More Than a Dream (43 page)
He stopped again. Was he saying too much about Elizabeth? How much would his mother read between the lines?
He stared at the paper, seeing Elizabeth’s face without even making an effort. Hearing her laugh, standing behind her, intoxicated by the scent of her hair. Rejoicing at seeing her after months of being content with letters.
Lord, if only she feels the same way. Lord God, all I ask for is a
miracle
.
He returned to his letter and, after sending special greetings to each in his family, signed his name and addressed the envelope. Before folding the paper, he added a P .S.
The cheese arrived yesterday, and you should have seen the delight on the faces of those who ordered from the school. ‘‘Better than candy’’ is what Mr. Ytterboe said.
Again, my love to you all.
T.
After dropping the letter in the outgoing mail pouch, he sighed. Was it relief at having finally done something he knew he should have done a week ago, or was it sadness and truly missing the family he had left behind?
He mentally squared his shoulders and headed for the pressroom. Time to start the run. And this edition carried this year’s winners of the annual Christmas writing contest, which meant running double or perhaps even triple the normal run.
The holidays passed like an out-of-control freight train, leaving Thorliff feeling as though he’d been caught and carried on the cow catcher far beyond his station. Looking back he wished he’d pushed for some kind of an answer from Elizabeth, but then he comforted himself with the times they’d stared deep into each other’s souls and enjoyed holding hands while skating on the pond. Watching her play the piano made the music even more glorious, and bringing her Christmas punch and spiced cider gave him a glimmer of the joy of service to someone he loved.
The pounding of the press that now ran a full eight to ten hours a day, sometimes five and six days a week, thundered a drumbeat for the words pouring from his pencil. He’d used the holidays to catch up on his novel, and now he could hardly leave it alone. He resented going to school, using any spare minute to finish his assignments so he could devote as much time in the evenings to writing as possible. He’d even taken to bringing supper to the office to avoid wasting a minute.
‘‘Good night, then, Thorliff. You’ll remember to bank the furnace?’’ Phillip leaned against the doorjamb in the office they’d created for Thorliff by partitioning off part of the new addition. Early in the fall, Phillip had bought out the business next door and had expanded the newspaper office, so they now had a folding room, a shipping room, more storage, and Thorliff’s office. Phillip was also talking about purchasing more machinery.
Thorliff looked up from his papers. ‘‘I won’t forget. I just want to finish this chapter.’’
‘‘I know, and get started on the next. Good thing you are young and strong to get by on the little sleep that you do.’’
‘‘When I do go to bed, I sleep hard and fast.’’
‘‘Amazing that the paper is all printed and it is not even nine o’clock yet.’’
Thorliff struggled with being polite, as he was anxious to get back to his story.
‘‘Good night, then.’’
‘‘Good night.’’ He bent his head and was immediately engrossed in his story.
December 26, 1896
Dearest Thorliff,
How we would have loved to have you surprise us for Christmas. Astrid kept hoping you would do that, but then, she didn’t realize you had sent your Christmas box on ahead, just in case. First of all, let me thank you for the lovely coat you sent me. I have not had a new wool coat in years, and the rich burgundy color makes me feel like royalty when I wear it. I tried to say it is much too fine for an old farm woman like me, but your far took me to task for such hogwash, as he called it. Astrid and Andrew will be sending their own letters, but I wish you could have seen the look of total awe on Astrid’s face when she opened your box. She fingered the doll’s garments and caressed her curly hair gently, as if touched too indelicately, the doll might disintegrate. ‘‘Do you think I might ever look like that?’’ she asked me, and what could I say? She is far more lovely already, and I am certain I am not a bit prejudiced.
Your far and I look downright stylish when we dress up for church, him with his new coat and me with mine.
There was such an empty corner where Metiz used to always sit. Her little stool is still there, but no one else took it over. I miss her every day but comfort myself with pictures in my mind of her and Agnes telling tall tales and entertaining others around them with stories of all of us in Blessing. So we have one more angel watching over us, which we surely need.
Before Christmas we had a big party, the first in a long time. Knute outbid everyone for Dorothy’s decorated box. I thought we might be preparing for a wedding, but Anji tells me Dorothy is still mourning the loss of Swen. Little Swen is a happy baby. I got to hold him in church last Sunday, and when I rubbed his little back, he fell asleep right in my arms. Such a precious little one.
