[Home To Blessing 01] - A Measure of Mercy Page 9

  Astrid glanced at the other man watching her. He cleared his throat again.

  “It’s about something you said, Reverend, about needing those medically trained workers in Africa.”

  “We need people like that desperately. You have no idea how severe the crisis is there. Jesus calls us to heal the sick.”

  “But what about here? Doctors are needed here too.”

  “I’m sure they are. Do you feel God is calling you to be a doctor?”

  “In most ways I already am one. I’ve been in training for over a year and working for Dr. Elizabeth for two or three years. My mother was the one everyone called for medical help before Elizabeth moved here. I thought I wanted to be a nurse, but I’ve decided to become a doctor and will be taking more intensive training.”

  She stared at the man and watched his Adam’s apple bob again. What was wrong with his throat? “But I don’t want to go to Africa.”

  “Who said you had to go to Africa?”

  “I thought you were speaking right to me.”

  “Then perhaps I was. Sometimes God works that way.”

  “But I don’t want to go to Africa. I don’t even want to go to Chicago. I want to stay here.” Tears threatened again. I will not cry.I will not be a big baby. How embarrassing. “How do I know if this is God calling me?”

  “You ask Him.”

  “But what if it is Him?” she asked in barely a whisper.

  Reverend Schuman leaned forward. “Then you have to make a decision—to go or to stay. What I usually find is that if it is God, He will keep calling you. Remember Samuel? He said, ‘Here am I, Lord.’ ”

  “At least he didn’t have to go to Africa.”

  Pastor Solberg chuckled. “There’s my Astrid.”

  “He was given a rather large assignment, though. But it didn’t happen until God had trained him for the job. He will lead you step by step, and if you follow those steps, you will know what His will is. You also check what you hear against the Scriptures. How did God call people?”

  “He struck Paul blind.”

  “True. How did He call the disciples?”

  “He said, ‘Follow me.’ But they could see and hear Him. Jesus was a real person and went up to them and told them what to do.”

  “True. We have to listen both inside and out. But He will make His will clear to us.”

  Astrid sighed and leaned back in the chair, setting it to rocking with one foot.

  “Does that answer your questions, young lady?”

  “I have one other.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How long have you had the problem with your throat?”

  Solberg rolled his lips together, glanced at the surprised look on his friend’s face, and burst out laughing. “She’s like her mother, direct and observant, without an ounce of coyness in her.”

  Astrid waited for him to answer.

  He squirmed a little in his chair, almost like a child who’s had to sit too long. “Why?”

  “Because if you haven’t done so already, you need to have it looked at. Something isn’t right.”

  “Do I come to see you or Dr. Elizabeth?”

  “Dr. Elizabeth. Shall I put you on the appointment sheet for ten o’clock in the morning?”

  “I think that would be fine.”

  “Good.” Astrid stood. “Thank you.”

  “Know that we will both be praying for you to follow God’s leading. Would you like the three of us to pray now?” Pastor Solberg touched her sleeve.

  Astrid hesitated. What if someone saw them? Don’t be dumb. What does that matter? People get prayed for a lot around here, and you don’t mind it in the operating room, in fact you count on it. “Yes.” Now it was her turn to clear her throat.

  “Why don’t you sit back down, and we’ll each put a hand on your shoulder.”

  Astrid did as asked, her own hands clenched so tight her fingers cramped. Her shoulders felt the warmth of their hands, and she blinked and swallowed. Right now, all she wanted to do was run to the field and join those she could hear shouting and laughing. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone and ignore what she thought she heard?

  Even the twittering birds in the cottonwood tree fell silent.

  Pastor Solberg led off. “Heavenly Father, I thank you for this young woman you have given to me to shepherd all these years. I rejoice in all the gifts you have given her: gifts of service, of healing, of love and encouragement. She is such a blessing to us all, and we thank you for Astrid Bjorklund.” He paused, his voice deepening. “Lord, she is your daughter and you have a purpose and a plan for her life. Please make it clear to her what you have in mind, so clear there is no room for doubt. And then give her the grace to follow your leading.”

