A Harvest of Hope (30 page)

“Let me take you home. You and I can sew just fine there.” Kaaren too sighed. “Maybe your mind is trying to tell you some
thing. I mean, who in their right mind wants an argument or to be bossed around?”

“We've always been able to laugh about her shenanigans. What happened now?”

“Perhaps grief has made you more sensitive to problems, along with all the other things going on in Blessing. Or Anner.”

Amelia Jeffers opened the door. “Do you want some help out here?”

“I need another hand with this sewing machine.” Trygve glanced at his mother, who nodded to him.

“Let me get one of the younger girls, then.” She disappeared back into the church.

“What do you want to do?” Kaaren asked.

Ingeborg took a deep breath. Another. She straightened. “I want to go right into that building with a smile on my face, counting on our Father to smooth the way. If Hildegunn gets out of line, I will come outside until I calm down, and then we will keep on sewing. Those people need warm coats.”

“You're sure?”

“I am. A momentary problem.” She returned Kaaren's studying gaze and nodded.

Miriam came out, smiling.

Ingeborg smiled back. “You had today off. How wonderful.”

“I truly enjoy the sewing I've been able to do. I must say I'm glad we're not doing all the embroidery and lace we had to do on the dresses my mother sewed. Especially tatted lace. Lovely trims, but they take far too much time.”

Trygve picked up the heavy end of the sewing machine, the end with the flywheel.

Miriam took the other, which was heavy enough, because the machine was housed in an oak cabinet with cast iron legs and treadle. “You forget how heavy these are.”

“Just clumsy for one person to carry. Especially down stairs.” Trygve glanced behind him.

Penny appeared, so she held the door for them. “Better you than me. And to think I used to heft these around in the store.”

“Tante Penny, if you are saying you are getting old, I'll bust out laughing and possibly drop the machine.”

“I'll be careful, then.” She picked up a box and followed them downstairs.

“Not to worry,” Ingeborg whispered to Kaaren.

“But you would tell me?”

“Ja, I promise.” They both knew that Ingeborg never promised lightly.

“Where do you want these machines?” Trygve asked.

Penny pointed. “Under the windows for more light.” The kerosene lamps were lit all around the room already. Ever since the pews had been installed in the sanctuary, they'd held the sewing gatherings in the basement. Sawhorses held up tabletops that could thusly be taken down or moved easily. Still, hauling sewing machines up and down steps was quite a chore.

Kaaren watched Miriam start upstairs for another load. “I'm so glad she could come. She loves to sew and is so good at it.”

Ingeborg smiled. “She would be a lovely addition to our family.”

Kaaren laughed. “True! I think I'll ask Trygve to take care of that.” They both laughed. A few minutes later Kaaren stopped Hildegunn on her way by. “We will open with a Bible reading and prayer, won't we?” Kaaren asked gently.

“Of course. Anji Moen said she'd be a bit late. And I know a few more who are coming. I thought we'd wait for them and get set up in the meantime.” Hildegunn nodded to the two front tables. “We're sorting there.” She turned to answer another question.

Ingeborg shook her head, inside at least. Hildegunn was back in her usual bossy form, but she was good at getting things in order. Ingeborg returned to the wagon for more. One more armful, and it was unloaded, but another wagon pulled up with more to carry in.

The driver stepped down. Miriam began dragging boxes out of that wagon.

“Miriam, I'm glad to see you again.”

“I met you at the hospital.”

“Yes, Anji Moen. I used to be a Baard. Rebecca is my baby sister.” She reached for two baskets, and the two walked in together.

Mary Martha arrived last, bringing her house guest with her. The seamstresses settled in a circle of chairs.

Mary Martha looked around. “I know most of you know Mrs. Sidorov here, but if you will all please say your names, she'll get to know us better too. Her husband calls her Wren, a pet name, and she says she likes it, so let us do so as well. Mrs. Sidorov—Wren Sidorov—is one of those who lost everything.”

