A Harvest of Hope (3 page)

They continued their discussion until the bell announced the noon hour and dinner being served in the dining room.

“Thank you, Miriam. If there is anything else . . . ?”

“An X-ray machine would be a big help, since so many we treat there have broken a bone or two. One of the workers died shortly after his arrival due to consumption. We all wore masks and followed quarantine procedures. The people who live in Blessing are remarkably healthy, including the pregnant mothers. Maybe it is all the fresh air and good food.”

“And teaching. Astrid's mother, Ingeborg, has been providing medical care and information to the people there for years. Have you met her?”

“Oh yes. She has invited us to her house several times, and she and the pastor there show up at the hospital whenever prayer is needed. They believe in the power of prayer in that town.”

Mrs. Korsheski stood, so Miriam did too. “You are ready for your presentation this afternoon?”

“Yes. As much as I can be. I thought to let them ask questions too.”

“Good.”

Should she say this next thought? Mrs. Korsheski had told her to be candid. “You know, I think one thing is very different from here.”

“What is that?”

“Out there, the doctors treat us all as part of the team. They expect us nurses to think and act when and however needed.”

Mrs. Korsheski rolled her lips together, but her eyes twinkled. She dropped her voice. “Are you saying some of the doctors here can be . . . uh . . . overbearing?”

Miriam paused.
Be diplomatic
. “That would be one way of putting it. That is why I see training in situations like Blessing is invaluable. You said that before we left, and you were right.”

“Thank you. By the way, are all three of you keeping some kind of journal or diary of your experiences there?”

“We keep careful notes on patient charts and in the day log, if that is what you mean.”

“Good. That is necessary, but I'm talking about notes of a personal kind, more observations, I guess, than facts. I find it sharpens my insight and gives me a place to go back and check when my memory gets shady.”

“About nursing?”

“About nursing in a small hospital, in an unfamiliar town, and things that might help others to prepare for the life.”

Miriam stared at the older woman for a moment, questions playing tag in her mind. “Can we talk more about this?”

“Of course. You have another day here before you board the westbound train. We'll make time. I'd be very interested in reading such a memoir.”

B
LESSING
, N
ORTH
D
AKOTA

I
ngeborg woke to damp sheets and pillowcase and a soaked nightdress.

She blinked in the dimness of early dawn, listening to the whispering of the curtain with the breeze and a bird trying out its vocal cords to greet the new day. Blowing out a breath, she forced herself to turn her head to the empty pillow. The pillow with no indentation, the sheets still pristine from the wash line.

Haakan had not returned in the night, the only gift she pleaded for every night before falling into the well of sleep. To see his face one more time, to hear his voice calling her
My
Ingy,
to feel the warmth of his body in the bed beside her.

She sat up, afraid of slipping back into sleep. The pit. That was what woke her. She'd not been that close to the edge of depression since those many months after Roald died before she had finally returned to the land of the living, the land where she no longer needed to nearly kill herself to keep the land, the precious land they had sweated and bled for, the free land for their children. The land was secure now, owned by her and her sons and daughter.

But Haakan was gone. She'd read and reread the verses where
Jesus talked about going to prepare a place for us in his Father's house of many mansions. Perhaps good farmland too, a place for the farmers who wouldn't know how to sit still, even though she was sure that singing heavenly praises was a wonderful thing.

Lord, am I going crazy? You'd think
I'd not see the pit again. I know you'
ve promised to never leave me nor forsake me. You
will not allow me to fall over the edge, but
I beg of you, remove the horror of it altogether.
All these years I've trusted you, as you said,
and I know you are never changing and you will
not go back on your word now.

But, God, I
hurt so bad. I am so tired of crying. The
tears drain me, then attack again like a swarm of
bees. Only there is no honey here, only pain that
has attacked every part of me, but mostly my soul
. Can one's soul be destroyed by pain and tears
?

She waited in the silence. The bird outside in the tree burst into song with all his chorus mates, welcoming, heralding the rising sun, the rooster from the chicken coop joining in, playing his own song, but all of them together sang of morning.

Another day. She could hear her Freda rattling the stove lids. Her cousin now had her own house a short distance from Ingeborg's, but she still got up long before dawn and always arrived at Ingeborg's early in the morning. Now Manny's crutches were beating their own tattoo on the floor, and the screen door screeched when the boy went out to join the milkers. Haakan had always oiled the screen door. So many things Haakan did that she had taken for granted, or probably not even recognized until they were left undone.