  After a bit Reverend Schuman joined in. “Lord, we know that you want us to understand your Word and your guidance, for you have said so over and over. The Word says you speak in a still small voice, but there are many instances in your Word where you spoke clearly and with great precision. We ask you to do that for Astrid. Of those to whom much is given, much will be expected. I know that you will use her in a mighty way wherever you send her. And, Father, thank you for the privilege of this moment, of our meeting. We will give you all the glory for what you will accomplish. Thank you. Amen.”

  Astrid wiped the tears that she’d not known were dripping and blinked again. Heaving a belly-deep sigh, she looked up. “This reminds me of confirmation.”

  “It is kind of like that. One more step forward in the path He has chosen for you.” Pastor Solberg patted her shoulder. “The Lord will bless and keep you.”

  She nodded. “I think I know that part.”

  “The rest will follow.”

  “Good. I don’t have the proper clothes for Africa right now.” As she stood again to leave, the men joined her. “You coming to watch the game?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  When Astrid reached the field, she leaned up against the barn by her mother. “Who’s ahead?”

  “We are.”

  “So you’ve taken sides?”

  “This time.” Ingeborg clapped and shouted, “That’s the way.” She turned to look at her daughter. “You all right?”

  “I think so. At least for now. But I still don’t really want to go to Chicago, let alone Africa.”

  9

  The next morning Hjelmer looked up as Joshua approached. “So when can you come to work?”

  Joshua stared at Hjelmer, who was studying the bent blade for a windmill head. “Right now. That’s what you said.”

  “Good. Grab that end of the blade, and we’ll heat it up enough to bend it easily. You ever worked with metal?”

  “As in . . . ?” Joshua grabbed one blade, and Hjelmer picked up the one next to it that also had a slight bend.

  “Forge?”

  “Some. I can do the basics.”

  “Machinery repair?”

  “I can take things apart, hopefully figure what’s wrong, either fix them or buy a new part and put them back together. What I don’t know, I learn quickly.” Together they walked toward the glowing forge, where Mr. Sam was pounding a new edge on a plowshare.

  “You ever drill a well before?”

  “Dug one but not drilled.”

  Hjelmer cleared off a bench and hefted a flat bar of cast iron.

  “We’ll heat this blade then lay it on the workbench, place this iron bar on it, and clamp it down. Don’t have to heat it much.”

  Joshua watched as Hjelmer set up the process. Was this all? “You asked me when I can start work, but you didn’t say what I’d be doing.”

  Or how much I’ d get paid. Should I ask or just prove to him all I can do?

  “Depends. I’m not really sure. I sell farm machinery as well as repair it, drill wells, and sell and install windmills. Mr. Sam runs the blacksmith for me. More farms used to have their own forge, but not many do anymore since we are farming with more machinery. I need a man who can fill in
wherever needed. I imagine one day we will be selling and repairing automobiles here too.” He cocked his head.

  “You ever driven one?”

  Joshua shook his head. “Pa would have nothing to do with all those newfangled contraptions—that’s what he called them.”

  “Does he have a tractor?”

  “Nope. But he did buy a two-bottomed plow, a mower and a rake, and discs. He still seeds by hand. He has only a half section, so he hires someone for threshing. He might invest in a corn seeder if the harvest is good this year, but that’s what he has sons to do.”

  “Bet he’s going to miss you.” Hjelmer sighted down a blade and laid it on the to-be-repaired pile.

  “Both of my brothers are still there, so he didn’t mind my leaving.” Much. He wondered if his father wasn’t actually relieved that the troublemaker was gone. Joshua pumped the bellows a couple of times, then pulled on heavy leather gloves, worn black and smooth through all the smithing. Using two pairs of tongs, he held the blade over the forge, moving it slowly back and forth, then laid it on the metal bar on the bench. Laying the other bar on top of it, he set a clamp in the middle, and Hjelmer set another. With the third one in place, they stepped back, studying the blade.