“Welcome,” Amelia said to Mrs. Sidorov. “Mrs. Sidorov is coming to lessons in English and doing quite well,” she said slowly and distinctly. “So please give her time to repeat your name. And Alessandra Sorvito here, same thing. It is easier for them to understand us if we slow down some as we talk.” So all around the room, the women introduced themselves. Then Kaaren stood with her Bible and read from John, chapter fifteen, where Jesus explained the importance of remaining connected to the vine. “Shall we pray? What if we each prayed the Lord's Prayer in our own native language?” She bowed her head, and when quiet descended, she started gently, “Our Father, which art in heaven . . .”

Ingeborg paused her Norwegian to listen. English, Norwegian, German, Italian perhaps, and Wren Sidorov, while she could speak fair English, recited in Russian. At the amen, silence stretched.

“I think that is what heaven will sound like—all languages speaking together, just like we did. How beautiful.” Amelia Jeffers gave a contented sigh.

“And we shall all be able to understand one another, like when the disciples spoke on Pentecost,” Rebecca Valders added. “I never have been able to understand if the disciples spoke in all
languages or those listening heard their own language. Either way, it was a miracle.” She glanced around at the women. “Kind of like we are now. That's a good thing.”

Bless you,
Rebecca
, Ingeborg thought.
I'm so glad I did not
go home like Kaaren suggested. Lord God, I don't
know what is happening sometimes with me, but you do
and I trust you.
She paused and smiled inwardly.
At
least I am working at it.

“Would you mind if I sewed on your machine?” Miriam asked Ingeborg as the group scattered, everyone to her assigned job.

“Oh, please use mine.” Kaaren stepped in beside them. “I'm doing handwork at the moment.”

Miriam smiled brightly. “Thank you, Mrs. Knutson.”

“For pity's sake, child, call me Kaaren. Please. Blessing is not a community so much as it is one big family.”

“Is that why Mrs. Landsverk prefers to be called Maisie?”

“Exactly. Come on over to the sorting tables. We'll pick out a project you'd like to work on.” And off they went.

Ingeborg watched for a few moments. It took great courage for that young woman to come here today after the way Anner Valders had treated her. Surely Hildegunn would not bring up such an ugly incident here. Would she?

Heads together, Kaaren and Miriam sifted through projects on the table, chatting the whole time. Kaaren laughed. Moments later Miriam laughed just as gaily. What a delight to watch those two hit it off so well!

She also noticed that Hildegunn frowned in disapproval a lot. She frowned at Wren Sidorov and Alessandra Sorvito, as if they should not be there, and she seemed to save her severest scowls for Miriam. Did she really believe, as Anner did, that you had to be Norwegian to live in Blessing?

And what was their disapproval going to do to the delicate fabric of Blessing?

I
wish
I
had
not
come
.
That
woman
makes
me
want
to
scream
.

Miriam knew she'd not scream. Her mother had taught her that one only screamed, and then at the top of her lungs, if she were being attacked. This attack was mental, not physical. She kept her attention on the child's coat she was sewing. But it seemed every time she looked up, she caught Mrs. Valders looking at her disapprovingly.

The buzz in the rest of the room sounded friendly, women having a good time working together, communicating even if their languages didn't match. After all, a needle, thread, and wool coating fit any language. Two of the tables were being used for cutting and another for sorting and pinning, and the four sewing machines thumped like kettledrums, only not in unison.

Ingeborg stopped at her shoulder. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“I can get it.”

“I know, but I am up and you are in the middle of a seam. Cream or sugar? And a cookie?”

Miriam laughed. “That would be lovely.”

Miriam watched her leave. Now, if everyone were as gracious
as Mrs. Bjorklund—oops, not Mrs. Bjorklund, but rather Ingeborg—life in Blessing would be pretty close to ideal.

Miriam Knutson . . .
Instead of rejecting the thought the moment it popped up, she paused for the first time to consider it. Her grandparents, both in various parts of England, had married persons their parents chose for them, arranged marriages. They were, her mum had said, as happy as anyone else. But her mother and father had married against everyone's wishes, and her mother's marriage was just as happy. Perhaps even more so. Her father had abandoned the Catholic church and embraced the Anglican tradition, so he was considered a disgrace by his parents, even without the marriage issue.

