Believing the Dream (38 page)

“More than half of it, and my paper is done. That alone makes the day worth a whistle or two.”

“How you keep up is beyond me.” Benjamin dropped his books on his desk and dug in his pocket for a pencil. “You can bet this will be all essay questions. I hate essay questions.”

“You hate everything at this time of the morning.” Thorliff took his seat and set out two pencils already sharpened and several sheets of paper. When Mr. Ingermanson entered the room, all conversation ceased, and the nearly late arrivals slid into their seats.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, when I take down the sheet, you will begin to write immediately, and when you are finished, hand your tests to me, and you may leave the room. I expect you to do so quietly so as not to interrupt those around you. Are there any questions?” He glanced around the room. “If not, then good luck, and you may begin.” He reached for the clothespins holding up the sheet, and the questions appeared before them.

Thorliff read through all five questions and stopped to both think and take a deep breath. He claimed to be a writer. Now all he had to do was write. Right?

By the time he’d finished the last question almost two hours later, his hand had permanently cramped around the pencil that he’d stopped to sharpen twice, along with its mate. While he wasn’t the first to leave, he wasn’t the last either, and when he turned in the pages, he felt certain he’d done well enough.

He made his way to the dining room, poured himself a cup of coffee, and headed toward a corner where he could continue working, hopefully without interruptions. Taking two cookies from the packet Cook had packed, he munched and sipped while reviewing his Greek and Latin notes.

At one point he looked up when he heard a familiar laugh. Sure enough, Elizabeth. Why was she so cantankerous with him and so jolly with the two young men accompanying her? He shook his head, sent a glare her way, and went back to his notes. Women!

“There’s a letter for you,” Phillip called from behind the press when Thorliff arrived at the newspaper office. “On the counter.”

“Thanks.” Thorliff picked it up and read the return address. “Moen at the Boarding House in Blessing.”

Thorliff wandered down the hall to his room to drop his satchel on the bed. Letter in hand, he crossed to the window to have more light.

Dear Thorliff,

I am writing this to inform you that your story on the blizzard and the schoolchildren will be printed in the paper I work for in Norway. Your sister told me about the story, and since my paper is begging for news on Norwegians in America, I requested the rights from
Harper’s
and sent it all on. You write a very good story, by the way. I am enclosing a small stipend for the privilege of using your story again. Perhaps when you come home for the summer, you and I can discuss other stories you might like to write for the Norwegian papers.

Sincerely,
Ivar Moen

Thorliff turned over the draft paper. Two dollars and fifty cents. Enough to make a good start on a quarter’s tuition. Since he had deposited his hundred dollars with Reverend Ytterböe at the school and only used about half of it, he already had sufficient finances to start school again next fall, besides the money he’d received from Mr. Rogers, money that he kept in an envelope in his desk.
I am rich. Lord, thank you. I am rich beyond measure
.

Later that evening he felt like tearing at the roots of his hair. Two more days until he’d be leaving for home, and he still had not finished
The Switchmen
. Every time he tried to write the climax, he felt like he’d run into a barn wall. A stone barn wall.

He looked up at a knock on the door to his room. “Yes?”

“Thorliff, can I talk with you a moment?”

No, go away
. Three days of grouching and now Elizabeth wanted to talk? Now when he was caught in the tangle of characters who refused to do his bidding. He gritted his teeth and inhaled, the smell of printer’s ink pervading the air. He pushed himself to his feet and went to the door.

Taking a deep breath to keep from snapping, he opened it. “Yes?”

“I’m bothering you.”

“I’m trying to finish the serial so I can catch the train the day after tomorrow.” He knew he sounded rude, but then she’d been more than rude the last few days.

“I . . . I think I owe you an apology.” Elizabeth stared at the floor, then glanced up to his face.

“Ja, you do.” There, he’d said it. So much for good manners.

“Oh.” She gathered herself and stood straighter. “Then, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I’ve been a . . .” She looked down again and shuffled one foot. “I have no excuse, at least not one worth anything. But I was pretty worried about my exams and perhaps having to go to summer school, but now I don’t. I mean, my grades are all right and . . .” Now she looked him straight in the eyes. “I was rude to you and behaved like a child and . . . you can stop me any time you feel like it.”

I would if I felt like it, but what you say is so true
. “You’re forgiven.”
Now go away
.

“Thank you.” She turned slightly and looked over her shoulder. “Still friends?”

He raised his hands and let them fall to his sides, shaking his head at the same time. “Next time you get in a huff like that, go yell at Thornton. Don’t take it out on me.”

“Why would I yell at Thornton?” She stared at him. “And for your information, I wasn’t taking anything out on you.” Her words bristled faster than a porcupine scenting danger.

