A Dream to Follow (21 page)

When Thorliff told his mother about Manda that night after supper, Ingeborg laid down her knitting. “She cares for Baptiste, doesn’t she?”

“Ja, but how did you know?”

Ingeborg smiled her mother smile. “Thorliff, I’m not blind, and I have been around enough springs to see budding affections.”

“They been friends for a long time.”

“I know. Like you and Anji.”

Anji, the flower of my heart
. Thorliff could feel the burn start in his neck and ears. And his mother wasn’t even teasing him. All he could see was love in her eyes, and he knew that love applied to Manda and Baptiste too. He nodded. “I don’t know what to do for them.”

“Not much you can do.”

He debated telling her what Manda had said about going to Montana but decided to keep the confidence. Instead, he stood and crossed to stare out the window. The moon shone bright enough he could have taken his book outside to read. Questions bubbled and snorted within him like an awakening volcano. Guilt rose like steam.
How can I dare think of going away to school when we’ve had no rain? Yet how can I not go? Lord God, what is the best?

“Son, what is it you are stewing about?” His mother’s voice floated softly through the dimness and called him back to young boy days when he had sat at her feet and told her his stories.

Thorliff shook his head.
I’m supposed to be a man now, and yet I want to hide my face in my mor’s apron and let her tell me everything will be all right
. “Nothing, just—”

“If you are still worried about going away, put those thoughts from your mind. You have the bank draft from Mr. Gould, and I have money put aside. You’ll find work there to help pay also. Remember the story Jesus told about the talents? The only man he scolded was the one who buried his talent in the ground.”

“I know. But I would only be postponing, not burying. I can write here too.”

“How many stories have you written since school was out?”

“Only one, but winter is when I write the most. There’s more time then.” He leaned against the window frame and looked at his mother. While her face was in shadow, the moonlight caught the clicking knitting needles and the whiteness of her fingers passing the yarn around the dancing ivory. He could feel her gaze upon him, a gaze of love and imbuing strength. Ingeborg Bjorklund did what needed to be done, no matter the cost. While she wasn’t his birth mother, she was the only mother he’d ever known. After his father, Roald, died in the blizzard, she’d kept the family and the land together by sheer will. He remembered her working the farm and the fields, breaking the sod and planting, doing the work of a man, of several men, really. And they had survived.

Could he do less?

“Is it wrong to want something else than the farm? Far is so set on—”

“Andrew will till the soil, and you will till men’s minds. Both are needed. Deep down, Haakan understands this.”

He noted she’d referred to him as Haakan. Strange how he had lost both mother and father and yet gained new ones who meant the world to him, perhaps more so because he was not of their blood.

“But, Mor, you nearly gave your life for this land.”

“Ja, and I would do it again, but not at the cost of your life. You are meant for another purpose, and God will use you in ways we do not yet begin to know. You keep your eyes on our Savior and let him guide you. That is all I ask.”

Thorliff took a deep breath. “That I will.”

“And no looking back. No saying ‘Should I or shouldn’t I?’ Look only forward, like the apostle Paul says about keeping our eyes on the prize and running with patience the race set before us.”

“It is not that I don’t love this land.”

“I know that. This black soil is part of our very souls. You will go with our blessing, and you will return with rejoicing.”

Thorliff turned and looked out the window again. If he closed his eyes, he could see his doubts and fears rising on the moonbeams as an offering to the keeper of his heart and soul.

“Mange takk.”

“You are indeed most welcome.”

But putting and keeping the worry out of his mind was far easier said than done.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Ah, Zeb, it is so good to see you.”

“Thank you, Miz Bjorklund. Good to see all my family again.” Zebulun MacCallister indicated all the folks gathered around and visiting after church. “I feel like the prodigal son.”

“As right you should.” Mary Martha Solberg snaked an arm around her lanky brother’s waist. She leaned her head against his arm. “Strange how the mail lost all your letters to us.”

Zeb had the grace to both blush and flinch. “I did write one.”

“I know. Manda and I wore that little piece of paper out with our rereadin’.” She gazed up at him. “I wish you were goin’ to stay.” She patted her rounding middle. “Little Emily here would like to get to know her uncle.”

“Emily? Are you prescient or somethin’?”

“No, but this one feels like a girl. Besides, Metiz told me it was a girl, and she is always right.”

“Ma-a.” Little Johnny Solberg tugged on a fold of her shirt.

Mary Martha leaned over and cupped her son’s round face in her hands. “What do you need?”

“Thomas won’t let me have the train engine.”

“Is he playin’ with it now?”

“Yesss.” Hands on hips. “But I want it now.”

“You must wait your turn.”

Zeb leaned down and scooped up the child, setting Johnny up on his shoulder. He squealed and clamped an arm around the man’s head, a tiny hand sealing off his left eye. “Hey, Thomas, see! Onkel Zeb givin’ me a ride.”

Zeb grinned at his sister, winking with his available eye. He removed the clamping hand so he could see.

Mary Martha shook her head. “Children.” But love colored both her voice and her eyes. She watched as Zeb galloped off with his cargo shrieking in delight. Other children followed after him as if he were handing out cookies.

“He loves children, doesn’t he?” Ingeborg watched the activities with a smile.

“Always has. I know that’s why he couldn’t leave Manda and Deborah in that dugout.” Mary Martha sighed. “If only he would stay here.

Perhaps someday he’d find another wife, and . . .”

