No Distance Too Far (6 page)

“What’s a—”

Her father tapped her shoulder. “Later. Right now you eat and listen.”

“I was saying that you did a fine job on the work on our house.” Hjelmer Bjorklund looked to his wife, Penny, who nodded and smiled.

“Thank you. I never realized how much I enjoyed building things until we started on the windmills. Your house was a real learning time for me. I had good teachers too. That Toby is a fine carpenter.”

“That he is.”

“And we were able to move in before Christmas, just like Hjelmer promised,” Penny said, nudging her husband with an elbow.

“Took us a while to finish it, though.”

Hjelmer leaned forward to look down the table at Joshua. “She hasn’t been able to add anything to the to-be-finished list for three whole days.”

Joshua chuckled along with the rest of them.
The List
had become a thing of dread in the last couple of weeks. Penny had a knack for finding things not quite finished, like a missing screw in a stair tread or a window that wasn’t caulked sufficiently. It took them some time to figure out a problem with the plumbing, but they did.

“Sophie talked to me about some remodel work on the boardinghouse. That should keep us going through the middle of April. Then as soon as we can pour the concrete, we can start on your house, Joshua. That and a couple of small houses I’d like to build for sale.”

“And mine?” Freda, a cousin of Ingeborg’s who recently moved to Blessing from Norway, asked as she poured more coffee.

“Oh, that’s right. Well, looks like we have plenty of work.”

“You better hurry on all that, because we have a hospital that needs to be built too.” Elizabeth glanced at Ingeborg. “By the way, Dr. Morganstein wondered if you would be willing to show and discuss more of your simples when the group from Chicago comes to visit.”

“You know, Mor,” Thorliff said, “you ought to write all that up, and we could publish a small home-companion-type book so people could use what they have on hand to help themselves.”

Ingeborg stared at her son. “Why, I . . . I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Begin with A. Alphabetized is always the best. That cough syrup you make works better than anything else.”

“You know . . .” Hjelmer nodded slowly, as if waiting for his thoughts to catch up.

“Now we’re in trouble.” Andrew, Ingeborg’s younger son, raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, and looked at Haakan.

His wife, Ellie, poked him in the side. “You be polite.”

Eyes narrowed now, Hjelmer tapped a finger on the table. “What if you were to make up some of your simples, package them, and sell them at Penny’s store?”

“We’ll sell the booklet to go along with them. Although we need a better title than
Simples
.” Thorliff nodded as he thought. “
Rem
-
edies. Ingeborg’s Remedies
.” He continued. “I could print the labels like I do for the cheese house. This could even become a mail-order business.”

“One of the things I dream of for our hospital is a pharmacy,” Elizabeth said. “I guess I have a lot of dreams.”

“We could sell the remedies there also.”

“I s’pose you want to take a wagon out and sell like the traveling medicine men,” Haakan said with a grin at his wife. “Though their stuff is mostly alcohol.”

“Uff da,” Ingeborg muttered. “The ideas you come up with.”

“Ah, but you see, Mor, your receipts work. We could make another wagon like the one we’re doing for the windmill construction, and—”

“Thorliff, don’t tease your mor.” Haakan was having a hard time keeping from laughing, so Ingeborg pushed back her chair and stood. “The polite children in this family and those who are kind to others will now have pie for dessert. The rest of you can continue your harebrained schemes in the parlor. Uff da! The things you come up with.”

For a moment Joshua thought she was truly upset, but when she glanced at him, he caught the glint in her eyes.

Inga leaned over from her father’s lap and whispered in her carry-across-the-pasture voice, “You can have pie. You are comp’ny.”

Thorliff burst out laughing first, and the others followed.

While the women rose to clear the table and set out the pie, the men watched as Haakan fetched his pipe from the shelf behind the stove and proceeded to clean it, fill it, tamp it, light it, and lean back in contentment.

“Smoke rings, Grampa?” Inga insisted, standing next to him. Carl and a little dark-haired girl someone called Emmy, along with Hjelmer’s children, stood in a half circle around them.

Haakan blew one smoke ring, then another. The children laughed and clapped.

Who did the new little girl belong to? Joshua wondered. She’d not been there the last time he’d been invited. With that dark hair and brown skin, she looked like an Indian. Why would they have an Indian in their home? Why would anyone want one of those thieving animals in their house? Why, if Pa were there, he’d—

Joshua forced his attention away from the girl and back to the conversations flowing around him. What a family. How could Astrid bear to leave this? If only he could have talked with her before she made her decision. Would she listen to what he had to say?

THAT NIGHT BACK in his room at the boardinghouse, he lay on his bed, hands locked behind his head, and thought back to his trip to Iowa. He’d gone with such high hopes, but perhaps now that he’d had time to think about it, he’d only done it because of what Pastor Solberg had been hammering them about. Forgiveness. He had needed to forgive them and ask for their forgiveness. He’d come to realize that not accepting it or giving it was, as Pastor Solberg said, destroying him.

All during the train ride, he’d stewed about how to do this. What to say, what not to say. He’d not let them know he was coming, just showed up at his sister’s door. She was so shocked, she nearly collapsed.

Her arms around his neck felt almost like their mother’s. Even their voices would be hard to tell apart.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Avis asked.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, that you did. Are you moving back here?” She hung his coat on the peg, along with his hat and scarf. “Come over here by the fire and get yourself warmed up. Did you walk from town?”

“Got a ride with old Buck. Made him promise he wouldn’t blab all over the county.”

“Sit, and I’ll get the coffee.”

“Where’s Albert and the children?”

“Gone to town. You know it’s almost Christmas.” She refilled the firebox on the kitchen stove. “Surprises and all that.”