  “That should do it.”

  When they finished that, Mr. Sam heated the plowshare again. “You ever pounded out one of these?”

  “Pa always did that. He could put a fine edge on about anything.” “You want to try this?”

  Joshua grinned. Finally the chance to do a blade himself after years of watching.

  “Go ahead. Do it. Can’t do another windmill blade till that cools down.”

  Joshua straightened out his grin. The older man moved with the grace of a dancer, heating the metal, pounding it, knowing just when to stop one and start the other. His father had moved like that, but there hadn’t been any bantering in his shop. If you had time for frivolity, you weren’t working hard enough. Going home again had been a mark of failure against him, yet his father wanted his sons there. Joshua never had been able to figure the man out. But he had taught his sons to be good workers, and now one of them was away from home working for someone else.

  “You wants to try it?” Mr. Sam’s invitation brought him back to the forge in Blessing.

  “Yes.” Joshua pumped the bellows until the iron glowed white hot again, lifted the steel blade to the anvil, and using a medium-weight iron hammer, honed a fine edge on the plowshare. Then he dunked it in the bucket of water kept for cooling iron.

  “You foolin’ wid ole Sam?”

  “No, why?”

  “You said you din’t know much about sharpening plowshares.

  That was good as any I seen done.”

  “You had it nearly finished. You did the hard part.”

  “Good decision, boss. This man be a big help.”

  The three worked for the next couple of hours until dinnertime, when Lily Mae, Sam’s daughter, brought three meals over from the boardinghouse. She set the covered plates on the picnic table under the tree behind the general store and brought out three cups of coffee from the kitchen where Rebecca and Gerald lived.

  The men washed their hands at the pump and sat on the bench seats.

  With Linnea, Hjelmer’s daughter, close to her heels, Rebecca brought them a pitcher of lemonade filled with ice.

  “Thanks.” Hjelmer leaned forward and made a funny face at his daughter, setting her giggles in gear.

  Joshua glanced at Hjelmer. “There is still ice in the icehouse?”

  “Ja. They put in plenty more since so many have iceboxes now.

  Before you know it, we’ll have a machine here that makes ice year around. Penny and I get information all the time on new inventions.”

  Smiling proudly, he continued, “Years ago, Penny sold the first sewing machines here, started a whole new way of life for the women in Blessing.”

  Hjelmer’s son, back to being called Little Gus, ran across the yard.

  “Pa, can I go swimming with Samuel at the river?”

  “It’s pretty cold yet.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?” He glanced over his shoulder, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “Please?”

  “Did you ask your mother?”

  “No, she’s busy.”

  “Did you finish weeding your rows in the garden?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you go fishing instead? Fried fish would taste mighty good.”

  “P-a-a.”

  “Oh, all right. But take your fishing pole just in case. Samuel’s a good fisherman.”

  “Thank you.” The boy ran to the back porch of the store, grabbed a pole with hook, line, and bobber and headed for the river, his bare feet slapping up puffs of dirt as he ran.

  “I remember those days.” Joshua took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly. He hadn’t had many chances to go fishing. Work on the farm was always more important. If I ever have a son, I want him to be able to go fishing. I want to take him fishing. He stared at his sandwich. Where did thoughts like that come from?

  They’d just finished eating when Thorliff walked around the corner of the store. “Hjelmer, your house will be in tomorrow. The letter just arrived. Don’t know why they didn’t use the telephone.”

  “That’s great news.” Hjelmer paused a moment. “But we’re not ready.”

  “Right. I’ve got Toby and Heinz working over there. Can you come too?”

  “Sure. The three of us will be right over.” Hjelmer looked at Joshua. “I take it you know how to use a hammer.”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Somewhat, like setting that edge on the plowshare?”

  “We built a machine shed and a shed addition on the barn. Oh, and a new silo and corncrib.”