We had no baby for the manger this year. Swen is the youngest in Blessing, and he’s too busy to lie still in a manger.
Anji thought her baby might be here for that, but she is still ‘‘waddling around,’’ as she calls it. Her two little girls are doing well in school; they had started learning English before they came. Astrid and Ellie took them under their wings and made sure no one harassed them. As if you don’t know who the only one to act like that would be!
Not much other news around here but for the change in Hildegunn Valders. She finally gave in and spoke to me after all this time. God does answer prayer, and I am only more convinced again that He has a wonderful sense of humor. I think by the end of her silence some of the more irreverent men were laying bets on who was stronger, me with my smiles and cheerful greetings or her with her sullen face and terrible unhappiness. Now we wait to see what God will do next. Perhaps He’ll turn the Valderses’ home into one of love and not judgment. Lest you laugh, remember, our God is always about the business of miracles.
I do hope your Christmas was both enjoyable and blessed. It is hard for me to believe that you will be graduating in June. The years have flown by so fast. Will we even recognize you? I am rejoicing that God has given you such amazing gifts in writing and blessing you with friends at school and in North-field.
Thank you for sending us your newspaper all the time like you do. I feel I have a peek into your life from the articles you write and, as always, your stories. Each gets better and better. Pastor Solberg sends his greetings. He so often says he always knew you had a fertile brain, but these days you surprise even him.
I must finish and get to bed. The wolves have been howling of late, but we never see any signs of Wolf’s tracks now that Metiz is gone. Tell Elizabeth thank-you for the receipt for cough syrup. It is most effective. I will write her myself but thought you might also thank her for me.
All my love,
Your mother
April 1, 1897
Dear Elizabeth,
I think spring might be on its way. Although we have had plenty of snow, you can smell a change on the breeze. I am glad to hear of your new techniques for surgery and that the weeks you spent in Baltimore were worthy of your time and effort. I wish you’d take long train rides more often so I can get epistles like that last one to read. If you weren’t a doctor, you would make a good writer too. Your descriptions are superb.
My family has said they will come for graduation whether all the spring fieldwork gets done or not. I know Onkel Lars and some of the other neighbors will help out if need be. On one hand I wish I could go back with them to help out again, but on the other, I know that I am needed here.
I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamed that I had moved back to Blessing and started a newspaper. I talked of that years ago but had given up the idea.
I know that Dr. Morganstein dreams of sending her trained doctors out to areas that have no medical care. Have you ever thought of the plains of North Dakota as a possibility?
Your dreamer,
Thorliff
Blessing, North Dakota
April 1897
‘‘I think it might rain forever.’’ Ingeborg sighed.
‘‘Only seems that way.’’ Haakan looked up from reading the
Northfield News
that Thorliff sent them every week. ‘‘If the river doesn’t open up, we are going to have heavier flooding this year.’’
‘‘Ja, that is one advantage of a dry year—the river doesn’t flood.’’
Winter had locked the land longer than usual, and now with all this warm rain, the snow was melting too quickly, compounding the problem since the Red River flowed north to ice-blocked Lake Winnipeg.
‘‘I’m glad we moved the dry cows and young stock over to Solbergs’ today. Hopefully he’s high enough. He said he had enough hay for a few days, but we should take some of ours over tomorrow.’’
‘‘You took the horses too, right?’’ At his nod, she did the same. ‘‘Good thing the cheese house is so close to empty, though I hate cleaning out all that mud again.’’
‘‘We could move to Montana.’’
‘‘Haakan Bjorklund, get that thought right out of your head. I’m not starting over again at this time of my life.’’
‘‘I sure know how to rile you, don’t I?’’ His eyes twinkled through the wisps of pipe smoke that circled his head. He beckoned to her. ‘‘Come on over and read with me.’’ He patted his knee. ‘‘You can sit right here.’’
Ingeborg did as he suggested and leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘‘I wish we had driven the milk cows up in the haymow tonight.’’
‘‘We’ll have time for that in the morning if the river keeps rising.’’
