No Distance Too Far (40 page)

“If this is a sign from you, heavenly Father, I thank you for answering my prayers. But what about giving my word to Dean Highsmith? Why did I feel so led to go to missionary school? Wasn’t that a waste of time and money?” She jerked a handful of stubborn pigweed out and slammed the dirt end against the ground to dislodge the soil. When the roots were bare, she tossed the clump onto a pile she’d started along the fence. A stack of weeds kept the other weeds from sprouting, she’d learned.

The song of a meadowlark caught her attention, and she looked up to find the bird, shading her eyes with her now dirt-crusted hand. Liquid joy, she’d heard a poet describe a meadowlark’s song.

The longer she hoed, the more peace seeped in, until she finally stopped and kneaded her back with her fists. Hearing voices, she glanced back at the house to see Mor and Elizabeth visiting on the back porch.

“Lemonade is on,” Elizabeth called.

“I’m coming.” Astrid picked up and tossed the remaining weeds on the long pile. She stopped to inspect the peas in need of a trellis, as they were beginning to send out tendrils, smiled at the leaf lettuce about ready to pick, then hooked the hoe over the fence and returned to the house, wiping her dirty feet in the grass as she went.

“Here’s a pan so you can dip out some rain water to wash in.” Ingeborg came down the steps to hand her one.

“Takk.” Astrid dipped water from the rain barrel and sat down on the steps with it to wash her hands and feet.

“Feel better?” her mother asked softly.

“I do. There is something about killing weeds that frees the soul. The lettuce is about ready, the carrots are barely up, and some of the beans are pushing up. I know Thorliff won’t be stringing the peas tonight, so I think I will.”

“Emmy and I were out in the garden this morning too. We strung the peas a few days ago. I dropped her off at Sophie’s to play with the others.” She handed Astrid a towel kept on a hook for just such instances.

As they sat down, Elizabeth smiled. “I’m glad I’m not a weed.”

“Me too.” Astrid took a healthy draught from her glass. “Leave it to Thelma to always know just when to provide relief.”

“Your face is red.”

“No doubt. I was in the sun.” She glanced at her mother. “And no, I did not wear a sunbonnet, as you can see.”

“When did you ever?”

Astrid nearly choked on her next swallow, laughter bubbling up in spite of herself.

“How did your discussion with God go?” Elizabeth asked.

“I am either writing or telephoning Mr. Josephson this afternoon— most likely I will write to him, since he is on the train and not in his office.”

“To say?”

“That I will be here in Blessing and that you are committed to regaining your strength, whatever it takes and however long it takes.” She looked at her mother to see her face shining with such love and joy that it brought a lump to her throat.

“Thank you, Father.” Ingeborg sniffed and rolled her lips together. “I know my prayers have been selfish, but I thank God for this turn of events.”

“Then I will have to write to Dean Highsmith, or call him, and explain the circumstances.” She heaved a sigh. “That will be the difficult one.”

“So how do you feel about it?” asked Elizabeth.

“I am running over with joy. I get to stay home, at least for now. Perhaps someday I will go to Africa.”

“When you are married, and if your husband wants to go?”

The three women laughed at the sally.

“That one really irritated me,” Astrid said, picking up a molasses cookie. And if her husband was ever to be Joshua, she couldn’t see him willing to go to Africa. She frowned a little. Did she know how he felt about her being a doctor? Had they ever discussed it?

Ingeborg and Elizabeth exchanged smiles. “We understood that part.”

“I’m going to change clothes and, if there is no one in the waiting room, go write my letters. That way I can get them in the mail today. Thank you for coming, Mor. I was sure you were going to have to convince me of what to do.”

“Convincing always works better when God does it.”

Astrid nodded as she opened the kitchen door. “Sure smells good in here.”

Thelma turned from the stove. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” She eyed the dirty apron and dress.

“I know. I’m on my way upstairs to wash and change. Thanks for the lemonade.” She realized she was humming as she mounted the stairs. Did this sense of peace bring on the hums? Once clean again, she sat down and quickly wrote the letter to Mr. Josephson. The letter to Dean Highsmith took more time.

After the salutation she wrote:

It is with deep regret I am writing to ask you to remove my name from the program. Due to a string of events, I realized that I need to be here in Blessing, at least for the next several years. As you know, we are on the verge of building a hospital here, and the foundation in Chicago said the plan was contingent upon the two Bjorklund doctors being here to run it. This contingency was a shock to all of us.

She stopped and stared at that line. Was it necessary? She almost crossed it out but then continued.

Perhaps sometime in the future I will be able to continue with service in Africa or some other place. Thank you for all that you have done for me, for your encouragement, and for the time I spent at your school.

In the Master’s service,
Dr. Astrid Bjorklund

She stared at the final lines. That was indeed appropriate, for she was and would always be.

The others were halfway finished with dinner on the porch when Thorliff strode up the walk from the newspaper office on the other side of the carriage house. “Sorry I am late, but I had to finish the last article.” He served himself from the bowls and platters handed to him. “This smells wonderful, Thelma. Thank you.” After a few bites he looked to Astrid. “Garden looks great.”

“Thank you. Lots more to go.”

“There’s always work to be done in the garden. It’s a good way to work out frustrations.”

“Really? I never knew that.” Astrid’s eyebrows tickled the wisps of hair that fell over her forehead. They all laughed at her arched response, but the look she shared with her brother invited him to join her in her newfound peace.

Later, after tending to a farmer with a swollen jaw and pulling the offending tooth, Astrid picked up her letters and walked over to the post office.

“You are just in time,” Mrs. Valders said. “In fact, if you would take the mail pouch over to the train, I would be most grateful. My foot will be grateful too.”

