RR05 - Tender Mercies (26 page)

“So Zeb will have a son to carry on the MacCallister name.”

“It could be a girl, you know.” She found herself adding the
you know
like they did up north. So many things reminded her of the northland. “He and Katy adopted the two girls he found in that soddy near the banks of the Missouri River. Manda and Deborah. You’d like Manda, feisty as all get out, and Deborah, so sweet she’d like to break your heart.”

“You’ll be goin’ back then?”

“You could come too.”

He stared out the window. “Don’t know as I can leave this old homeplace. My bones don’t like bein’ cold, and from what I hear, they got a whole passel o’ cold up there.”

“True, and I didn’t feel the worst of it. But that north wind, it like to blow right through you. I heard tell of blizzards that lock folks in their houses for days on end. They string ropes to get to the barn and back without disappearin’ in the snow. You can’t see your hand in front of your face.”

“Ah, yer funnin’ me.”

She raised her hand. “God’s truth. I heard tell more than once.”

“Good thing you come on home then to God’s country.” He headed on out the door. “I better get on with the wood cuttin’. Plowin’s all done fer this year.” He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Ya might want to get on with the apples. She ain’t had the stamina to do much preservin’.”

That night after she’d settled her mother in a bed with clean sheets and pillows fresh from a hanging on the line, Mary Martha took out paper and pen and settled at the kitchen table. The kerosene lamp shed a golden circle on the oilcloth-covered table, and Uncle Jed in his chair whittlin’ away made Dakota seem in another world, another lifetime.

She stirred the ink and dipped her pen.

Dear Zeb, Katy, Manda, and Deborah,

I made it home all right, the trains running fairly close to on time. How we forget the distances between this home and that until we make the trip again. I thank God for trains and also for letting me get off in one piece. Thought for a while I might be shaken to pieces.

She knew Deborah would get a chuckle out of that. How she longed already to hear the girls laughter and watch Manda working with the horses. Had the filly already been taken? So many questions to ask.

Ma is not admitting to any pain, but I can tell. She is so weak, but I think she hasn’t been eating good, and I plan to spoon-feed her myself if I have to.

That’s what she’d done in the afternoon and at suppertime. Her mother had slept through dinner, and Mary Martha didn’t have the heart to waken her. Jed said she needed sleep. He had often heard her up in the middle of the night and came out more than once to find her sitting in the rocker on the porch, just wantin’ to see the sunrise, she’d said, but he figured it was the pain.

Mary Martha didn’t include all of that. No need to make Zeb feel worse than he already did. She continued writing.

The sun is still warm here, and while fall has stolen most of the leaves off the trees, we will go picking hickory nuts and pecans tomorrow before the squirrels get them all. I forgot to tell you that my Christmas presents for everyone are in a box under my bed. Zeb, you will have to ask Penny to tell you when your present arrives.

She thought about the boots she’d had Penny special order for him. She’d drawn around the pair he had patched and patched over the patches to make sure the size was right.

Manda, your present will be coming in the mail, since I had to finish it on the way here.

She looked at the words. She hadn’t been able to write
home. Father, if home isn’t here and I’m not there, where is home? I mean my earthly home. I know you have a mansion there for me. And for Ma.
The thought brought the sting of tears to her eyes.
Please, God, don’t take her yet. She’s not that old, you know. Though I’m sure if I asked her, she’d say heaven is better than here. Am I being selfish?
She added some more news to finish off the page.

Please tell everyone that I miss them, and while I know it is only November, just in case I can’t write soon again, I wish you all the most wonderful of Christmases. Please light an extra candle for me and know that you are in my prayers all the day through.

Your loving sister and aunt,
Mary Martha MacCallister

She signed her name with a flourish and blew on the ink to dry it. She had managed to keep the tear that fell from blotting the paper. Would they think to pass her greeting on to Pastor Solberg? Would it be proper to write to him before he wrote to her? If he wrote to her?

Chapter 21

Blessing, Dakota Territory

“So, we can order my sewing machine now?” Ingeborg asked.

“I guess so.” Penny looked toward the banking room, wishing she had told Hjelmer not to let Ingeborg take any of her money out. Now what could she do? “We need to go back there. That’s where I keep the contracts for the sewing machines.” She pointed toward the area of the store now referred to as the sewing room.

When they sat down to write, she leaped to her feet. “Sorry, I forgot the ink.”
What do I do? I can’t tell her Haakan has ordered one for her, so I can’t order another. And yet, there she sits with the money in hand. Lord above, if ever I needed your wisdom, I need it now
.

The bell tinkled, announcing another customer. “I’ll be back in a minute, Ingeborg. Why don’t you go ahead and fiddle with the machine there. See what it’s like, you know.”

Ingeborg sat down on the stool in front of the machine, and within minutes, Penny heard it whirring away, the ka-thunk of the treadle beating time.

“Now then, what can I do for you?” All the time she was measuring gingham and weighing sugar, her mind kept leaping back to Ingeborg.

By the time she returned, Ingeborg had hemmed four squares of muslin that were to be boardinghouse napkins.

“You know, you ought to keep diaper-sized flannel here to practice on, that way you could be making diapers for Katy’s baby.”

“What a good idea. Now, where were we?”

“The contract.” Ingeborg jingled the leather drawstring purse that Metiz had made for her. She gave Penny a questioning look. “Is there something I am missing here? It seems like you do not want to sell me a Singer sewing machine.” She stroked the smooth metal shape. “I’d take this one right here if I could have it.”

