A Harvest of Hope (9 page)

“What a lovely thing to say. Thank you. Is this really Manny's horse?”

“It is.”

“Well admired, I see.”

Ingeborg laughed. For Manny's bay, Joker, stood serenely inside a cloud of children, looking regal, nonchalant. Obviously the horse was convinced that it was fully worthy of all this admiration as the children patted him and fed him chunks of carrot. She decided she must put in at least one extra row of carrots next spring, just for Joker.

Benny sat in his wagon off to the side, watching.

Leaning on a crutch, Manny swung his saddle up onto Joker's back and then ducked under the horse's neck to adjust the other side.

“Look at him negotiate those crutches!” Miriam wagged her head. “It isn't that long ago that he could hardly walk. Is there some magic or something in the air here that people get well so quickly?”

Now Manny was back on this side, cinching his saddle down firmly. Clearly Manny was a good hand with horses.

Trygve brought out a box and plunked it down beside Joker. “One at a time, line up. Carl is the youngest, so he can go first. Here, Carl. Even with the box you won't be able to get up there. Let me help.” And he swept Carl up and plunked him in the saddle. “I'm going to walk beside you in case you start to slide.”

Carl gave Trygve a disgusted look. “I ride the big horses with Inga.”

Manny grinned at Ingeborg. His delight was obvious. If he'd been a puppy, he'd have been wagging his tail to beat all get out. Ingeborg grinned right back, as wide as she could muster. He laid Joker's reins over his shoulder and hobbled off, the horse casually and obediently ambling along behind him.

Inga wormed in between Ingeborg and Miriam, but it was Miriam's hand she grasped in hers. “We need two ponies, Grandma, one for Carl and one for me. Then we could ride and not have to have help getting up on them. I asked Grandpa, but he went and died.”

Miriam smiled down at Inga. “You
need
a pony?”

“Yes! Two of them. It's not nearly as much fun to ride double on one.”

“Need.” Miriam was smiling. Ingeborg laughed.

Inga ran off to join Emmy, who stood beside Benny. Out in the side pasture, Manny started back their way.

“She reminds me so much of my little sister,” Miriam mused. “At their age, needs are completely different from ours. Sometimes it's nothing more than a new pencil.”

“Ja, so true.”

Miriam licked her lips. “Perhaps I am speaking out of turn, but . . . you are my hero.”

Ingeborg's mouth dropped open. Their eyes met.

Miriam explained. “I have suffered a grievous loss, and so have you. But here you are hosting a dinner for the whole community, being a blessing to others, carrying on. You are loved
by all because you have earned that love by loving others. I want to follow your example. It is what I want to do.”

What could she say? Not often was Ingeborg at such a loss for words. “Takk. Tusen takk.”

Manny and Joker arrived, and Trygve lifted Carl off. He pushed the wooden crate closer beside Joker. Inga hopped up on the crate, stuffed her foot into the stirrup with a little help, and swung up . . . well, not quite all the way. Trygve boosted her the rest of the way into the saddle.

“See what I mean, Grandma?” Inga called over her shoulder as Joker rambled off. “A shorter horse! A pony!”

“Ja, I see. Hold on tight.”

Trygve turned to Emmy. “You'll be next.”

Emmy shook her head. “Let me be last, or not at all. I rode horses all the time when I was little. Everyone did.”

“Then, Benny, you're next.”

“What?” Benny looked startled. His face softened. “Oh, I almost didn't get your joke there.”

Manny took Inga out through the side pasture, the same route he had taken with Carl. As they started back, Ingeborg had to smile. She could see Inga talking a mile a minute.

Manny brought the horse back, and Inga slid off by herself.

“You want to ride?” Manny asked Benny, holding his horse by one rein.

Benny made a face. “Did you ever notice I don't have legs?”

Trygve stopped beside the boy. “Would you like to try? Manny has an idea that might work. All we can do is try.”

Benny looked from Manny with the horse to the horse's back and then to Trygve. He looked just plain scared. But then his grin rivaled the sun.

“I'll tell you how we're going to do this. I don't think I can throw you up there like I did Carl, but we can do it in stages. First sit on my knee and reach for the latigos. These.” Trygve showed Benny the leather straps that pulled the cinch tight.
“Then you haul yourself up, and I will help you swing one leg over.”

“Might ye use some help here?” Thomas Devlin stopped beside Ingeborg.

“Good. Thanks. Together we can lift him up and slide him in place, then we are going to tie him to the saddle.”