  “I see.” He turned back to Thorliff. “Be there right away.”

  “Glad to have you along,” Thorliff said to Joshua. “We have a good team.”

  And I don’t have to milk cows. Joshua finished his sandwich and emptied the glass. “I’m ready any time you are.”

  “You have any tools?”

  Joshua shook his head. “Do I need to buy some?”

  “No. We have plenty. Sam, can you bring a file to sharpen the saw blades?”

  “Where is your house going to be?”

  Hjelmer turned and pointed to a lot two blocks over with mounds of dirt. “That’s it. We’ve poured the exterior walls and set the drain, and we’re ready to build the center support wall.”

  “I’ve not worked with concrete before.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll learn.”

  As they approached the building site, Hjelmer pointed to two eight-foot posts made from a single tree trunk. “Going to use those to support the upper floor. We’ll set them on concrete pads, which we need to frame and pour. Then we’ll run a beam from the back wall, across the posts, and to the front.”

  “I see. You want me to start on the pads?”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  The afternoon flew by as the men worked to get the basement ready to begin framing the lower floor and walls. Joshua wrapped a bandanna soaked in water around his neck and pulled his wide-brimmed hat more securely down on his head. The errant breezes didn’t make it into the cellar.

  Measuring, cutting boards, and nailing the forms together kept his mind too busy to think about what his new pay would be or to wonder what Astrid was doing. Although when he stopped to get a drink of water from a jug covered with soaked burlap, he remembered the good feeling her cheering for him had caused. Even while he was running the bases, he could hear her yelling his name. The game had picked up in intensity when the women and girls had arrived to root the teams on. Thorliff’s team had won by four runs—eight to four, not a bad score. This game had been more fun than those at Winding Creek, the town closest to his father’s farm. There he was always under the cloud of his father’s criticism. After all, he should be working, not playing. And baseball? What a colossal waste of time, his fat
her thought.

  The people of Blessing seemed to know how to work hard yet play and have a good time too. Back in Iowa, Sundays had been for worship and thinking on one’s sins, not for enjoying a huge family get-together, playing baseball, and eating ice cream in the afternoon.

  He hung the cup back on the hook and returned to making his form. That done, he poured the concrete and troweled the top of it before stepping back. With three iron bars imbedded in the concrete and sticking straight up to be fitted into the posts once the concrete was dry, they could proceed.

  “Looks good to me. Let’s go measure and cut those posts.” Hjelmer pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his face. “Sure is getting hot.”

  “You’re just not used to manual labor yet,” Thorliff said, clapping his uncle on the shoulder. “Just soft. That’s all.”

  “Who do you think shoveled out a good portion of the basement?” Hjelmer held up his hands. “No more summer hands for me. I’ve got calluses to prove it.”

  As the sun was starting to set, they put their tools away and headed for home. “See you here at seven o’clock tomorrow,” Hjelmer called.

  Joshua raised a tired hand in acknowledgment and kept on walking. He needed a pair of leather gloves; that was for sure. He climbed the steps to the boardinghouse and pulled open the screen door. Fragrances of fresh bread, sizzling meat, and fresh coffee drew him into the dining room, where Miss Christopherson pointed him toward a seat.

  “Your supper will be right out. I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you.”

  “I got a job with Hjelmer Bjorklund. We’ll start putting up his new house tomorrow after it comes in on the train.” He sat down, looked at his hands, and quickly stood again. “I’ll be right back. Need to wash off some of the grime first.” When he returned, a plate of sliced roast beef, potatoes smothered in brown gravy, and string beans with bacon waited at his place. Two slices of bread and butter covered a plate beside the other, and a full coffee cup finished it off.

  “This looks wonderful.”

  “Thank you. I’ll tell Mrs. Sam.” Miss Christopherson glanced around the room. “You’re about the last one to be served, and there’s plenty more where that came from.”

  “Thank you.” Joshua tucked into his meal, polishing off that plate and one more before he decided he was full.