A man's whistling fluted up through the tree branches. Probably Trygve. He whistled a lot. The men were on their way to milking. A cow bellowed, followed by two more.

Ingeborg reached for her wrapper and, ignoring the slippers by the bed, headed for the outhouse. The dew cushioned her steps, the wet grass squeezing up between her toes. Ah, another blessing. When she opened the privy door, she realized no one
had sprinkled lime down the holes. Automatically she started breathing through her mouth. A tear meandered this time rather than rained down her cheek. She brushed it away and gritted her teeth. The incongruity of the verse that tickled her mind made her forget and breathe through her nose.
This is the day which the Lord
hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.

Patches scratched at the door and whined.

“I'm coming.”
Lord, this is indeed a sacrifice of praise. I will
praise you when my heart is broken, the outhouse reeks
, the other side of the bed is empty
 . . . Stepping outside and away from the little building that wore a shawl of honeysuckle, which she could now smell, she stopped and blew out a long breath. The shorn wheat fields went clear to the western horizon, the corn stalks in the garden barely showed any green, instead browning to a fall color. They should be chopped down and fed to the cows. The ears on the stalks in the cornfield all hung at half-mast, awaiting the picking, while the cleaned-out corncrib awaited the dried and shucked corncobs.

Other years they'd had a corn-shucking party. The thought of having a party made her eyes fill yet again.

“Oh good.” She pulled open the screen door to hear the sizzle of turkey frying in leftover bacon grease. Since they were out of hams and bacon, Freda had smoked the turkeys that Trygve brought her. He'd shot several when he and Johnny Solberg had gone hunting. Soon the skies would darken with the southbound flocks of ducks and geese, and the smoker would be going steadily again.

Getting dressed, Ingeborg remembered the year she'd challenged her sons to a hunting contest and she had brought down the first deer. Haakan had not been pleased that she'd reverted to her early days of hunting, farming, and chores, all done in britches. While she'd shot the deer, she had been wearing a dress and apron, just to please him. Wouldn't her family be surprised, or rather shocked, if she took out the rifle and did some hunting just to find out if she could still aim well?

She braided her hair and coiled it in a figure eight at the back of her head before putting on a clean apron for the day. Maybe today would be the day Manny would not try to talk her out of forcing him to go to school.

Last night they had sat out on the porch, and he'd read to her from his textbook. He was doing better in reading and had easily remembered the sums, as he called adding and subtracting, one skill his mother had taught him.

Her mind wandered, trying to see mountains clad in trees that should be donning their fall garments about now. Manny had spoken of maple and various nut trees, of apple trees laden with fruit, and of growing tobacco, or “tabaccy,” as he called it. Kentucky, far enough away that he should never have to see his bank-robbing brothers again. But it was still in his heart.

He'd not mentioned leaving, in spite of not wanting to go to school. At first he'd threatened often. He took his chores here on the farm very seriously, even to fixing a harness so he could pull the wagon to haul the buckets to feed the hogs in spite of his crutches. Soon the calves would be weaned, and he wouldn't have to feed them.

Ingeborg went out to the kitchen to find that Gray Cloud and Dawn Breaking, their two Indian nursing students, had already arrived to help Freda with the early-morning chores. One was thumping the churn and the other was hauling hot water to the washing machine and the raised tub for rinse water.

“Thank you,” Ingeborg said, forcing a smile. Just because she didn't feel like smiling was no reason to take it out on others.

“You are welcome. We enjoy helping you. You help the hospital. Freda put biscuits in the oven.” Dawn still spoke carefully, but she was doing so much better in the nearly two weeks they had been there. Every evening they attended the classes in English that Amelia Jeffers offered at the schoolhouse.

When the machine was full, she watched Gray Cloud put in the first load of sheets and other white things. She'd only needed
to show these students something one time, and they would do it, both at the hospital and here, even though they didn't yet understand the necessity of all the washing and cleaning.

“Do you know what your class is on today?”

“More bandaging.” Neither of the women wasted words.

The banging from down at the barn announced that the milking was finished, and soon she could hear Manny's crutches on the porch floor. She set his bowl of oatmeal on the table, and Freda cracked two eggs into the grease in the frying pan. His lunch already waited in the lard pail on the counter.