Between the two of them, they hoisted Benny into the saddle and, using the belts Trygve had brought, buckled Benny's upper legs to the stirrup leathers.

Trygve looked up at him. “What do you think? Are you comfortable?”

Benny's eyes were as round as saucers. “I am on a horse. A real big horse.”

“Now, you hang on. You have plenty of strength in your arms, and probably good balance. Manny, lead him out slowly, and we'll walk beside.”

With Father Devlin on one side and Trygve on the other, Manny clumped away. But he did not use his usual route. Instead, he took Benny to the edge of the baseball field, along the outfield.

Inga beamed up at Ingeborg. “Look at him, Grandma. Benny is riding! If we had a pony, he could ride easy. The pony could be his legs.”

Applause started at the ball field, and pretty soon everyone was on their feet, cheering and clapping. The game came to a halt.

Grinning wildly, Benny waved to his admiring fans. The triumphant rider and his entourage returned to the barn.

Ingeborg laughed inside and out. It was the first time since Haakan died.

All was well. No, wait. Benny was slipping, his right leg sliding out from under its belt.

“Oh no!” His mother, Rebecca, started toward them with determination, her slightly swollen abdomen now evident, her husband right behind. She was due to deliver after the new year.

But Trygve had grabbed Benny's left leg and shoved him back to upright. Gerald and Rebecca walked over and stared up at their son.

“Ma, Pa, Manny made it so I could ride.”

“I'm so proud of you, Benny. I never thought you could ride.” Rebecca turned to Manny. “You sure know how to be a friend.”

“Benny and Inga helped me when I was so sick.”

Ingeborg listened to the exchange, sure her smile was as wide as theirs. She looked up to see Father Devlin smiling and nodding.

Trygve was not smiling anymore. “And to think Anner demanded we sell the boy's horse.”

Ingeborg saw his jaw tighten. Somehow Anner Valders needed some wind taken out of his sails.

“Hey, let's play ball,” Lars called.

Father Devlin turned to Trygve. “You can get him down by yourself, right?”

“Ja, that will be easy. Just give him a shove and splat, he's down.”

“Hey!” But then Benny got the joke and laughed. Trygve and Benny undid the belt buckles. Benny slid off into Trygve's arms and got settled back in his wagon.

“Trygve,” Kaaren called, “it is almost your turn to bat!”

“Coming, Mor!”

Ingeborg locked her arm through Miriam's. “If we stand right here, we can see both the children and the ball game.”

“I've never been to anything like this before. Everyone is having such a good time. Wait, Ingeborg, look. There may be a problem.”

Ingeborg turned to look where Miriam was pointing.

The pregnant woman from Tent Town was wagging her head and holding her swollen belly. Her husband knelt close beside her, their heads together. Miriam hastened over to them with Ingeborg right behind.

“Inga, you go find Tante Astrid!”

Inga ran off.

Miriam was kneeling with them, speaking softly.

Ingeborg settled onto the blanket also. Uff da. The man was speaking rapidly, and Ingeborg could not understand a word he was saying.

But apparently Miriam could. She straightened. “Her water just broke, and contractions are already severe. Her name is Isobel. He calls her Izzie, and this is Diarmid Munro. They are Scots. Mr. and Mrs. Munro, this is Ingeborg Bjorklund.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Mr. Munro said, and Ingeborg realized that they were speaking English, but with a brogue thick enough to walk on.

“How do you do.” She smiled at Mrs. Munro. “I think you'd better come into the house.”

Thwock!

The onlookers cheered lustily. Ingeborg and Miriam looked up to see Trygve toss his bat aside and head for first base. There went the ball, flying, flying down the pasture. The two runners ahead of him made it home and then Trygve did too. People cheered and jeered.

Trygve came trotting over to Miriam, grinning from ear to ear. He swelled his chest and arched his back. “Youth will triumph!”

Miriam made a strange noise, and it did not sound complimentary.

Trygve looked at Mrs. Munro and instantly turned serious. “Uh-oh. I'll go get the buggy.”

“No.” Ingeborg waved toward her front door. “This baby isn't going to wait for that jolting ride to the hospital. Mrs. Munro, come inside, please.”

