A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Nilda, look at me. You were businesslike, and that is acceptable. I have a feeling, though, that the more you put him off, the more determined he will be to pursue you.”

  “Perhaps we can encourage him to spend time with Mrs. Amundson’s niece. She is from a wealthy background too. Isn’t she a socialite?”

  “Yes, from someplace back east. I think her father or mother insisted she spend time here with her aunt.”

  “The plot thickens. Can we stir things up a bit?”

  “Why, Nilda Carlson, you astound me.” Mrs. Schoenleber pretended to be fluttering a fan.

  Monday rolled around even faster because Nilda spent most of the days in between researching purchasing books for the school libraries and writing letters for the Assist Blackduck Project, as she had taken to calling it. They now had the land, and her list of donors was growing, albeit slowly. She stared out the window. Perhaps she could talk Jeffrey into contributing sufficiently for the materials for one house if she agreed to name it after him. The Jeffrey Schmitz House. Put names on all the houses. She jotted down a note to remind herself.

  “Dinner is served, miss.”

  “Thank you, Charles, I’ll be right there.” She stopped to wash her hands on the way and paused when she entered the dining room. “Why, Mr. Haglund, I . . .”

  “I asked Gertrude if I could join you for dinner, as my cook is not feeling well and I told her to take a few days off to get better.” He rose as he spoke and came around the table to seat her. “Please don’t be offended.”

  “I am certainly not offended, sir. I’m just sorry I didn’t think of it when you asked for a meeting with us. Thank you.” She smiled up at him. “I’m glad you are here.” She knew she was not just being polite. While she’d heard that Mr. Haglund was basically a recluse, she wondered what his story was. Everyone in this town seemed to have some mysterious story.

  The conversation was relaxed and pleasant as they finished their meal and adjourned to the verandah for coffee and dessert.

  “Ah, so much better than what my housekeeper would put on the table.” Mr. Haglund inhaled and breathed out gently. “Whenever I come here, I feel the worries sloughing off and peace taking their place. So let’s talk about why I requested this meeting.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands relaxed. “I’ve been thinking about what you are trying to do to help make Blackduck a better place to live. I believe that since the growth of Blackduck is due to logging, those of us who have benefited from the industry need to step up and pay something back. Folks helped me when I was new, and now I have the wherewithal to help others.”

  Nilda smiled. “I too am an immigrant, of course, a very recent one, who would not be here were it not for relatives who needed help.”

  “You set my mind to thinking about these things. And for that I will always be grateful.” His smile made her feel warm all over. “My ten-acre parcel is just off Morris Avenue on the edge of town. I assume the houses should be rented, as we have said, with the residents being encouraged to purchase the home and settle here. Some loggers will move on to where there are still trees to cut, but I hope some will want to live here. They are industrious people. We need industrious people. And we need to have places for people to work. I have some ideas for that too.”

  “You’re full of ideas today, Thor. What a pleasure to hear you.” Mrs. Schoenleber poured him another cup of coffee.

  He leaned against the back of his wrought-iron chair. “How about we drive out and see exactly what we’re talking about? I am having the deed drawn up, but at this point, who is in charge?” He looked to Nilda. “You and Reverend Holtschmidt, is that correct?”

  Nilda smiled. “Yes, although until right now, there was nothing to be in charge of. We have a list of people who have agreed to donate a certain amount, and thanks to you, we can spend the money on housing instead of land. Mrs. Schoenleber and I talked about hiring lumberjacks in the off-season and letting their labor count toward their house, so many dollars per day.”

  Mr. Haglund nodded, smiling. “I was thinking that as well. So they need to be recruited and organized, with someone overseeing the clearing of the land, measuring the plots, and running the construction crews. Would you mind if I took on part of that load? I haven’t forgotten how to work and how to make others work.”

  Nilda and Mrs. Schoenleber stared at each other, then at him. “Are you serious?”