“Oh no. I mean . . . ah . . . I promised Mr. Drummond I would always have one out here for people to try out. Here, you can fill this in.”
She’s going to catch on, and it’s all your fault
. The voice in her head was surely right this time. If she didn’t act excited because she was selling her good friend a sewing machine, Ingeborg would surely catch on.
Oh, Lord, what am I to do with that? You say you know all that goes on with us. Well, this is no joke
.
I cannot tell a lie—that is a sin. And yet I do not want to spoil the surprise either. Please, I need a big helping of wisdom here
.

Ingeborg signed her name and laid down the pen. “There now, how much do I owe you?”

“For the first payment?”

“No, for the whole thing.” Ingeborg slowed her speech as though she was talking with a slow-minded child.

“Oh, that’s right.” Penny looked at the contract and named the figure.

Ingeborg counted out the amount slowly. “There now. You will let me know when the machine arrives?”

“But of course.”

“Bridget is as impatient to get the machine home as I am. Between her and Kaaren and me, it will be running round the clock.” Ingeborg drew her purse closed and got to her feet. “Good-bye and thank you.”

Penny stared after her departing relative. “Uff da. Such messes I get into.”

December blew in along with the first snowfall that more than dusted the ground. This one drifted and kept on coming until over a foot of fluffy white covered the ground. As soon as Pastor Solberg said “Class dismissed,” the children grabbed their coats and ran laughing out the door. Shouts told of the snowball fight that ensued, with shrieks from those victims who took the drubbing.

“I wish Mary Martha could see this.” Pastor Solberg stood at the window and watched. When had he ceased calling her Miss MacCallister? He shook his head. Did it matter? The schoolroom had seemed dimmer than usual ever since she left.

The setting sun reflected red and gold, dazzling in its glory both on the ground and in the heavens. Did they have snow like this where she lived? Silly question. He knew they didn’t.

Why didn’t I say more? Like, please, do you consider me more than a friend? Or, I’m coming to care for our friendship more than . . .
He sighed and shook his head again. Nothing seemed right. But at least he’d said he’d write to her. She would write back, wouldn’t she?

He rubbed the end of his chin with one finger, then nodded and smiled in spite of his gloom. That was it. She couldn’t reject a letter from the students. Tomorrow he’d pass a paper around and let everyone write their own message. Then he could sign it at the bottom.

He banked the fire and, after checking to see that all was clean and put away, took his coat and muffler down from his peg and left the school. Just as he turned to make sure the latch caught, he felt the thunk of a snowball in the middle of his back. But when he spun back around, there was no one in sight.

“You better hide good, cause if I catch you, there’ll be lots of writing on the blackboard.” He waited, recognizing the stifled snort that came from behind the woodshed. Chuckling, he made his way home. He realized that he should shovel a path from the soddy he lived in to the soddy he worked in. Perhaps one of the Baard boys would like an excuse to be outside tomorrow. Or perhaps Baptiste?

The next morning, right after the morning song and the children were settled, he looked over his classroom with a smile. “I have a surprise for you today. If you can get all your work done this morning, then we will have the afternoon to do it.”

“Is it about the Christmas program?”

“Anji, you forgot to raise your hand.”

“Sorry.”

“No, my surprise has nothing to do with the Christmas program, so let’s get to work.” He made the assignments and then motioned the first graders forward to read to him. Every once in a while, he glanced up to check on the bigger children. Swen wore a terribly innocent look. That was always dangerous. He continued looking around the room. Manda wore more of a scowl than normal. Most likely Swen had been teasing her again. How that boy could do it so well without a sound mystified him. Perhaps it was time for another woodpile chat.

Thorliff drilled the Erickson sisters nearly as well as Miss Mac-Callister had.

Why did everything have to come back to her? That was a question he could never answer.

“Did we do all right?” Anna asked much later, after having raised her hand. Dinner pails were stored back on the shelves and woolen coats and scarves shaken free of snow, so the room smelled of wet wool, not the most delightful odor.

“Yes, you did all right. Some of you need to see me privately, don’t you think?” He looked directly at the back row of big boys who suddenly became smaller. “Now, here is the paper. Let’s write a letter to Miss MacCallister.” He held up the largest sheet he had. “How about if we draw a Christmas tree on it?”

The children all nodded their heads excitedly.

“And each of you write Miss MacCallister a message. You older children can help the younger. Make sure you sign your name so she knows you all took part.”

“What about you?” Andrew Bjorklund asked.

Pastor Solberg blinked in surprise. “Why, ah . . .”

“He’s a growed up. He don’t be a kid.” Ellie nudged Andrew with her elbow.

“But he likes Miss MacCallister, I know.” Andrew turned on her, his voice carrying to the corners of the room.

“Thank you for your concern, Andrew. I will sign the picture after everyone else is finished.” He could feel his ears burning, and Mary Martha wasn’t even there. “Now, who shall we have draw the tree?”

“Baptiste. He’s the best drawer in the whole school.” Anji Baard spoke as she raised her hand.

Several others murmured agreement.

“All right. Baptiste, the paper is yours.”

Within minutes Baptiste had drawn a pine tree that filled much of the paper. The children clapped when he stood back and indicated he was finished.

“Did you sign it?” Pastor Solberg asked, every bit as pleased as the children.

Never one to waste words, Baptiste signed his name in cursive, not printing as was his wont.

“Is there anything you’d like to write to Miss MacCallister?”

Baptiste shook his head, handed back the charcoal, and headed for his seat.

“Those of you who aren’t at the paper may read anything you would like. The bookshelves are open, or you may work on the Christmas presents for your folks.” After a brief flurry, the room settled down again, and Pastor Solberg spent the time answering questions, encouraging the slow and cheering on the shy.