and cups and coffee. “I figured the cows could wait a few more minutes.”