No Distance Too Far (18 page)

“You are a wonderful grandmother.”

“Thank you. All the little ones are our gifts from God,” she said. “No matter how they come.”

All these years, Lord, I’ve seen only the irritable outside of her, and
you’ve seen her heart.
“Yes, they are, Hildegunn. Yes, they are.” If only Astrid were here to see this.
Lord, how can I give joyously when it is my
daughter you are asking for?

13

A
t least he wasn’t the only one who didn’t donate something. Not that he had anything to offer.
Liar
said the little voice from inside that Joshua was trying to ignore. Yes, he had some money in the bank, but that was for paying off his loan at the bank.
You’ d let
children starve?
How could he shut that voice up? If that was indeed his conscience, he had a terribly persistent one. After all, they were Indians, and if they would work like he did, they’d most likely not be starving to death.
But who is giving them a chance to work?
the voice said. This war had been going on inside for the last two days.

He sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.
Where had he heard that lately? Most likely from Pastor Solberg. The man had an uncanny way of choosing Scriptures to illustrate his sermons that had a knack for kicking him right in the shins. Or perhaps more like a pitchfork to the behind.

It wasn’t these children who stole your aunt.

He stared down into the basement of his future house, all dug out now with forms ready to pour concrete, all because his friends here in Blessing came and helped him—without his even asking. They just showed up. Haakan, Thorliff, Lars, Trygve, even Johnny Solberg, because he wanted to pay him back for his guitar lessons.

They just showed up. They saw a friend in need and came to help.

He could help someone else. That’s what Haakan said one time when he asked if he could pay for the help.
“You just help someone else
and they help someone else, and life goes on.”

Joshua wanted to pour at least one wall of concrete, but the team was ready to leave for Grafton in the morning, where they had the first well to dig and windmill to erect. The first of ten that were already spoken for. A month’s work at least.

What would his pa say about donating to the Indian fund? That was easy. He’d say, “Let ’em starve.”
But you don’t want to be like your
pa.
That voice again. He ambled down the dirt ramp that would one day be the outside stairs to his cellar. This hole in the ground was the promise that he would have a house of his own one day and in the not too distant future. He had a solid job, one he looked forward to doing. What could he give joyfully? A dollar? Easy. Two dollars? A bit of a stretch. Five? He swallowed. A week’s wages.

He strode out of the cellar to be and headed for Pastor Solberg’s house. Children shouldn’t be starving to death no matter what the adults did. He remembered the look of awe on Emmy’s face when he let her touch the strings of his guitar. Children like her?

“Come in, come in,” Mrs. Solberg said when he knocked on their door. “Can you stay for a cup of coffee? Won’t take long.” She ushered him into the parlor. “Look who’s here, John.”

Pastor Solberg looked up from his desk, where he was writing. “Good to see you, Joshua.” He reached out to shake his hand. “I hear you are all leaving in the morning.”

“We are. Should be gone a month or less if all goes according to plan.”

“Sit down, sit down. I’m about due for a break here anyway.”

“I really can’t stay. I just came to bring you something.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out his money, handing Pastor Solberg a five-dollar bill. “For the reservation fund.”

“Thank you, son. Do you want change?”

“No, sir. I thought that should help buy some beans and flour. And maybe . . .” He ducked his head. “Maybe there could be a bag of peppermint candy included?”

“I’ll see that there is. They’ll be leaving tomorrow, same as you. Got the railroad to donate the use of a boxcar, so things can get there more quickly.”

“Good.” Joshua clenched the brim of his hat.

“I’m surprised at this.”

“Me too. But between you and that nagging voice inside, I decided to give in.”

“I have a feeling there is a lot more story behind this than you are letting on.”

Joshua nodded. “Someday I’ll have to tell you.”

“We’ll miss you, especially on Sunday mornings. Everyone sings out more with you leading.”

“My ma would like to hear that.” Joshua backed toward the door. “I need to finish getting ready to leave. See you when we get back.”

“Good night, then. And thanks for listening, both to me and that inner voice. God bless and keep you on this journey.”

As Joshua walked back to the boardinghouse, he wasn’t sure which journey Pastor Solberg had been referring to: digging wells or life in general. But both his step and his heart suddenly felt a lot lighter.

TRYGVE HAD THE teams harnessed and hitched to the two wagons by the time the sun rim peeked above the horizon. Joshua tossed a duffel bag into the black wagon with white letters proclaiming the business as Blessing Wells and Windmills.

Penny brought out a basket of food and handed it to Joshua. “This should help for today.”

“Ma did the same,” Trygve said. “We won’t have to cook for a day or two.”

“You have water along?”

“In the barrel.”

“God go with you,” Penny said with a smile. Joshua wondered that Hjelmer wasn’t there to see them off too.

