A Dream to Follow (33 page)

Two days later, when they finished the last of the farms in the area that had contacted them, Haakan shut down the tractor and climbed down to the ground. “Thorliff, go hitch up that wagon. Mrs. Sam, is your rig ready to roll?”

“Yes, suh. But we need to stop in town for supplies.”

“Be that as it may. Right now we’re going to the lake. All of us. Bring soap and towels. Lars, you got any fishhooks and line?”

“Just let me dig them out. You s’pose that lake has any periwinkles in it?”

“If not, we can use grasshoppers. There’s plenty of them around. Surely the fish there eat grasshoppers.”

“I got bread and bacon grease. Lily Mae can fry up some leftover beans if ’n you don’ catch no fish.”

“We’ll catch fish if we have to swim after them.”

Thorliff and Hamre had the wagon hitched up in record time. Everyone tossed in their gear, and they were off.

“How far to the lake?” Hamre yelled over the noise of the horses and the wheels.

“About two miles. See it out there?” They crested a slight rise and saw the lake shimmering like a mirage.

“Look, there’s smoke.” Thorliff pointed off to the north.

Haakan looked to some tall grass along the road bending before the wind. “East wind is blowing it away from us. Too far away for us to help.”

They soon pulled close to the lake, bulrushes lining the shore. “Over there looks to be a good place. You all go on and get cleaned up, and I’ll go this way to fish.” Lars nodded toward the swampy area off to the right where blackbirds sang. “Looks to be a creek flowing in there.”

“You sure?” Haakan wrapped the lines around the brake handle. “We’re not in any particular hurry, you know.”

“I’d rather fish than swim any day.”

Hamre leaped from the back of the wagon. “I’ll catch grasshoppers.” Soon he returned with a handkerchief clenched in his fist, the hoppers pushing against the cotton, a foot or two making its way through the creases. Hamre raised his other hand. “Look, they spit all over me.” Stains of yellow and tan freckled his skin.

“You’d spit too if some giant grabbed you up and stuffed you in a pouch like that.” Lars reached for the handkerchief, pulled the ends up tight, and held them fast with a bit of twine he pulled from his pocket. “There now. That’ll keep ’em.” He glanced around the group. “Anyone else want to come? I got another hook or two.”

“Later.” Thorliff finished pulling his boots off and grabbed one of the horses by the halter. “Come on, Nellie, you need a drink.” Hamre took the other horse, and after kicking off his boots, they waded out knee deep. The horses drank, nosed the water, and drank again. Prince, the dark gelding, buckled at the knees and, before Hamre could stop him, flopped on his side, legs thrashing the water, and rolled. When the horse surged to his feet, Nellie took her turn. Already drenched from the horses’ brief swim, Thorliff and Hamre dove into the water and came up blowing like porpoises.

Dragging their lead lines, the horses ambled out onto the bank and put their heads down to graze. For a change they had real green grass, not the dried-up pasture they’d grazed elsewhere.

“Let ’em be,” Haakan said when Thorliff started to follow them. “Throw us the soap.” He waved at Mrs. Sam. They all soaped their clothes and rinsed them by diving and swimming.

Thorliff surfaced after rolling around to rinse his clothes and set his feet down on the sandy bottom. He sat back, his shoulders under the water. Lily Mae and Mrs. Sam were dipping and rinsing. As if attached by a pull line, Thorliff stared at Lily Mae’s slim figure, her clothes molded to a body that had begun to assume its female shape. He gulped and felt the water sizzle as he ducked under.

Anji, I miss you so. If I were staying home instead of going away to college, we could get married. Far would give us some land, and we’d build a house
.

He stayed under until his lungs screamed for air. When his head broke the surface, he was turned the other way, the lowering sun shining a golden path across the water. He kept his eyes wide open, for every time he closed them, he saw Anji, dressed in her yellow graduation dress, as if etched onto his mind for all eternity. Sadness sat like a buffalo robe on his shoulders. Stiff, heavy, cumbersome. Breathing took an effort.

He removed his shirt and, twisting it with his hands, wrung out what water he could. He climbed out of the lake, sat down, and pulled on his boots. “I’m going to help Lars catch our supper,” he announced and left without a backward glance.

“Don’ stop with supper. Breakfast be a good time for fried fish too.”

He stumbled along the bank, his mind screaming “what if ’s” all the while. What if he were making the wrong decision? What if something happened to Anji? What if . . . ? When he located Lars, he took the pole he was handed.

“Thanks.”

“Right out there beyond that log is where I been getting most of them.” Lars pulled his forked stick out of the water. “I’ll take these so we can scale them for supper.” He stopped for a moment, studying the younger man. “Are you all right?”

Thorliff nodded. “Sure.” But he knew if he looked Lars in the eye, all his sad and terrified thoughts would be seen. Here he was supposed to be a man, and he felt like blubbering like a little boy. When a fish hit his hook, he jerked it with a vengeance, then had to search for his catch in the reeds.