“I didn’t bring anything.” He felt about three inches high. Didn’t even think of it.
What kind of uncle are you?

“Before they get back, I have to say something. Come, sit here a moment.” He patted the chair beside him.

She sat down, never taking her eyes from his face. “You aren’t dying, are you?”

“Well, not that I know of. I need to ask your forgiveness.”

“For what?”

“For leaving in such a huff and not keeping in contact. You’re the only sister I have, and I . . . I needed to tell you this.”

“Oh, Joshua, little brother, of course I forgive you. I don’t blame you one bit for leaving. Pa gets worse by the day. I don’t know how Frank puts up with him. ’Course, they are a lot alike. I always tried to do all I could to help Ma, but she was stubborn as all get-out.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “She taught me a lot about loving someone not very lovable.”

“Our mother—” His voice cracked. “I think of her every time I take out my guitar. Always thanking her for insisting I learn to play it. I play for church now and whenever there is a dance anywhere around. I’m even teaching our preacher’s oldest son.”

“You go to church, then?”

“I do. The people in Blessing make strangers feel welcome from the moment you step off the train. Not that I was completely a stranger. The Bjorklunds turned that half section they bought from me into clean and beautiful wheat fields.”

“You’re farming again?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “I drill wells and build windmills. This winter I worked on the inside of a big house. Become a fair carpenter. Bought me a lot in town, and my house will go up come spring.” He took her hand. “Why don’t you and Albert leave this part of the country and come on out to Blessing?”

Avis stared deep into his eyes. She nodded slowly. “We might just do that, but don’t go holding your breath.” She got up to pour his coffee. “You will stay here with us through Christmas, won’t you?”

“Most likely, since it is only two days away.” He covered her hand with his. “But tomorrow I’m going to see Pa and Frank. You planning on spending Christmas back at the house?” He almost said
home
but then changed his mind. It wasn’t home to him any longer, if it ever had been.

The next day he’d borrowed a horse and rode over to the place where he grew up. He stopped at the end of the lane and stared ahead at the two-story house, the big red barn, and the outbuildings. There was the machine shed he’d helped build, a shed-roofed addition to the barn. He rode on up, knowing it was near noon and most likely everyone would be at the house for dinner. A dog he didn’t recognize announced his arrival.

He dismounted, tied the horse to the gatepost, and overcoming every sense he had that said run, mounted the steps to the back porch and knocked on the door. Nothing out of place. Even the woodchips swept up. Nothing had changed here.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” Frank stepped back. “Come on in. What a sight for sore eyes.” He raised his voice. “Pa, Joshua’s come home.”

The welcome caught Joshua by surprise. “Hello, Frank.” He shook his brother’s proffered hand.

“Susan, set another plate. Here, let me take your coat.”

Joshua stared around the kitchen. Nothing had changed. Except for the man limping through the door to the parlor. His dark hair had gone nearly white, lines were cut in his face, and his jowls sagged. Who was this old man, and where had his father gone?

“Where is Aaron?”

“He’s over helping a friend for a few days. We got rid of the cattle and hogs, so winter is kind of slack now.” He pointed to the chair. “Sit, sit.”

“I see.” Joshua sat in the same chair he’d always sat in. Susan set the serving bowls and meat platter on the table, and they each helped themselves. Except for his father. Frank dished up his plate, as he did his own.

What was going on here? He stared at his brother, willing him to make some kind of comment, but the meal was finished in silence, just like all the meals he’d eaten at this table all of his life. Some of the characters had changed, but the meal was still the same.

When Susan refilled his coffee cup, he said, “Thank you.” The words dropped like pebbles in a still pond, but the ripples hit the shore, and still nothing happened. Other than she shot him a look accompanied by a small smile.

“Thank you for a good dinner,” he said when they finished.

“You are welcome.” The words seemed to be dragged from a deep well.

“I need to go see to my horse.” Joshua moved toward the door.

“You are coming back in, are you not?” Frank asked.

“Yes. Can I put him in the barn?”

“Yes. We still have horses. I left them in today because of the cold.”

The huge barn seemed empty, with spiderwebs on the milking stanchions, the floors swept clean. He led his horse into a vacant stall, removed the saddle and bridle, and snapped the halter, attached to a tied lead rope, on the horse’s head. Tossing the animal some hay, he returned to the house. It didn’t seem that cold to him, but then, he was used to North Dakota now, not Iowa.

He paused on the porch.
Lord, what am I to do?
The verses about seeking the man who has done you wrong floated to the front of his mind. “Well, I am doing that, so I might as well be about it.” He scrubbed his boots free of snow on the brush by the door and stepped back inside.

He sniffed appreciatively. “Something smells good.”

“I’m making a spice cake. You will stay for supper, won’t you?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I need to talk with Frank and Pa, and we’ll see how that goes.” He paused a moment. “Can Pa hear?”

“Yes, he just can’t speak. Was struck down by apoplexy a month or so after your mother died. God rest her soul.”

“And Pa?”

“He’s fading away day by day. He would just sit in that chair from dawn to dusk if Frank didn’t take care of him. No will to live. Seems like the part of his brain that willed him to work died.”

“So I can talk to him?”

“Yes. He may respond, or he may not. You saw him at the table. He feeds himself if the food is put before him. He sat out on the porch before it got too cold. I think the shock of finding your mother dead on the floor might have started this, but I don’t know. Doctors don’t know.”

“Why did no one write to me?”

“Frank said he was done with writing bad news.”

“I see.” He didn’t but couldn’t figure what else to say. He walked into the parlor, where his father sat in a rocking chair, an afghan over his legs, staring outside. Frank sat in another chair reading a farm magazine.

“I have something I need to talk to you about, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said to Frank. “Pa too.”