A Harvest of Hope (15 page)

O
h
,
please
don
'
t
die
on
my
watch
.
Miriam hoped she hadn't said that aloud as she dipped the wet cloths in cold water and laid them back on the patient. After the surgery, Miriam had gone back to her room and collapsed, sleeping right through supper. Vera woke her when she was getting ready for bed and told her Mrs. Landsverk had saved some food for her, and it would be brought up as soon as she asked.

Instead, she'd dressed and gone down to the dining room, eaten, and returned to the hospital to take a three-hour shift, not leaving the patient's side. At three o'clock she would go back to her room and sleep until her regular duty on the day shift.

Mrs. Bach. It was hard for her to think of the patient as Mrs. Bach. She surely didn't look any older than Mercy, who was now sixteen, she suddenly realized, and working at the Chicago hospital. Oh dear. She had forgotten that Mercy had a birthday last week. She would have to send her a special note.

“We better start using ice. Her temperature is climbing,” she said to Corabell, who was on the night shift with Dawn Breaking and had just come in to check on her.

“I get it.” The Indian woman left. When she returned a few minutes later with the bowl of ice, she helped Miriam fold the
ice into the wet cloths and lay them back against their patient. The next time they would change the pads on the bed again.

“Has she regained consciousness at all?” Corabell asked.

“No. Dr. Astrid said we should keep her sedated.”

A snore came from her young husband, who was sound asleep on the cot they had set up for him. He'd stayed awake, taking part in the first round, but succumbed to sleep in the chair. They had promised to wake him if there was any change.

Miriam again slid an ice chip into the girl's mouth. She was not so sedated she didn't swallow. “Thank you, Dawn.”

“I watch. You go walk around.”

“I will do that, thank you.” Miriam stretched and left the room, heading outside for a breath of fresh air. She never ceased to be amazed at the fragrances wafting on the breeze. The sickle moon hung in the western sky, and the chill in the air said fall was fading into winter. But tonight she could see countless stars. So few could be seen in Chicago. She rubbed her upper arms and strode down the street, then shortly turned back and returned to her patient.

“Thanks. Now I at least feel awake again.”

A baby cried and was shushed by either the nurse or the mother who lay beside her small son. Someone coughed, and when the man continued to cough, Miriam heard Corabell's shoes click down the ward. All the night sounds of the hospital.

Miriam wrote on the chart that they'd started ice packs at one thirty. She checked the dressing: no sign of further blood loss. Sliding in another ice chip, she watched Mrs. Bach's face. Her eyelids had indeed fluttered. She checked the chart for the time the morphine was last administered. She shouldn't be waking up. Another hour before it was to be given again.

Miriam strode to the kichen where Mrs. Geddick had chosen to sleep on a cot in case she was needed. Miriam explained what was needed as they returned to the room.

Mrs. Geddick leaned close to their patient's ear, speaking in
German. “You are safe. Your husband is sleeping here in your room at the hospital. You just rest and get well.” She repeated herself, speaking slowly and softly. She watched Miriam carefully and translated slowly. “If you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Good. Now, if the pain is severe again, squeeze my hand. Pain?” Again a weak squeeze. “I'll bring you something to drink in a few minutes.” Miriam asked Dawn Breaking to stay by the young woman as she went to prepare the medication. By the time she returned, Mrs. Bach was sound asleep again, but this time she seemed to be resting, not comatose. Had they had a breakthrough?

Together she and Dawn Breaking wrung the cloths out and put in more ice.

A while later Ingeborg joined them at the bedside, catching a yawn. “How is she?”

Miriam brought her up to date and Ingeborg nodded. “I know I'm a bit early, but since I have the next shift, you go on back to your room and get some more sleep.”

“Thank you.” On her way back to the boardinghouse, thoughts of Trygve danced into her mind. They had walked these streets together and had a marvelous time at Ingeborg's on Sunday. Yet they were both so busy she'd hardly seen him this week. Other than when he and Mr. Bjorklund brought their patient to the hospital.

His smile had made her heart leap even in the midst of caring for a terribly ill woman. She had been back in Blessing for less than a week, and other than missing her mother, Chicago felt like long ago and on the other side of the world.

She had a feeling her mother's going on to heaven was easier on her with the distance, since she hadn't seen her mother every day for the last years and especially these last months. She needed to write to her brothers and sisters. After all, she was now the head of the family, or the oldest at least. But not this morning. She had to be back at the hospital at seven. One good thing
she'd learned in nurses' training: how to sleep any time she got the opportunity.

Ingeborg finished spooning broth into Leona Bach, then wiped her face and hands with a warm wet cloth before drying them. She took a bottle of lotion out of her pocket and rubbed that on her face and hands, then turned at a noise.

Young Mr. Bach staggered to his feet, stuttering an apology for sleeping so soundly. When she told him his wife had taken some broth, he looked at her.

“What do I do? I have to go to work.”

She got the gist of what he was saying and answered, “If there is any change, someone will come for you.”

“Ja, for sure?”

“Ja. You keep praying for her. But now, you take her hand and lean close to her ear. Then you tell her to squeeze your hand if she can hear you.”

“And tell her I come back later?”

“Ja.” Ingeborg watched a smile change his face when his wife could hear him and respond.
Thank you, Lord God.
You are the reason this young woman is still alive,
so please continue with your plan, and thank you for
the privilege of allowing us to take part in it.
How can we take better care of these people you
have sent to us?
This was something the quilters needed to look into. The men were working, but so far the women had little contact with the rest of the town.

