[Return To Red River 01] - A Dream to Follow
Page 28
“Come in, Thorliff.” Phillip Rogers set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, stretching his hands over his head. “Good to see you.” He turned his head slightly sideways. “I have a feeling I’m about to hear bad news. What is it?”
“I have to go home. I’m leaving on the train in the morning.”
“Some emergency, I take it?”
“I’m needed there.”
Mr. Rogers waited, obviously hoping Thorliff would say more. “When will you be back?”
Thorliff shrugged. Was he coming back? Could he tell this man such news out of the blue like this? “I-I’m not sure.”
“Will you be back?”
Thorliff ignored the question. “Is it all right if I leave my things here?”
“Yes. This is your home and your place of work. I-I hate to lose you, boy.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. But . . .” Rogers paused. “You’ll let me know right away?”
That night the hours passed slower than a sick centipede. Long before daylight Thorliff gave up and rose. He turned on the gas lamp and set three ads, not noticing that his fingers had indeed grown more nimble. All he could see was that he only got three done and there was a stack yet to do.
Anji, I’m coming. His thoughts ran far faster than his fingers. He packed his valise and headed for the train station before Mr. Rogers arrived. If he was going home, he should be happy, right? But instead he felt that he was standing still, waiting for lightning to strike.
He entered the station and headed for the ticket desk.
“Hey, young man, you’re Thorliff Bjorklund, aren’t you?” the telegraph agent called across the room.
“Ja.” Thorliff turned and headed the other way. What could be the problem?
“Here. This came for you early this morning.” He handed him an envelope.
“Thank you.” Thorliff turned away, ripping the envelope in his haste.
“Dearest Thorliff Stop Do not come home Stop I forbid it Stop I will not speak to you ever again if you do Stop Anji”
Thorliff grunted as if a horse had kicked him right in the belly. He read the words again. They didn’t change. Anji didn’t want his help.
He sank down on one of the polished oak benches, slumping against the curved back. Surely if he went, she would relent.
Anji, how could you write such a thing? I thought that you loved me, needed me. The thoughts pounded so hard his head ached. Elbows propped on his knees, he held his head in his hands. Blessing seemed as far away as the Big Dipper in the night sky. What? Why? How was Joseph? Who was helping Anji? And so soon after her mother died.
Anji, why have you turned me away?
He read the telegram again, then crumpled it in his fist. If she really loved me, she wouldn’t write such a thing. He smoothed the paper against his thigh, pressing out the wrinkles. What kind of a man am I that I—God, help me!
A burn started in his belly. Fine, if she no longer needs me . . . He stared at the brief words again, folded the paper in half and then in half again. On his way out the door, he dropped the paper in the wastebasket.
He strode out of the station, marched to the newspaper office, and entering by the back door, threw his satchel onto the bed. If there is someone else, why didn’t you tell me? The burn flared brighter. Thinking words he knew his mother would not approve of and he didn’t either, he left again and, taking the river track, jogged until he was out of town, then broke into a run. He ran past dry fields with cows grazing on what they could find. He pounded past cornfields that rattled in the dry wind. He ran on and on, trying to outrun the cacophony in his mind. He ran until his lungs screamed for air and the spear in his side doubled him over. When he could breathe again, he sat down against a tree, hugged his knees, and let the tears flow, soaking his pant legs.
Finally the storm passed.
He stared out over his bent knees, upon which rested his chin. So now what? “God,” he said, looking up, “if all this comes from your hands, you must have a plan.” He sniffed and blew his nose on a handkerchief that wore an ink blot.
“I can’t go home. Or won’t go. . . .” His words trailed off. Ah, Anji . . .
Putting his handkerchief back in his pocket, he continued his prayer. “Mor and so many others gave so I could come.” He looked up through the turning leaves. “So I stay.” His hands clenched to fists. “And you will take care of Anji and”—his voice cracked—“those at home.” A sigh let his shoulders slump. “So be it.” He picked himself up and started the long walk back to town.
A church bell chimed the hour. The green haze of the trees of Northfield floated like a gossamer blanket over the town. Up on the hill Old Main, with its clock and bell tower, rose like a medieval fortress above the trees. The dream to come here was real, no longer just a dream or a wish. Now all he had to do was continue to follow the dream God had given him.
That’s all.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his long strides eating up the miles back to town.
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Bestselling Series About Blessing!
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Astrid Bjorklund loves Blessing, the prairie town settled by her family. Yet if she pursues her passion for medicine, will she have to leave her beloved town—and chance for love—behind?
HOME TO BLESSING:
A Measure of Mercy, No Distance Too Far
Facing the untamed but beautiful Red River Valley, the Bjorklund family must rely on their strength and faith to build a homestead. Through the challenges of this difficult land, the Bjorklunds suffer tragedy and loss, but also joy, hope, and a love that continues strong.
RED RIVER OF THE NORTH:
An Untamed Land, A New Day Rising, A Land to Call Home, The Reapers’ Song, Tender Mercies, Blessing in Disguise
As the prairie yields bountiful harvests, the Norwegian pioneers enjoy a measure of prosperity. Now their young daughters are seeking to fulfill their own dreams and aspirations—but each will need faith, courage, and perseverance to find God’s plan for her future.
DAUGHTERS OF BLESSING:
A Promise for Ellie, Sophie’s Dilemma, A Touch of Grace, Rebecca’s Reward
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