“Does he talk about Katy?” Thinking back to the deaths of Zeb’s wife Katy and her newborn baby brought the sting of tears to Ingeborg’s eyes. She and Metiz had fought so hard to save them both, but they lost the battle. She sniffed and looked to see the tears trickling down her friend’s cheeks. They took out handkerchiefs at the same time.

“I miss her every day. And if
I
do, how much more does Zeb?”

“I know. Even after all these years, something will trigger my memory, and all the sorrow after Roald died comes crashing back, in spite of the fact that I have a good husband and my life is all I ever dreamed.” Ingeborg dabbed at her eyes again. “But Zeb is all alone.”

“He needn’t be.” A slight tightening about her mouth showed Mary Martha’s true feelings.

“He reminds me of a wounded animal going off by itself to lick its wounds.”

“Sometimes those solitary animals never heal. They die.”

“Ja, that is true.” Ingeborg shook her head. “But men so often act this way.”

“I know.” Mary Martha flinched and rubbed the side of her belly. “This baby is a busy one, runnin’ to keep up with the others and not even out of the womb yet.”

Ingeborg waved when someone called good-bye from over at the long line of wagons. “We’d sure like it if you all would come for dinner.”

“Let me ask John, but I see no reason why not.” Mary Martha paused, a frown wrinkling her brow. She lowered her voice and moved closer to Ingeborg. “Have you heard anything about Baptiste and . . . and Manda?”

“I know they are good friends. Have been for years.”

“Um.” Mary Martha rubbed her belly again. “I reckon I just have me a feelin’.”

Ingeborg waited, watching the emotions play over her friend’s face like clouds chasing tag around the sun.

“Mor, can Ellie come home with us for dinner?” Andrew skidded to a stop in front of his mother.

“If Goodie says it’s okay, she may.”

“Good. She said the same.” Andrew threw a “mange takk” over his shoulder and ran off to play a game of Run Sheep Run with the other children.

“Uff da, such energy.” Ingeborg turned to see Mary Martha smiling at her.

“Do you ever say
no
or
wait
to someone coming for a meal?”

Ingeborg shrugged. “Why would I? We can always stretch what we have a little bit more.” She tipped her head a trifle to the side. “God has been good to us. I am just grateful that we have much to share.”

“True, and most of us would come just for the cheese if the rest of your larder was bare.” Mary Martha sighed. “Back to the question.”

“What is it you are afraid of?”

“I reckon I don’t rightly know. But it seems Manda is more secretive than ever, if that’s possible. Maybe secretive isn’t the right word. She’s always kept her own counsel. She doesn’t ask for anything unless absolutely necessary and always does more than I could ask, as if she were beholden and wanted to work off the debt.”

“All that responsibility made her old before her time.”

“I know. She really looks up to you. You think perhaps you could talk with her?”

“I can try, but . . .”

“Perhaps after dinner?”

Ingeborg nodded and answered Haakan’s beckon from the wagon. “I’ll be right there.”

“We need to go by home first, so it’ll be a little while before we come. I have a chocolate cake baked, and I’ll bring that.” Mary Martha put an arm around young Johnny, who’d returned to his mother as the other children departed. “Come, let’s get in the wagon so we will be ready to leave when your pa is ready.”

“Pa went back in the church.” Johnny pointed to the open doors.

Ingeborg and Mary Martha headed toward the two remaining wagons.

By the time everyone gathered for dinner, the group had swelled to party size, with the women inside putting the meal together and the men setting up the sawhorses to make tables. Thorliff and Baptiste hauled benches out of the granary while Andrew and Astrid drew the other children into a circle around Metiz, who sat cross-legged in the shade of the cottonwood.

“Tell us about Wolf,” Andrew asked as he took his place beside Ellie. “Do you think he will ever come back?”

Metiz smiled, showing her few remaining teeth. The wrinkles in her face folded into each other, a map of the years. “Long time since he come back. Brought pups to show us.” She nodded, her eyes gazing into the past.

“One winter before any of your people came to our valley, I find a young wolf caught in a trap by front paw. He near to death. Men say kill him, but I spring trap and carry him back to tepee where Baptiste live with me . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she nodded. “I clean and bandage foot. Wolf lay by fire. We feed him small bits of dried meat. Give him water to drink. Baptiste think Wolf die, but he live. When time of new grass come, he can walk again, limps . . .” She dipped her shoulder as if she were favoring one foot. “Slow, slow he go. We come back here for hunting and fishing. Wolf come too.”

“Did he ever bite you?” Ellie asked.

“No. Wolf know we his friends. He soon hunt again, stay near us but not in tepee. When Bjorklunds come, he see we friends. We all his pack. One winter he chase off other wolves so sheep not die.”

“When I was little, I got lost in the tall grass, and Wolf found me. He licked my face and stayed with me all night, then in the morning he led me back to my mor.” Andrew shared a smile with Metiz. “I miss him.”

“One winter he not come back until time of new grass again, and he bring mate and two pups to show us. When they left, I think he not be back. He lead own life.” Metiz stroked the rabbit skin she’d been pulling back and forth over a stick in her lap to soften it. She passed the tanned skin around for the children to feel. “Great Spirit give us all we need to live.”

“So soft.” Ellie held the fur side up to her cheek. “What will you make with these?”

“More mittens. Soon have enough for vest. Moccasins for baby feet.”