As soon as he washed his hands and sat down, she took her chair across from him. “Manny, I'm thinking you and I and Carl and Inga, oh, and Emmy too, should go fishing when you get home from school. Do you think you can make it down the riverbank?”

His eyes lit up. “'Course. Or scoot down on my rear.”

“Good. I'll call to make sure the others can go. A fish fry tonight sounds mighty good to me.”

“I could stay home and we could go earlier.”

She started to answer firmly and then, catching the glint in his eye, realized he was teasing her. She and Freda swapped astonished looks. She looked to Emmy, who was sitting quietly as usual. “Do you want to go fishing?”

Her grin said more than her nod.

Hanging the wet sheets on the line was one of the chores Ingeborg loved, but even better would be taking them down later, smelling only like sheets dried in the wind could smell—fresh and perfumed by God's own breath. With the sheets flapping around her, she stared toward the garden. They would bring in the squash and pumpkins today and maybe get the onions dug so they could be braided and hung in the cellar. Good thing Haakan had dug them a large cellar, as big as the entire house. He'd dreamed of someday putting a furnace in the basement.

So many dreams buried in the box along with the dreamer.

At nine o'clock the two Indian women left for the hospital,
and while Freda washed a couple more loads, Ingeborg washed the butter, filled the molds, and set them in the icebox. Then taking out eggs, she gathered the ingredients for a cake and set to mixing up the batter. After that she would bake cookies. If Inga was coming, there had to be gingerbread men in the cookie jar. Maybe they wouldn't get to the squash today after all.

“I'll send Inga out as soon as she changes clothes after school,” Elizabeth said when Ingeborg telephoned.

Ever since summer, Inga had walked to the farm by herself, something she had pleaded to do some time before permission had been granted.

“How are you feeling?”

“About the same. Some days are better than others. Ingeborg, have you given any thought to helping more at the hospital? I hate to ask, because you are always so generous, but if you taught some of the nursing classes—like you and Kaaren did, was it last summer?—that would make it easier on Astrid.”

“Ja, I can do that.”

“I hate to ask that right now, but . . .”

Ingeborg shook her head. “You don't understand. Trying to make things easier for me is kind of you, but the busier I am the less time I have to feel sorry for myself. Grief will take over your life if you let it, so I believe more work is the best medicine, and helping others makes it even better. Does that make any sense?”

“You must be related to Thorliff. I hardly see him lately.”

“How is he?”

“Taking his pa's death hard, but then we all are. Coupled with his concern for me and the baby, he is riding himself with whip and spurs.”

“Ja, making himself too tired at night to do anything but fall into bed. I know.” She'd seen the black circles under her son's eyes, and he had lost weight, enough so that it showed. He and Astrid were quite a pair.

And what kind of example
am I to my children?
The thought struck like a lightning bolt.

“Ingeborg! Are you there?”

Ingeborg blinked and stared at the black mouthpiece. “Uh, ja, I am. Just got lost in a thought is all. Did I ask you if Inga can go fishing after school? After all, that was my main reason for telephoning you.”

“Of course, and I hope you know you do not have to have a reason.”

“Takk. Tusen takk. You are doing what the doctor ordered?”

“Yes. But the days I feel like myself again . . . well, let's just say, Thelma would make an excellent prison warden or general.”

“We could call her General Thelma.” Ingeborg smiled when she heard a slight chuckle. Good. They all needed to be laughing more. She was counting on Inga and the others to help her laugh.
Lord, please take away my sad eyes in time for
Inga to come.

“We will try to bring home enough fish for all three houses.”

“I'll tell Thelma to be ready.”

“Just in case.”

“Ja, just in case.”

When they hung up, Ingeborg stared out the window at a world with a sheer covering. She saw Patches leap off the porch and go running toward the barn, then Andrew leaning over to pet him.

“I'm going up to the cheese house,” Freda announced from the back porch. “Your cake should be done soon.”

And I better get the
cookie dough mixed.
She stopped long enough to make the call to Ellie to ask if Carl could go fishing. Her chuckle still clung around Ingeborg's shoulders.

A platter of gingerbread men with raisins for eyes, a smile, and a button nose was waiting on the counter when she heard Manny's crutches thumping on the porch floor. For a change
she heard Manny's and Emmy's voices too. Words were never wasted between the two of them.