Mr. Munro's eyes went wide. “Oh no! We daren't do that. I'll see her to the—”

Miriam broke in, “Aye, you'll dare! Mrs. Bjorklund here has delivered hundreds of babies. She is very good at it.
Very
good! You need her help and knowledge just now, and well, I attest
that her home is always open to those who need it. For your wife's sake, Mr. Munro.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. “Aye. Whatever ye say.” He helped his wife to her feet and started her for the house, holding her close.

“Thank you.” Ingeborg smiled at Mr. Munro. She couldn't quit smiling. “It won't be the first baby born in this house, and I hope not the last.”

A life had departed this house.

A life was arriving.

Sudden tears almost buried the smile, but the smile won out.

M
rs. Munro cried out a long groan, stopped, and doubled over. Her knees buckled to the grass.

Trygve stepped forward and scooped her up into his arms. She made a startled noise and flung an arm tightly around his neck.

And Miriam felt a sudden, violent stab of jealousy. Jealousy! How ridiculous! There was absolutely no affection in the gesture, of course. Here was a woman in extremity, hanging on for dear life, being hauled into the unknown. And Miriam was jealous? For shame!

But she could not make the silly jealousy go away.

Trygve marched smartly toward the door, double time. Miriam hiked her skirts and ran ahead to hold the door for him as he carried the woman inside. Ingeborg hustled after them.

As he passed through the door, he muttered, “You know her skirts are wet, don't you?”

“Aye.”

Ingeborg called, “Here comes Astrid!” She hurried inside and turned toward the kitchen.

Miriam continued holding the door as the doctor strode up onto the porch. Good! With two fine baby deliverers here, Isobel Munro had the best care possible.

Miriam followed Dr. Astrid down the hall to the main bedroom.
Trygve came out. “I'll be just outside. Let me know when you need something.”

Dr. Astrid failed to say thank-you, so Miriam did. He smiled at her and left.

Miriam helped Dr. Astrid remove the skirts and petticoat. Mr. Munro knelt beside the head of the bed, and his wife clutched his arm tightly. He looked terrified.

“Have you ever assisted with a home delivery before?” Dr. Astrid asked as she completed her examination.

Miriam shook her head. “That would have been this year, but I am here instead.”

“Tell me what you see.” Dr. Astrid stepped back, so Miriam moved down and made her own examination. “The perineum is bulging. The baby is in the birth canal.”

Ingeborg entered with an armful of sheets and pads and set them on a chair. “I'm putting my instruments on to sterilize. Want me to add yours?”

Dr. Astrid smiled to her mother. “Takk. And would you please set the tea to steeping?”

“It already is.”

Dr. Astrid nodded to Miriam. “Take over.”

Take over!
Who
would ever have dreamed my day would go from riding
the train to handling a delivery?
Nurse Korsheski had been right. She was getting experiences here like she wouldn't have anywhere else. And besides, the doctors here didn't order the nurses around like some of the others, especially Dr. Gutenheimer of Harvard, in Chicago. She'd heard even some slaves were treated better than he did the nurses.

A long throaty groan. The tiny wet-haired head presented. Good! A normal birth.

“Breathe!” Dr. Astrid stroked the woman's shoulder. “Good. Panting is good.

“Miriam, make certain that the pads are positioned properly under her. Good.”

Miriam focused on the emerging baby.

“Massage the perineal tissue to help it stretch. Stroke it outward. You have seen it done. You don't want the perineum to tear. Mrs. Munro, rest as you can, and when it is time to push, breathe and push hard with the contraction.”

“Ah, ah . . .” Mrs. Munro tried to stifle the scream, but it came as a drawn-out wail.

The tiny head emerged and flopped down instantly. Miriam gasped. Did the neck break? Izzie Munro gave one more agonizing push, and the baby slid into Miriam's waiting hands.

“It's a girl. You have a baby girl. Oh, she is so perfect.” Miriam held up the baby by its tiny ankles, her fingers looped tightly, for the infant was so slippery. She patted the soles of her feet smartly.

The baby rattled, sucked in air, and belted out a yell fit to call cows. They all laughed through their tears, and Miriam tenderly laid the squalling infant on her mother's chest while the umbilical cord slowly stopped pumping and lay flaccid.

“Such a wee one,” Izzie Munro purred. She stroked the tiny head, the minute fingers, the cheek. “Diarmid, sae tiny.”

“And sae beautiful,” he murmured. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Miriam tied off the cord and cut it, watching for a moment to make certain there was no leakage.

Dr. Astrid was deeply kneading Mrs. Munro's lower abdomen. “We do this to help the uterus contract more quickly so we have less bleeding and help expel the afterbirth.”