  “You doubt me?” He looked ten years younger. “Gertrude, let’s you and I meet with Ellis Carnes tomorrow. I will write up some ideas tonight and bring them along. But right now, you get George to harness up that team, and we’ll go visit the site of future houses.” He smiled at Nilda. “I never have been a patient man. When I get an idea, I want to get to work on it.”

  “I can see that.” Nilda stood up and took the arm he held out to her. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “I don’t know about the kind part, but right now I think you’ve given me a new lease on life. And for that, I am grateful.” He patted the hand tucked around his arm.

  Nilda swallowed and sniffed. But I didn’t really do anything. He came to us with the ideas. All I’ve wanted is to help some of those less fortunate. And to make Blackduck an even better place to live.

  He helped Mrs. Schoenleber and then Nilda into the victoria before climbing in himself. “Thank you, George. Just go north on Main Street, and I’ll tell you where to go. Should we stop by the bank and kidnap Mathew Amundson? He will have some good suggestions, I’m sure.”

  “If you wish. Good thing George brought the larger carriage.”

  They waited outside the bank while Mr. Haglund went striding in, and in a few minutes, came striding out with Mr. Amundson in tow.

  “Did you send this crazy man in to fetch me?” the banker asked Mrs. Schoenleber as he settled into the seat across from her.

  She raised her hands. “I’m innocent. This was all his idea.”

  “Well, if I am to be a part of this, I’d like at least to have a general idea of what is going on.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber nodded toward Nilda, so she explained. “You know that since the dinner meeting at our house, I’ve been collecting pledges from people that will be due when we are ready to start building. Mr. Haglund came to dinner today, and we are going to examine the piece of land that he will donate.”

  “It’s unencumbered, right? You own the title free and clear?”

  “Now, why would I try to give something away that I didn’t own?” Mr. Haglund adopted a pained expression.

  Nilda bit back a giggle by clearing her throat.

  The carriage rolled through town and out a rutted backstreet.

  Nilda explained, “According to the plan, we will have half-acre lots so that the people could have a garden, maybe a small barn or shed for chickens and a cow. So they can feed their families.”

  “That is some good thinking.” Mr. Haglund nodded. “Very good. We’ll need space for streets, of course, possibly a community well.” He leaned forward. “Right up there on the left; stop here, George.”

  They sat in the carriage and stared at the woodland beside them. Maple trees, a few young pines, birch, and tall beech, with lots of brush covering the ground. Birds must have been nesting all over. Listen to their music!

  “It would be nice if we could leave those deciduous trees and build around them, the maples especially,” Mr. Haglund mused.

  Mr. Amundson was nodding. “Have you had it surveyed?”

  “An old survey, but I’ll have them plat it out into lots. We’ll need to clear roads. That’ll cut into the lot sizes.”

  Mr. Amundson sat back. “You know, we’re going to have to cajole the town council into improving this road. It would be nice if they would grade the streets, but we may have to do that ourselves. It will add to the cost.”

  “Perhaps we could put the houses closer together, maybe in pairs,” Nilda suggested. “It would be a better use of the land.”

  “Miss Carlson has a good tho
ught. Leave enough land for gardens, maybe a barn, but build them close together.” Mrs. Schoenleber scowled. “You said a community well. Has anyone dowsed this parcel yet?”

  “Not yet,” Mr. Haglund replied. “And where the well is situated will affect the whole plat.”

  “Who’s going to build these houses?” Mr. Amundson asked.

  “A crew of temporarily out-of-work loggers and me.”

  “You! But you’re an old man.”

  Mr. Haglund’s eyes turned steely. “Be careful how you talk. You might have to eat your words.”

  “Sorry, that slipped out, but . . .” Mr. Amundson wisely shut up.

  Nilda suppressed a snicker. She noticed that Mrs. Schoenleber appeared amused too.

  Mr. Haglund bobbed his head. “We will be in your office tomorrow morning to sign the paperwork, so we’d best get on it.”

  “I can’t have it all ready by then. It’s closing time as is. My secretary has already left.”