“Ma said the same.” Trygve climbed up on the dray wagon while Joshua did the same with the other. Gilbert climbed up beside him, and they hupped the horses forward.

“Don’t get stuck!” Penny called as she waved good-bye.

They’d spent the last two days making sure all their supplies were loaded and machinery was in good form. He had a list of supplies and materials long enough to last the run and a ledger to keep his records in. Hjelmer was particular about record keeping. The way he was growing the businesses, he had to be. He and Thorliff. As they drove down a road that a hundred years earlier the oxcarts had followed between Canada and the land that was now Minneapolis and St. Paul, he listened for the creaks of the wagon. One of the wheels already needed greasing, the meadowlarks were singing in the dawn, and the air was redolent with awakening earth. There was something to be said for spring in North Dakota after a winter that tested a man’s mettle. Spring didn’t tiptoe in here. It burst forth in a rush to remind both land and people they’d not been forgotten.

He shook his head at the way his thoughts were going. If Astrid were here, would she feel like he did? While he knew he didn’t want to farm, he also knew he wanted to be near the land, not living in some city or even a big town. Far as he could figure, with this job he had the best of all worlds.

Following Hjelmer’s instructions, they arrived at the farm south of Grafton as the sun was setting. Joshua stepped down from the wagon seat and, after stretching, headed for the farmhouse door. First thing was to make sure they were in the right place. By the time he mounted the steps, the door swung open and a man with a smile of welcome greeted him.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming today. Name’s Hiram Aarsgard.” He stuck out his hand. “Have you had supper yet?”

“Good to meet you. I’m Joshua Landsverk, and no, we just kept coming so we would get here before dark.”

“You can unharness your teams and let them loose in the small pasture by the barn, and when you’re finished, you come on up here and the missus will have a meal on the table for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Hiram.”

“Yes, Hiram. Do you have a special place you’d like us to park our wagons?”

“Wherever you like. The dowser said we should have easy water over there where that post is hammered into the ground.”

“How far down is the well you have now?”

“Me’n my sons dug that well down about ten feet. Never run dry, but I figured we’d keep that one, drill a new one, and put up the windmill. My missus is looking forward to water piped to the house, and I’m looking forward to the wind pumping water for the livestock.

I saw that one over west of town that Bjorklund drilled last year. That windmill pumped out water for the garden even.”

As they talked, the two men reached the wagons, and Hiram showed Trygve and Gilbert where to park them. He extended his invitation to supper once again and wandered back to the house.

After supper Joshua sat at the fold-out table and made notes on the day’s events before starting a letter to Astrid.

Dear Astrid,

We’ve just completed our first trip out with the new well-drilling wagon we built this winter. This farmer is so glad to see us, and his wife made sure we would not go to bed hungry. That saved us from cooking, not that we’d have needed to with the baskets of food sent with us from Mrs. Knutson and Penny.

Even covered with dust our new wagon looks pretty striking. We painted it black because that’s the paint Penny had available. I painted the trim in red. I know the dust will fade it all soon, but at least there is a good coat of paint to protect the wood.

Gilbert has joined Trygve and me, so the three of us should be able to accomplish much more. With one man overseeing the well drilling, the other two can be building the windmill.

Sunday was the church meeting regarding providing the help that you asked for. You will be proud of your people here. Pastor Solberg referred to them, or rather to us, as the family of Blessing. That man certainly is the shepherd of this flock, as he has so often said. When I think of the church I grew up in where brimstone flowed from beneath the altar, I cannot begin to compare the two. I wish my mother could have come to Blessing.

And my father
, he thought. Perhaps he’d not have been so bitter if he’d heard preaching like Rev. Solberg’s. The memory of the old man he’d not have recognized had he not known who he was rose up to choke him up every once in a while. He’d start a letter to them also.

He described the wagon and signed off with
More later. Your
friend, Joshua
.

Trygve had already decided to take his bedroll outside and sleep under the wagon like they had to the last season, but Joshua opted for one of the hammocks strung between two hooks they had drilled into the two-by-four frame. Gilbert took the other hammock, and with the door and window open, a comfortable breeze blew through the wagon. Screens kept the insects at bay, other than a moth that got in to flutter around the kerosene lantern.

THE NEXT MORNING they started work as soon as the sun lightened the earth enough so they could see to harness the horse that would walk the circle to drill the pipe down into the ground. Since they were still in the Red River Valley, they didn’t anticipate any rocks. After dinner they traded off the horses, and at about three o’clock they got a gusher.

“Will you look at that,” Hiram said and shouted for his wife to come look.

Trygve wrestled the cap in place, and Gilbert and Joshua with a team dragged over the frame they’d been working on for the windmill. Three days later they released the tie-down on the tail, and the windmill turned to face the wind. While they’d been building the windmill, Hiram and one of his sons had been helping and running pipe to the cattle tank and to the house.