“Okay, okay. Let’s leave this alone. You’ve apologized, and I’ve forgiven you. Now I have to get back to work.” He took a step back.
Have a good summer, and I’ll see you in the fall, if, in fact, I choose to come back

“I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

“Elizabeth Rogers . . .” Slamming the door in her face was definitely not the way to treat either his employer’s daughter or a friend, or even an acquaintance.

“Perhaps I could help you.”

He stopped, studied her for a long moment, and raising one finger to indicate that she should wait, he spun back into his room to pick up a sheaf of papers. “Here. Read this and tell me which ending you like best or give me some other suggestions or whatever.”

She took them with a smile. “I’ll be at my father’s desk.”

He watched her back as she marched out to the front office. What had he gotten himself into now?

An hour later, she marched back in, handed him the sheaf of paper, and announced, “The reason you can’t write the climax is because you have too much story to tell yet, too many loose ends to tie up. What if you just relax, quit looking at the clock or calendar or whatever, and just write the story until you are finished?”

He stared at her and through her, his mind churning six ways from west.

She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms over her chest.

After a long silence he nodded. “You are right. Perhaps I can finish it on the train going home, then mail it back.” He thought some more, and when he looked up, she was still standing there.
Now what?
He thought back to their conversation. “Ah, thank you?”

“You are most welcome.” She smiled sweetly and turned on her heel.

He heard her shoes tapping down the hall. He shook his head. Was it all women, or was he just blessed, or cursed as the case may be, to have two of the perplexing species in his life?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“I just don’t know what to do.” Elizabeth sat out on the verandah with Dr. Gaskin, who had just finished checking on her mother.

“What do you want to do?” Relaxed in his chair, the doctor crossed one leg over the other and, fingers steepled beneath his chin, studied his young protégé.

“I want to go to Chicago and work with Dr. Morganstein.”

“So what is keeping you from doing just that?”

Elizabeth leaned back and stared at the branches of the ancient oak tree that sheltered them with limbs large enough to be oak trunks. Leaves still the fresh green of spring rustled in the wind, casting shadows that danced in the sunlight. Oh, to be free to do as she wanted and not be brought down by the guilt that threatened to cut off her breathing. “Good question, that. How can I leave my mother, frail as she is? If she were back on her feet, I would be on that train in an instant. Or at least as soon as I packed, and I can pack light.”

“Your mother is getting stronger every day, just not so’s you noticed, being with her all day every day as you are.” Dr. Gaskin picked up his glass of tea from the table in front of them both and waved it for emphasis. “Besides, with you here to wait on her hand and foot, what need has she to push herself?” He drank from the glass and watched her over the rim.

“Are you saying Mother is faking her weakness?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

“No, I never said any such thing. But I’m sure she doesn’t want you to go.”

“She doesn’t know about the letters.”
And I feel like a liar for keeping the secret
.

“Ah.” Dr. Gaskin leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely, one finger pointing at her. “You listen to me, young lady. Your mother is on her way back to health, and she doesn’t need you here to mollycoddle her. She does want you to stay home though, and that is her right. I want you to stay here too and work with me, but I know you could gain more by working with Dr. Morganstein, so I’m man enough to let you go.” The twinkle in his eyes told her he was teasing himself as well as her. “So since you asked for my advice, I say go write that fancy doctor and ask if she still has a place for you. If so, you kiss your mother good-bye for a month or two and get on with your life’s work. There, I had my say.” He dusted his hands off and let a sigh escape. “Old fool that I am to cut my own throat like this.” He shook his head as he lumbered to his feet. “Your father finds out I did this, and he’ll slit my throat for me.”

Elizabeth rose and, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Matilda. She said if I kept you from going, I was a horse’s behind for sure.”

Elizabeth fought the giggles that threatened to overcome her but finally cupped her hands over her mouth like a little girl and exploded.

Dr. Gaskin watched her for a few moments, then shook his head. “Personally, I didn’t think it was that funny.”

Elizabeth called up all her mother’s admonitions on ladylike behavior, but none sufficed. One more look at the doctor’s pained face set her off again.

“Well, I certainly hope and pray that by the time you earn your medical degree, you will have your emotions under control.”

Was that a hint of devilment she caught in his eyes? She sucked in a deep breath and, letting it all out, pasted a prime smile in place and answered, “Of course, Doctor.” Inwardly, she chuckled and chortled, and much to her surprise and his as well, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, right in front of his left sideburn.

“Thank you, my dear. That I shall treasure. Along with the sight of you giggling like a little girl.” He cleared his throat. “Helen and I considered you as close a daughter as God gave us. I’m sure she’s watching over you from heaven, the same as I will always be while I’m on earth. You will be a fine doctor, and I will be the first to shake your hand when you make it.”