More Than a Dream
M
ORE
T
HAN
A
D
REAM
Books by Lauraine Snelling
A Secret Refuge
(3 in 1)
D
AKOTAH
T
REASURES
Ruby
•
Pearl
Opal
•
Amethyst
D
AUGHTERS OF
B
LESSING
A Promise for Ellie
Sophie’s Dilemma
A Touch of Grace
Rebecca’s Reward
H
OME TO
B
LESSING
A Measure of Mercy
No Distance Too Far
R
ED
R
IVER OF THE
N
ORTH
An Untamed Land
The Reapers’ Song
A New Day Rising
Tender Mercies
A Land to Call Home
Blessing in Disguise
R
ETURN TO
R
ED
R
IVER
A Dream to Follow
Believing the Dream
More Than a Dream
L
AURAINE
S
NELLING
M
ORE
T
HAN
A
D
REAM
More Than a Dream
Copyright © 2003
Lauraine Snelling
Cover design by Dan Thornberg
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-2319-8
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Snelling, Lauraine.
More than a dream / by Lauraine Snelling.
p. cm. — (Return to Red River ; 3)
ISBN 0-7642-2319-4
1. Journalists—Fiction. 2. North Dakota—Fiction. 3. Minnesota—Fiction.
4. Epidemics—Fiction. 5. Floods—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series: Snelling, Lauraine.
Return to Red River ; 3.
PS3569.N39 M67 2003
813'.54—dc21
2002152648
D
EDICATION
To all those readers whom I meet
at the HostFest in Minot, North Dakota, every fall.
Thanks for your pleasure in my books
and the laughter, stories, and hugs
you share with me there.
Mange takk.
See you next year—
God willing.
C
ONTENTS
LAURAINE SNELLING is an award-winning author of over forty books, fiction and nonfiction, for adults and young adults. Besides writing both books and articles, she teaches at writers’ conferences across the country. She and her husband, Wayne, have two grown sons, four granddogs, and make their home in California.
Bjorklund
Family
Tree
Northfield, Minnesota
June 1895
Elizabeth Rogers stared at the drifting white priscilla curtains without seeing them.
‘‘Elizabeth, did you not hear me?’’
She turned at the sound of irritation in her mother’s voice. ‘‘Sorry, Mother, I was studying.’’
Liar, you were worrying, and you
claim not to be a worrier
. The little voice that seemed to reside on her left shoulder made her feel more irritated than her mother sounded. She stood and crossed to the dark oak door that was open only a crack. Perhaps if she’d left it open all the way, she could have heard better. She stuck her head out to see her mother’s careful coiffure rising as she came up the walnut stairs.
‘‘Dr. Gaskin is waiting for you in the study.’’ Annabelle shook her head slightly, a frown wrinkling her forehead under the dark corkscrew hair wisps she’d curled about her face. ‘‘Did you know he was coming?’’
Elizabeth took her turn at shaking her head, her brown hair twisted into a bun at the very top of her head. ‘‘He knows I am preparing for final exams, so it can’t be for a house call unless we have a woman in real distress.’’ Since Dr. Gaskin now had a well-trained nurse, he hadn’t requested Elizabeth’s services to help with birthings as often as he had in the past, something she missed at times like this. With her final college exams only days away, she’d planned on using every moment for reviewing her lecture notes. Medical schools wouldn’t be able to use her grades as an excuse to turn her away. She made her way down the staircase at her mother’s side. ‘‘Did you have Cook bring him coffee?’’
‘‘And gingersnaps, his favorite cookie. He looks mighty serious.’’
Elizabeth picked up the pace, although if he’d been in a hurry, he’d have suffered no compunction about letting the messenger know. She entered the study in a swirl of dimity skirts, the unseasonably warm weather begging for light clothing.
‘‘Good day, Dr. Gaskin. How nice of you to come by.’’
‘‘Good day to you, m’dear. You look more lovely every time I see you.’’ Dr. Gaskin wiped cookie crumbs from his recently grown mustache. His hair had grayed to nearly white in the two years since his wife died, and the lines cut deeper from his nose to his chin, the mustache giving him the look of an aging walrus.
‘‘Flattery will get you nowhere—or everywhere, depending on what it is you want.’’ Elizabeth dropped a kiss on his ever-broadening forehead. She and her mother had wondered if the reason he had grown a mustache was because of the breadth of shiny space on the top of his head. Elizabeth and the doctor had long since passed the point of mentor and student and had become more like a niece with a favorite uncle. She picked up the silver coffeepot on the silver tray. ‘‘More?’’
‘‘Only if you are having some.’’
‘‘Then I shall.’’ As she picked up the coffee server, her hand shook so badly she was forced to set it back down immediately. The server rattled the tray.
‘‘Are you all right, my dear?’’ Dr. Gaskin leaned forward, his brow wrinkling in concern.
‘‘I-I don’t know.’’ Elizabeth grasped the offending hand with the other. She rubbed it, then shook it out.
What’s happening? I’ve
never had something like this before
. She flexed her hand, made a fist.
‘‘I’ll pour. You sit down. Does it hurt? Prickle like it went to sleep?’’
She shook her head while taking a seat on the other end of the horsehair sofa and accepted her filled cup with the other hand. ‘‘No, none of those things.’’ Now when she lifted the cup from the saucer, it was like nothing had happened. Her hand worked fine. She smiled his way. ‘‘See, I’m fine.’’ All the while she spoke and sipped and smiled, she tried to figure out what had happened. Her hand must have just gone to sleep. But it didn’t feel that way. ‘‘Now, what is it I can do for you?’’
‘‘I think it is more what I can do for you.’’
At his response, her eyebrow arched. ‘‘Really?’’
He watched her over the rim of his cup. ‘‘Have you been accepted at any of the medical schools yet?’’
She nodded. ‘‘The Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania, but that’s not really where I want to go.’’ She reached for one of the cookies.
‘‘I know. You want to study in Minneapolis.’’
She nodded. ‘‘Same as always. You know me. Once I get my mind set on something . . .’’
‘‘Like a bulldog you are.’’
‘‘Well, I’d think you could come up with something more flattering than that.’’ She held out the cookie plate.
‘‘Could, but . . .’’ He leaned forward to take another cookie and dunked it in his coffee before the tidbit disappeared into his smiling mouth. ‘‘Your cook sure makes the best cookies in town.’’
‘‘Ah, you can say good things about her cooking, but I get called a bulldog.’’
‘‘Tenacious is what you are and what you need to be for what you want, but . . .’’ He slanted his bottom lip slightly to the left and sucked on the skin, a sure sign he was struggling with something.
Come out with it. I know something is bothering you
. She kept her thoughts to herself, knowing that he would get around to the subject in his own good time. If only she could learn to do that with everyone, especially Thorliff Bjorklund. There was something about that young man that removed the bars of propriety, so she just spouted out whatever she was thinking. Her lack of restraint had caused some heated verbal disputes. Her mother called them battles, but a battle usually had a winner and a loser. She and Thorliff did not argue to win or to lose, but for the pure pleasure of sparring, even though at times his bullheadedness nearly drove her to distraction. Was that because of her own bulldog tendencies, as the doctor so gently put it? She leaned back against the cushion, wishing as she often did that she had longer legs so she could sit back and still keep her feet on the floor. Or not look like she was reclining rather than sitting properly, as her mother would comment.