There was a language barrier indeed, but they could communicate if they tried hard enough. When Reverend Solberg appeared at the door, she rose and offered him her chair, then brought him up to date.

“I am thankful she is still alive.”

“We are fighting the infection with all that we have, and since the offending organ is no longer there, I pray we have a
better chance. But as with all those we've prayed for through the years, no matter how good the medicine and care, healing is still His province.”

John Solberg nodded. “You are praying for Anner?”

“Of course, and for Thorliff. It is hard, you know, when your son is attacked.”

“I know.” He took her hand. “And how are you doing?”

“Up and down. The pit yawns, but God pulls me back from the edge. The tears stop eventually, and I feel His presence so strongly at times. I know He is with me, and I know Haakan is with Him. And someday I will get to join them.”

“Please don't be in a hurry to go, all right?”

Ingeborg shook her head. “As if that would make any difference. But we can make a difference with these young people.” She nodded toward Leona Bach. “Starting right here.”

“We have to get that apartment house built. And those three houses.”

“I know there aren't very many women there now, but Thorliff said several of the men want to bring their families. Uff da. Who would have thought God had such a plan for our little town?”

Ingeborg said good-bye to Corabell and Dawn Breaking, and using the predawn for light, she walked on home. The cows were already in the barn for milking, the rooster was crowing, and Patches came running out to meet her. Smoke from the chimney told her Freda was fixing breakfast. The thought of a cup of coffee made her pick up her feet and mount the steps to the back porch with a spring in her step. Oh, but it felt good to be home.

“Gud dag.” She greeted Freda from the doorway as she unwrapped her shawl and hung it on the wall peg.

“You seem mighty cheerful for nursing half the night.”

“I slept for several hours before my shift to stay with Mrs. Bach and then had a beautiful walk home as the world came alive. Is Manny milking?”

Freda nodded. “And Emmy is getting dressed. She already made their lunches. She sure is one capable little girl.”

Ingeborg shot Freda a warm smile. It wasn't often Freda paid a compliment, so when she did, Ingeborg made sure to comment on it. “You are so right.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “What do you want me to do?”

“Sit down at the table and enjoy your coffee. The mush is fried and in the oven, the sausage too—”

“From Garrisons'?”

“Ja. And I will do the eggs when Manny gets in here.” Just then they heard him on the porch and without the thump of his crutches.

“Mornin', Grandma,” he said with a smile, using his cane as if he'd had it for years instead of days. “D'you think I can leave the crutches home today?”

“How does your leg feel?”

“Hurts some at times but no big thing.”

“How about using the crutches today, and then try the cane come Monday?”

He frowned but nodded. “I was thinking maybe me and Emmy could ride Joker.”

“And where would he stay all day?”

“I know. I thought of that.” He went to the sink to wash without being asked. “Be good if I could train him to come home by himself.”

Ingeborg shook her head. Leave it to Manny. But inwardly she smiled even more. He'd referred to her house as home. And he'd called her Grandma, like Emmy and Inga and the little ones did. What wonderful changes!

Using hot pads, Emmy brought one of the platters to the table and Freda brought the others. When they'd all sat down, Ingeborg asked Manny to say grace.

“Thank you, Lord, for our food and for Grandma and Freda who cook so good. Thank you for making my leg better all the time. Amen.”

Ingeborg heard a buggy and looked out the window. Patches leaped off the porch, barking a welcome, and danced beside Trygve right up to the door.

“Come in, come in. You are just in time.” Freda pointed to the plate waiting for him. When Emmy set the table, she always set an extra place.

Trygve seated himself and bowed his head briefly. A whistle sounded and the two kids leaped up and grabbed their lunch buckets, and out the door they went with a chorus of good-byes and thank-yous.

Trygve laughed. “Samuel whistles and they jump. That's good for all of them.” He helped himself to plenty of everything.

Ingeborg smiled. “Have you been digging this morning?”

“Ja. Getting close to done with my basement. It's interesting that we're having such a warm fall—an Indian summer, I guess. I wonder why they call it that.”

“I don't really know.” Ingeborg refilled the coffee cups after motioning for Freda to sit still for a change.

Trygve worked on his breakfast for a moment. “How is Mrs. Bach?”

“I'm thinking she is doing well for it being not even twenty-four hours since the surgery. The problem is she was so run-down from the last month of bleeding off and on.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “You realize she'd be dead if it weren't for all of the fine medical staff—you and John Solberg included. Freda, you're amazing. Thank you.”

He stood up. “Thanks for the breakfast. I told Thorliff I wanted to dig your potatoes today, so he gave me the day off.”

“You all take such good care of me. Thank you, Trygve.”

After he headed for the field, she helped Freda clear the table and put the dishes in the pan. When she started to wash them, Freda shook her head.

“You go back to your sewing. I know you want to finish that
dress for Emmy. And you should probably take a nap in case you are needed to sit with Mrs. Bach again.”

“Freda, thank you. And thank you for staying here so I could be gone.”

“You are welcome. That order for cheese should be shipped early next week. Manny put the crates together. The wheels are all waxed and ready—well, almost all. If we get any more orders in the mail, we could ship more.”

I should be out there at the cheese house helping
her.
Actually there were a lot of things she
should
be doing. Baking cookies for one thing. The jar was nearly empty and all the children would probably be here at the farm tomorrow. Saturday seemed to be turning into grandkids' day with Grandma at the farm.