“Of course I will, but what is wrong with your foot?”

Mrs. Valders ignored her question when another patron walked in.

Astrid slung the pouch over her shoulder, walked over to the station, and handed it to the stationmaster. He hung it on the hook by the tracks, and they both stood watching the train grow to life-size, smoke trailing from the stack and steam screaming from the locked wheels. Several people stepped off the train while the engineer swung the water spout over the engine and opened the trap for the water to gush into the boiler. Another man swapped the incoming mail for the outgoing and tossed the full bag to the stationmaster.

“You want to take this to Mrs. Valders?” he asked.

“I will. Thanks.” Astrid crossed the street again and swung the bag up onto the counter. “All right, now tell me about your foot.”

“It will be better soon. I think I just sprained it.” She pulled back her skirt to show a swollen right foot. “See? I told you, nothing to worry about.”

“How about you sit down and let me make that decision.” Astrid pointed to the chair behind the counter. “You can sort mail while I check your foot.”

Mrs. Valders grumbled but did as she was instructed. She flinched when Astrid removed the shoe and pressed around the ankle and the arch with gentle fingers.

“Hurts, eh?” She rotated the foot to check the ankle. “Did you put ice on this?”

“No. It’s not that bad.”

“You need to put ice packs on it three times a day and elevate it for the swelling to go away.”

“How am I supposed to elevate my foot when I am running around here like a chicken with my head cut off?”

“What happened?”

“I tripped over Benny’s scooter. It wasn’t his fault. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

Astrid nodded, making sure her doctor face was in place. –Hildegunn Valders sticking up for Benny? Wait until she told her mother.

“Okay, how about we do this? You put ice packs on the foot in the morning, at noon, and when you close up the post office. When you are here, you do as much as you can sitting down. Use that stool sometimes too, and we’ll wrap your foot with strips of an old sheet.”

“Thank you. Say, that was a good meeting last night.”

“Yes, I thought so too.” Astrid got to her feet. “I’ll get some bandages and be right back.”

When she returned, the mail was in the slots, and Mrs. Valders took the chair without grumbling. Astrid wrapped the ankle, making sure it wasn’t too tight, and ripped the end of the strip in half the long way so she could tie the wrap on top of the foot.

“There now, let’s put your shoe back on and see if this doesn’t make it feel better.”

“It does feel better,” Hildegunn said when she put her weight back on the foot. “Thank you, Dr. Bjorklund.”

Astrid nodded. “Remember, stay off it as much as you can.” She picked up the mail from the Bjorklund boxes and headed back to the surgery. Setting the piles on the table, she saw two letters addressed to her, one from Dean Highsmith and the other from Red Hawk. Out on the porch swing, she opened the school one first, setting the swing in motion with her foot as she read.

Dear Dr. Bjorklund,

I am writing this with a heavy heart and after much prayer and discussion. We of the mission board have come to the conclusion that you are not ready to commit one hundred percent to serving as a doctor in Africa. I know you have struggled with the calling, wondering if this is indeed where God was telling you to go. Sometimes the knowing is rock solid and other times not, but I have always recognized a peace that comes with walking in His will. I saw that peace come to you at first, but now it seems He is leading you in another way. Sometimes He uses circumstances to lead us, and that is what we see happening in your situation.

Therefore, it is with regret and yet profound peace on our part that we release you from your commitment to the school and the missionary program. I know God has a plan for you, and He will reveal it, or perhaps He already has. Please keep in touch and let us know how we can be praying for you. At the same time, we ask that you pray for us and our program.

Sincerely yours,
Dean Highsmith

Astrid read the letter again, alternately chuckling and wiping her eyes. Wait until she told the others. Pastor Solberg would shake his head and say one of his favorite sayings,
“God may be slow in answer
-
ing, but He is never late.”

She tucked that paper back into the envelope and pulled out the other.

Dear Dr. Bjorklund,

I don’t know if you are in Blessing or on your way to Africa, but I am writing this in the hope that you are indeed in North Dakota. I also hope you are not going to Africa, but that is my selfish prayer. Remember our discussion when I said that perhaps my people could be your Africa?

Right now the people of Rosebud Reservation are dying from the measles. If I go home at this time, I will lose my place in the rotation, and as Dr. Morganstein fears, I might never make it back here. The needs are so great on the reservation. I know your people in Blessing sent food and supplies earlier this spring, but now a doctor is needed, one who can teach my people how to fight off this dread epidemic. The lack of food and cleanliness is part of the problem, as is the disease itself.

Please can you go? And I beg your people to be generous again to those who are so proud and so needy. I will finish here at the end of the summer and will return as soon as possible. But they need help now.

Your friend,
Dr. Red Hawk

Astrid tipped her head back and stared at the tongue-and-groove ceiling. All these things at once.
What is going on? Lord God, I am
overwhelmed. My Africa? Am I to go to South Dakota?

31

S
o why did I attend missionary school?”

Pastor Solberg shredded a leaf that had blown onto the porch.

Astrid waited. She had taken the two letters directly to him, before she even spoke with Mor or Elizabeth. Anyone watching her run from the surgery to the Solbergs’ might have thought her slightly, or even massively, deranged. He had been sitting on his porch working on his sermon for Sunday and immediately put that away to give her his full attention.

“I don’t know.”

She dropped her hands into her lap and her chin to her chest. “This just isn’t making any sense.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does. Only you can’t see all the pieces yet. God has a plan for you.”

“I know that. I know His thoughts are for good and not for evil. I believe that. But three things happening at once? I know three is a godly number.”

“You have listened well through the years. Watching you grow up has been one of my great pleasures.”