Ingeborg picked up the newborn. “Would you like to wash her?”

“Could I?” Miriam blinked back tears. “I helped birth a baby, and now I get to wash and dress her. I remember when my baby sister, Truth, was born. She was like a doll, she was so tiny. But I took care of her because my mother was too weak.” She looked at Dr. Astrid.

The doctor smiled. “I'll attend the afterbirth and cleaning up.”

Gently Miriam carried the tiny thing to the kitchen. The towels were waiting, the basin filled and ready, the water temperature just right.

Memories rolled over her as she gently washed each tiny finger and toe in the basin of warm water. What was her sister Truth's destiny? What course would her life take? And what would this tiny one achieve? Perhaps they would be great things, magnificent things. After the baby was diapered and fitted with a belly band, then wrapped snugly in a sheet, Miriam brought her back to the bed and nestled her in close beside her mother.

Ingeborg asked, “Mr. Munro, would you like to come to the kitchen for some tea and biscuits?”

“We must be leaving, so ye can have yer peace back.”

“No. She must rest here tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

Miriam smiled. “Believe me, Mr. Munro, you'd be doing Mrs. Bjorklund a great favor in staying. There be more to this than you know.”

He looked at his wife, and their eyes said silent volumes. He stretched over to kiss her forehead and stood erect. “Tea would be lovely.”

He followed Ingeborg to the kitchen.

Dr. Astrid was smiling. “Miriam, you handled the situation perfectly. You're an old hand already.”

“Surely not an old hand, but oh, I got to help my first baby into this world. And that wee one wasn't waiting on anyone. How can I thank you?”

“Believe me, we have all been there, and the awe of this miracle never goes away. I am so grateful there were no problems. Join them and have some tea. Get the details from Mr. Munro for your report.”

Miriam smiled and nodded. “Thank you again.” She walked out to the kitchen.

Mr. Munro looked like a wagon had run over him. Trygve, across the table from him, looked none too happy, and neither
did Manny beside him. Trygve was hard at work on a wedge of apple pie—a quarter of a pie, actually—and Manny was wolfing down a sandwich. Somewhere, Mr. Munro had found the energy to split a biscuit and butter it. He poured a little milk into his tea and added a big spoonful of sugar.

Miriam sat down beside him. “Mr. Munro, this is not your wife's first birthing, is it?”

“Our fourth. Three boys, now this girl.”

“Are the boys here with you?”

“Nay.” He looked infinitely sad. “Our eldest died in a fishing accident two summers ago. He was out in a dory with my cousin Arvid when a squall came up and dashed them on the rocks. Both drowned. This last winter, the fever went through our town with a vengeance. We're from Stornoway, about as far north as ye get in the Outer Hebrides, and we lost the other two, as well as my mother and sister-in-law. Now it was just the two of us again, so I said, ‘It's got to be better than this somewhere, aye?' And we emigrated. First to Nova Scotia, then out to here to find work.”

Manny looked stunned. Miriam felt stunned. To lose his mother, sister-in-law, cousin, and all three children in two years, and to be uprooted, and . . .

Trygve smiled. “Welcome to North Dakota. I hope Blessing gives you rest and prosperity.”

The man smiled suddenly, sat up a little straighter. “Things 're lookin' up already, aye?”

“They sure are.”

Dr. Astrid came out and sat down. “Did Daniel take his mother home?” She poured herself a glass of water.

Ingeborg nodded. “He said he'd come back for you if you wanted.” She put a wedge of pie in front of her daughter without being asked.

“Takk, Mor. No, I'll walk with Trygve and Miriam. Who won the game?”

“The old guys did.” Manny shuddered and shook his head. “Can you believe that?”

“And the final score?”

“Five to three.” Trygve, glum as a grave digger, wagged his head. “We had three innings with no scoring, tied up. And then Father Devlin hit a homer with one on base. End of game. Unbelievable.”

“Who woulda thought some duffer that old could hit so hard?” Manny took the final bite of his sandwich. “And that cow kicked the bucket over for Andrew tonight. I think she was getting even for us being late.”

Ingeborg looked at Dr. Astrid in amazement. “All that was going on when we were in there? I never heard a thing.”

Dr. Astrid smiled. “We were busy, Mor.”

“If there is nothing else to be done, I should probably get back to the boardinghouse.” Miriam fought back a yawn. “I know I'm not on regular duty tomorrow, but I would like to go in and catch up on things, if that is all right.”