What if Trygve had to give up his religion for her? Would he? Surely so. What if Miriam should have to give up her religion to marry him? She didn't have a religion anymore. Give up something else very important. Her family. Her nursing. Would she?

“Ouch!” She caught the very edge of her finger with the needle.
That could have been worse
, she thought as she sucked the blood out of the needle stab. At least she didn't break the needle when she yanked her hand away.

“Do you need a bandage?” Ingeborg asked as she set down the cup and a napkin holding two cookies.

“No, thank you. It will stop. Teach me to keep my mind on what I am doing.” She pressed another finger against the hole. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“You're welcome. I have no idea how many times I have done that.” Ingeborg went back to her work.

Idly, Miriam picked up a cookie. She nibbled. Sugar cookie with a hint of almond. As far as she could tell, there was not a bad cook in all of Blessing.

One thing for sure: She had to return to Chicago next fall to complete her training. Then what? She had already been offered a job at the hospital in Chicago when she was done training, but there were lots of staff there. And here? They needed help
so badly. Since the bleeding had stopped, she returned to her machine with a strong reminder to keep her mind on what she was doing.

Back to the question. If she had to give up something precious in order to marry Trygve, would she? Pumping that treadle and pushing the fabric through, she stopped cold. Yes, she probably would. No, she definitely would. She thought of his warm hands pressing the sides of her face, his spontaneous kiss on her forehead. If anyone else had done that, she most likely would have pasted them one. She laughed inside. She had a recent history of doing just that. But Trygve?

More important, however, much more important, was that everyone else admired him. Even the conductor on the train when she came back from Chicago.

Yes. But did she truly love him? Enough to give up nursing and become a housewife?

Hearing new voices, she stopped the treadle and looked to see Thelma and Freda bringing crocks and bowls down the stairs and setting them on the table with the food others had brought. Her stomach rumbled at the thought.

“Stew is here,” Mrs. Valders announced. “We'll have grace first and then serve ourselves at the table. Mary Martha, will you lead the grace?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Solberg answered. She waited a short bit with her head bowed and then began, “Our Father in heaven, thank you for being with us today. Thank you for all these willing hands and the garments we are making. Please bless this food and those who prepared it. Give us too thy peace.” Several women joined her in the amen.

“So you are ready to put the lining together after we eat?” Ingeborg paused beside her. “I wish I had cut some flannel to use as a filler. Just thought of that.”

“Is there any here?” Miriam pushed her chair back and stretched as she stood.

“I'll check after we eat.” They joined the other women at the food table.

Miriam reached for a plate and, after ladling some stew into her bowl, moved on to the bread and cheese, along with pickles, and finally the desserts. Such a wealth of food. At least her family in Chicago had enough to eat nowadays.

If Trygve had his way, her brothers and sisters would be on the train west tomorrow. But right now there was no place in town for five more bodies.

The pounding and construction noises could be heard any time there was a pause. But this housing shortage would not last forever.

Miriam had met some of the other women at the Bjorklunds' and through Trygve, but Ingeborg and Kaaren made sure that she met others while the women were filling their plates. Mrs. Jeffers introduced her to those who were in her language class. Smiles and nodding took the place of conversation beyond basic words like
yes
and
no
,
please
and
thank you
, and
my name is
.

“Those crews are working terribly hard to get the apartment house and those others done so the families can move in,” Rebecca said from behind her. “Gerald is helping too, since he doesn't have the telephone switchboard.”

“For not having had a telephone for so many years of my life, I can't believe how we came to depend on it,” Kaaren said. “Has anyone heard anything about getting it up and running again?”

“No, but I have an idea,” Ingeborg responded. “I'm going to talk to Thorliff about it first before I say anything, but maybe we'll have it back sooner if they don't have to put up the building first.”

“Ingeborg Bjorklund, I can almost hear the wheels turning in your mind.” Kaaren shook her head. “Ingeborg gets a bright idea, and who knows what's going to happen.”