  “Very well. Day after tomorrow. But I want to get going on this. Winter will be here before we know it.” Mr. Haglund sat back in his seat with a happy smile on his face.

  They dropped Mr. Amundson off at the bank, and George set the team to a smart trot back home.

  “I think I’ll go talk to Mueller at the lumberyard,” Mr. Haglund said. “You said he had plans that could be used.”

  “But first the land will have to be cleared.” Mrs. Schoenleber echoed Nilda’s thoughts.

  “I know. I’ll have the surveyor stake out both the lots and the houses. That way we can clear it down to the dirt where the houses will be. I’ll talk to him about foundations too.” He stepped out and helped the ladies down. “Thank you for a most exciting day.” He turned to George. “Drop me off at the lumberyard, and I’ll call my driver to come pick me up.”

  “I can wait for you, if you like, and take you home.”

  “It might be quite a while, but thank you.”

  George frowned. “Mr. Haglund, I don’t want to butt in, but are you certain? I mean, you’ll be taking on quite a lot, and . . .”

  Mr. Haglund clapped him on the upper arm. “Thank you for being concerned, but I feel like I’m starting a whole new life. This might be the best thing to have happened to me in ages.” He climbed back up in the victoria. “Let’s get over there before Mueller closes the gates.”

  Nilda watched them leave from the front entry. Mr. Haglund felt he’d received a new life. She felt like she’d been caught up by a cyclone and was still spinning.

  Chapter

  17

  They signed the paperwork the moment it was ready. There was Nilda’s signature under Reverend Holtschmidt’s, as if she, a simple immigrant farm girl, were in the same social circle as these august men, community leaders. And yet, in a way, she was. She thought about Jeffrey’s single-minded attention to social status. She liked this status, earned by hard work, much more.

  “The surveyors will be out there tomorrow, and Mueller and I are arguing over the house designs, so I will bring copies of the two we like best over for you to make the final decision.” Mr. Haglund looked right at Nilda.

  “Ah, the reverend is truly in charge of this project.”

  “But you are making remarkably accurate estimations,” Mrs. Schoenleber said. “We will all be making these decisions, or rather all of us and Mathew at the bank, but you should be the spokesperson, since this whole thing is really your idea.”

  But I’m too young and inexperienced for such a role.

  You have wise counselors in these three, so do not be afraid. The voices in her head often did nothing more than cause confusion.

  “But I have no money to work with here,” Nilda protested. “You are the people with the money.”

  “And we are trusting you to use it wisely.” Mr. Haglund smiled at her, his face livelier than she had ever seen. Not that she’d seen him that often, but that day of the first meeting, he’d seemed like more of a recluse or someone who felt used up and no longer useful.

  When Nilda and Mrs. Schoenleber returned home, Cook sent out tea, and they took it in the library, where Nilda’s desk was split in half—one side for the housing project and the other for books for school libraries. The typewriter sat on the low stand George had built for it, so all Nilda had to do was turn her chair and she could begin typing—something at which she was gaining proficiency, just like she was at the piano. She practiced faithfully on both every day.

  Nilda said, “I have spoken with the head of Blackduck School and have asked that he and Fritz compile a list of books he thinks should be available.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber sipped from her teacup, holding the saucer in her other hand. “I’ve been thinking. Since you are the one who uses the telephone the most, ours should be in here for you. I believe there are telephones on every desk at the head office in Minneapolis—new ones that don’t require winding a crank like the one in the hall. Please look into that, and we will put one here in your office as soon as possible. I do fear, however, that if my brothers learn of this, my limited accessibility will be a thing of the past. Letters will no longer suffice.”

  Nilda dunked her cookie in her tea. They were better dunked in coffee, but she never mentioned that. It would be just one more thing for Cook to see to. “You remember we are committed to join Mrs. Amundson for tea this afternoon.”