“Did you sleep on the train?” Dr. Astrid asked.

“Some, but I think it is catching up with me.”

“Well, the milking is done, so I'm sure Trygve won't mind walking you back, unless you want a buggy ride.”

“Oh no. Walking sounds wonderful. Are the mosquitoes still around?” Miriam tried to hide another yawn. “Sorry.”

Trygve pushed back his chair. “Are you sure you can walk that far?” His grin said he was teasing.

“I'll check our patient first and then I'll be ready.”

“I'll set Mr. Munro up with the cot and check your patient. I'm going to sleep upstairs, so we don't have to disturb them. You go ahead.” Ingeborg gave Astrid and Miriam each a hug. “Just think, we had another baby born here, like you said. We are so very blessed.”

Miriam smiled back. “I'll never forget this.”

“No, you won't. Your first baby will always hold a special
place in your heart. I remember mine, and it was clear back in Norway. Oh, so many years ago. I was in training to be a midwife. That's all I ever really wanted to do.”

“Good night, Tante Ingeborg. Thank you for insisting we have dinner here and the ball game. Some things will never be forgotten.”

“Like Benny riding the horse?” She smiled at Manny. “All thanks to you.”

Manny ducked his chin. “'Twarn't nothin'.” He frowned and his head kept on wagging. “We gotta help that boy.”

Trygve gave Ingeborg a raised-eyebrow look.

Ingeborg asked, “Do you want a lantern?”

“No. There's plenty of moonlight.” He stood up.

“I'd almost forgotten what the moon looked like when I was back in Chicago. You just never notice it much. Or maybe I'm just not usually outside after dark.” Miriam accepted the shawl Ingeborg handed to her. “It's that cold out?”

“The sun goes down and it cools off fast. I'll see you tomorrow. I have errands in town.” Ingeborg paused. “You do a lot of sewing, Miriam. Right?”

“I have, but not lately. At least not since I started nursing school, other than the dress I sewed for myself when I was here. Mrs. Jeffers has a very nice sewing machine.”

“I thought so. Would you like to help me pick out some fabric for Emmy? All her clothes are way too small.”

“I want to go over to the hospital for a while but I would be pleased to help you. I've done a lot of sewing for my sisters.” She paused. “That's what I could do for Christmas—sew a dress for each of them. Surely Mrs. Jeffers would let me use her machine again.”

“If not hers, you are welcome to mine. And since you like to sew, perhaps you might join our quilters. We are meeting this Thursday.”

“Let me see if I'm on days or nights.”

“Of course.” Ingeborg patted her arm. “I hope you enjoy your room at the boardinghouse. I know Sophie and Maisie were fussing to get the furniture in those rooms right away. You know, Sophie thinks the world of you nurses. Maisie too.”

“Maisie . . . Ah. You mean Mrs. Landsverk. See you tomorrow.” A yawn tried to break her jaw again, so Trygve hustled her and Dr. Astrid out the door and made sure they navigated the steps safely. Patches rose from his bed on the porch, stretched, and escorted them partway down the lane before turning back.

Miriam listened as Astrid and Trygve discussed local events before her mind returned to the birthing room and seeing that baby slip right into her hands, hearing her first cry, waving her fists in the water. That baby had studied her face as intently as if memorizing her.

“Can I ask you a question, Dr. Astrid? Trygve, I know this isn't appropriate, but—”

“But things are different here, aren't they?”

She could feel the heat of his arm as he strolled beside her. “Yes, they are.”
Don't think about him. Think about what you
observed
. “The baby seems alert and strong. I don't remember infants being like that in Chicago.”

“You're right. They aren't usually. But think how the women there live. Lack of good food, dirty air, close quarters. Many of the women who come from better districts than the tenements wear corsets, which of course should never be worn by pregnant women. There is no room for the baby to grow the way it should. They are not outside in fresh air, and the more wealth, the more they are encouraged to be fashionable.” She took a deep breath. “Sorry, you got me going.”

“But that makes such good sense. We try to get them to come for checkups, and even though we don't charge if they are poor, it's like . . . like . . .” Miriam raised and dropped her hands. “They don't understand we are trying to help them, I guess.”

“I lost a baby a few days ago over in the tent camp. The
couple waited too long to call me, and she'd not been eating enough—all the problems we are talking about. Mor reminded me that is why education is so important. And the only way we can educate most women is to go directly to them.”