The women ate quickly and returned to what they were working on. Miriam put in the flannel sleeve and body pieces on top
of the lining. The ticking clock made her want to hurry, but she already had one hole in her finger and didn't want another.

“How is it?” Kaaren stopped to ask.

“I was hoping to get the lining sewn in, but I'm on duty tonight. I have the night shift for three nights.”

“I can finish it. And we are leaving the church open, so whenever someone has time, they can come and keep going. I know some of the others are taking handwork home with them. How about I get the lining sewn in? We figured we'd have a trying-on session after school for the children's things. We'll mark the hem, and you could do that when you can.”

Miriam stood up. “Thank you for asking me to help.”

Ingeborg chimed in, “Trygve said to tell you that he left something for you at the boardinghouse. He hopes you'll say yes.”

“To what?”

Ingeborg smiled. “I have no idea. He didn't tell me. I'm just the messenger, since our telephones are no longer working.”

“I'd better go get ready for work.” She waved good-bye to some of the others and strode back to the boardinghouse. What could Trygve have left for her? Curiosity made her hurry even more than did the chill of the day. She should have worn her coat instead of just a shawl.

“I have something for you,” Maisie Landsverk announced before Miriam could even ask. She withdrew a pretty little box with a blue bow from under the counter and handed it over with a knowing smile. “From Trygve. That man sure is sweet on you.”

“I . . . uh . . .” Miriam could feel her neck sending heat clear up to her cheekbones. She must have been redder than a radish. “Th-thank you.”

“Don't be embarrassed. I think it is wonderful. He is such a fine man, and you deserve only the best.”

“You know I'll be going back to Chicago at the end of July.”

“Of course. You go finish your training, and then you get back on the train and come home.”

You make it sound so simple.
“I-I better get ready. Thank you.”

When Miriam turned away, Mrs. Landsverk called her back. “Oh, I got so excited, I forgot to give you this. It came in the mail today.” She handed a letter over this time. “Two things in one day. I hope the letter is good news too.”

“Thank you.” Miriam hurried up the stairs. What could it be? Once inside her room, she hung her shawl on one of the hooks by the door and set her bag on the bed before sinking into the rocking chair. She held the package in one hand and the letter in the other. Which to open first? Almost laughing at herself, she laid the letter in her lap and untied the blue yarn bow. Unfolding the paper, she stared down at a delicate hand-carved heart with a raised cross. An attached narrow purple ribbon could be tied to fit whatever length she wanted. Had he made this himself? She stroked the smooth wood with a tender fingertip. When would she see him to tell him thank-you? Was it even appropriate for him to give this to her? After all, it wasn't her birthday or Christmas or anything special. Yet here it was, warm, as if waiting for her.

She picked it up by the ribbon ends and walked over to the mirror before looping the ribbons around her neck. The golden hue lay against her dress, making the simple garment look elegant. With a sigh she tied the ribbons in a square knot and laid it back in the package. Nurses did not wear jewelry with their uniforms.

Back in the chair, she slit open the letter.

Dear Miriam,

I am sorry it has taken me so long to write, but at least I am doing so now. We are all well here. The fall has been cold and damp, but trains keep needing to be loaded, so I have a job. I am grateful for that. The others are keeping very busy. Mrs. Korsheski has lived up to her promises to
us. Now that it is getting dark so much earlier, I worry about Mercy and Este coming home after work, but I insist that they take the trolley rather than trying to walk that far and through the streets here. You know what they are like.

Do you ever think about returning to Blessing after you finish your training? Your letters make it sound like such a good place to live. I have heard how severe the winters are, but still, I dream of a real home with a garden, and perhaps we could even have chickens. I guess I take after our Da and Mum in that way, more than I ever thought.

I will close with love from all of us. We talk about you so much and think about you even more.

With love,
Your brother Tonio

Miriam laid his letter on her lap so she had her hands free to wipe her tears and blow her nose. She'd never dreamed Tonio would write something like this.

Tonio and Trygve, consorting without knowing it, both of them wanting to mess up her tidy plans for her life. She laughed through the tears.

Life was suddenly so complicated, and she hated complications. But what if?

What if?