He could feel the others glancing at him that evening around the campfire. Bellies full, they lounged on the grass, no one wanting to leave the coolness and sounds of the lake. Loons called, their song a haunting plea. But soon the mosquitoes drove them back to the wagon and to the shadowy monstrosities they served.

Thorliff flipped from one side to the other, plagued by every worry he’d ever suffered.

Before dawn they pulled out, the clanking and groaning fitting right in with his state of mind. Rather than driving the cook wagon, he motioned for Hamre to take the lines, and he took a place on the tailgate of the wagon carrying the barrels. One of the hired men cocked an eyebrow, but no one said anything.

That night Haakan drew him aside. “Since we are close to the train line here, how about you head on home in the morning?”

Thorliff nodded, his boot toe making circles in the dirt. Even his father didn’t want him along. Sadness must be contagious.

“See you when we gets home.” The next morning Mrs. Sam handed him a tow sack with sandwiches, some venison jerky, and a jug of water.

“No, I’ll be gone then.”
If I go. How can I not go? Because my father doesn’t want me to, that’s why
.

He wanted to scream at the voices fighting in his head.

“Oh, dat’s right. Well, you take care of yourself in that big school, you hear?”

“I will.”

“Dey better feed you right.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sam. You took good care of us out here.”

He turned and climbed into a wagon going into town. No one was even taking him to the train. He just begged a ride with a stranger. With his bedroll tied over his shoulder, his journal and extra clothing inside, and his food sack in his hand, he knew this was the best way, but somehow his insides didn’t agree.

“So how’s the harvesting been in other places?” the driver asked.

“Same as here. Bad.”

“You been with that rig long?”

Thorliff shook his head. Did three years constitute long?

The man took the hint and didn’t ask anything else, taking to whistling between his teeth instead, a two-tone hiss that repeated as often as the horses’ hooves clopped.

Thorliff shifted on the seat. He clasped and unclasped his hands, then dropped his head forward. He tried to picture Anji’s face. Forced himself to think what he needed to pack to take to college.

Why bother? You aren’t going anyway!

Shut up!
Clamping his hands over his ears under the guise of scratching his head didn’t even help.

“You always whistle like that?” He couldn’t believe the words coming from his mouth.

“Well, ex-
cuse
me.” The whistling stopped, but now Thorliff had something else to feel guilty over. Why would he treat another like that? His mor would box his ears for being so impolite. Cruel, in fact.

Never had he felt such relief at seeing the train station. “Thank you for the ride.”

The man grunted and clucked the horses forward.

When he asked what time the train left, the man behind the window shook his head. “You just missed it by no more’n half an hour. Not another one going east until tomorrow morning.”

Thorliff groaned. He heaved a sigh and shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to wait.”

“ ’Bout all you can do.”

“Can I throw my bedroll down here at the station?”

“Don’t know why not. Can’t offer much in the way of comfort, but you’re welcome to the floor.”

“Thanks.” Thorliff spent most of the day wandering the dirt streets of Devil’s Lake.

When he returned to the train station, he took out his journal and, recalling every Bible verse he’d learned about honoring one’s parents and living peaceably, wrote them out. Sure that if he went to St. Olaf he was going straight to hell, he curled up on top of his bedroll and let the mosquitoes have a feast.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Northfield, Minnesota
Late August

“Don’t forget we are having company for supper tonight,” Elizabeth’s mother said, meeting her as soon as she arrived home after finishing the bookwork at her father’s printshop.

Elizabeth sighed. “Yes, Mother.” She hated to ask the next question.

“And I want you to wear something nice.”

Elizabeth skipped the next question, as it had already been answered. “And who is this surprise person of the male persuasion that I am to dress nice for?” Why couldn’t her mother just give up? She hated to count the number of
nice
, meaning eligible, young men who had been invited for dinner or supper or the theater or . . . The list went on.

“His name is Thornton Wickersham, and he is a nephew to Pastor Mueller. Mr. Wickersham plans to attend Carleton College this fall and is coming to town a bit early to get settled.”

Thornton Wickersham?
Elizabeth did all she could to keep from laughing out loud. With a name like that he must be a dandy of the first order. “So”—she swallowed her chuckle—“are the Muellers coming too?”

“Yes, of course. And Dr. Gaskin. I think it’s about time he began to mingle with his friends again.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and counted. When she could speak without biting off her mother’s head, she continued. “Mother, first of all, you and father are not necessarily friends of the doctor, and secondly, it’s only been two months since Helen died.” Thinking of the doctor brought a vision of eyes that no longer twinkled and a mouth that drooped like his mustache. In spite of the ministrations of his capable and caring housekeeper and amiable and able nurse, the lines seemed deeper on his face and his hair whiter by the time Elizabeth arrived at the office every morning. He left more of the initial exams up to her and came in to make sure her diagnoses were accurate.

While he referred to her as his doctor-in-training, Elizabeth knew he was too tired to carry the load he used to, or too hung over, depending on the time of day. She’d caught him sneaking a drink from a bottle kept in a locked drawer in his desk.