  “Would that I could forget. On another subject, can you believe the change in Thor Haglund? He figures he is having the time of his life, and I tend to agree. Why, he rolled right over Mathew’s objections this morning. And since between the two of us we might own a good portion of the bank’s assets, Mathew felt a mite out-voted.” Mrs. Schoenleber tipped her head back, still nodding. “I think this might be very good for Mathew, not being in control for a change.”

  “The mail is here,” George announced from the doorway. Mrs. Schoenleber motioned him in.

  As Nilda leafed through the little clutch of letters, Mrs. Schoenleber asked George, “I am thinking of taking Bernice a bouquet this afternoon. What flowers do you not mind parting with?”

  “We still have some roses. The peonies are showing color, but I think it’s too early to cut them. Most of the annuals aren’t blooming yet, so all we have right now are daisies.”

  “Let’s do what roses we have and use daisies as fillers. Put them in a bucket, and then Nilda can arrange them in a vase just before we leave.”

  “That won’t leave much for the house here, madam.”

  “What we have should suffice until the peonies are ready.”

  “As you say.”

  Nilda knew that any time George became formal, it meant he was not pleased with the situation. She laughed inside, which was difficult to keep off her face. She made herself read the page in her lap so he would not recognize the mirth in her eyes. He was a very perceptive man.

  “I could have cut them,” she reminded Mrs. Schoenleber.

  “I know, but we are busy here, and we should have had them cut early this morning. They won’t last as long now.”

  “Why are you taking her flowers, anyway?”

  Mrs. Schoenleber pondered a long moment. “Because I don’t like her very much.”

  Nilda blinked and made a questioning face. “Does she know you don’t much care for her? I’m sorry, but I am now thoroughly confused.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber sat up straighter, if that were possible, and huffed a sigh. “Let’s just say it makes me feel better.”

  Nilda started to say something but rolled her eyes instead. She pulled her calendar book out from under some papers. “All right, we have the tea this afternoon and Mr. Haglund is coming for supper. I plan to work in here all Wednesday and Thursday, then Mr. Schmitz arrives on Friday, and the social is in the afternoon and evening of Saturday. Fritz said he would beg out of playing the organ on Sunday or leave at the crack of dawn—well, not quite, but in time to get ready for church on Sunday.”

  So instead of enjoyable time with Fritz and Ivar a
nd Bjorn, I will be entertaining His Highness. She’d not referred to him that way with his aunt, and she clamped her teeth shut. While she’d not said anything, she might have been thinking loudly. And as Miss Walstead often said, “Sarcasm does not become you.”

  “Thank you in advance for Jeffrey’s visit,” Mrs. Schoenleber said. “As you already know, he can be charming, so perhaps you will find yourself having a good time. And perhaps on Monday we can show him what is happening on the housing issue. By the way, perhaps you might steer the niece today in the direction of the Young Ladies of Blackduck group, or the YLB, I think they’re calling themselves. Miss Lucinda might find some friends there.”

  After dinner, they both went up to their rooms to lie down for a bit and then get dressed to go visiting. They met downstairs at the appointed time, Nilda arranged the flowers in the vase with very little water, and after George helped them into the buggy, Charles set the vase of flowers on Nilda’s lap.

  “Don’t worry. Unless we hit a deep pothole, I will be fine.” Nilda tipped her head down to sniff the roses. “So lovely. Thank you, George, for cutting them.” She looked up at George, who was now on the driver’s seat. “And thank you for growing them and maintaining a yard that makes others jealous.”

  He grinned over his shoulder. “Thank you, miss.”

  Mrs. Schoenleber smirked. “Bernice tried to entice George away from my employ a couple of years ago. She has a hard time finding and keeping good help.”

  “And George has been with you how many years?”

  “Since we moved into this house, I believe. Let’s see . . . George, when did you come to work for us?”

  “Must be fifteen years now. I know, it was summer of ’95. They’d finished building the house, carriage house, and stables that spring, and the family had just moved in.”

  “We’d lived there a little over a year when the accident happened. I was recovering from some malady, or I would have been with them.” Mrs. Schoenleber stared down at her lace-gloved hands. “For a long time, I wished I had been.”