A Song of Joy

by Lauraine Snelling

  When she finished reading—longer than she had planned—she went inside. Her next duty in her education regimen was practicing the piano. Maybe Fritz would play tonight. She warmed up with a series of scales as he and Mrs. Potts had taught her. Between the typing and the keyboard, her fingers had grown more and more limber. Turning to her lesson book, she played the songs from the last several lessons, the earlier ones memorized now, she had played them so often. Not so with the most recent two. And the current lesson, although she’d played it every day since he assigned it, still befuddled her. Never had she dreamed she would learn to play the piano. More of those dreams God fulfilled almost before she dreamed them.

  “You are sounding more proficient all the time.” Gertrude sat in a wingback chair and put her feet up on the hassock, something she rarely did.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes, why?” She glanced at her feet. “I know, but I love relaxing like this and listening to you play, especially the songs you have memorized. I telephoned Jane, and she will be coming for supper too. Perhaps we can play a game of cards tonight. This housing project seems to be taking over our lives.”

  “Jeffrey compiled the book order lists for me. Reluctantly, I might add. He would rather we had taken another walk. I thought I’d have Fritz read through it and see if he has more suggestions. I want the books here in time for school to start.” As Nilda spoke, she kept on playing.

  “Jeffrey actually did something useful?” Gertrude groaned. “I’m sorry, that was not necessary.”

  “Well, I for one am extremely happy to have something to do that needs daily work.”

  “So you have an excuse not to go to Minneapolis?”

  “Very astute. That man just will not take no for an answer.” And she plunked a particularly loud chord.

  Chapter

  22

  So, not to be rude, but what brought you back early?” Nilda poured a bit more gravy onto her pork chops and mashed potatoes.

  Fritz shrugged. “I just kept thinking that perhaps I could help here. How did the blessing go?”

  “It raised some interest from the newspaper. A reporter and a photographer were here this morning. They said the editor wanted to run an article about us in the paper this week.”

  “That’s good news.” He cut another bite of his pork chop. “Maybe I came sooner because after being here, I am never content with my own cooking.” He smiled at Nilda. “And then I thought perhaps you might like to do something, the two of us. I’m game to help with any work you have to do.”

  Nilda heard willingness in his voice. No, even better, excitement. She thought of Jeffrey doing a simple chore grumpily. What a contrast. “The paperwork for today is under control, but I should go out to the site and get the hours each man has worked and the records of work performed.”

  Fritz grinned. “I told George not to put my buggy away yet. May I take you out?”

  “That would be lovely.” Her heart sang.

  “But first, these pork chops.” Fritz grinned wickedly as he speared another one onto his plate.

  After dinner, the sky was starting to cloud over as they rode in the buggy out to the construction site. Darkness crept into the white fluffy clouds. Fritz looked up. “Think it will rain?”

  “Quite possibly. Thunderstorms appear out of nowhere in the summer.” What did the builders do when it rained? She had not thought of that. Perhaps she would find out.

  Thor Haglund had seen them coming. Grinning, he came bouncing over to them before Fritz had even stopped the horse. “Fritz Larsson! Welcome!” He certainly had not greeted Jeffrey this enthusiastically.

  Fritz was just as enthusiastic as he pumped the older man’s hand. “What are you doing here, Thor? Showing them how it’s done?”

  “I’m running this show.”

  Nilda smiled. Listen to the pride in his voice!

  “You’re a bit old to be working construction.” Fritz waved an arm toward the half-finished house. “But look at what you all are doing!”

  Mr. Haglund cackled. “Just me and a bunch of young whippersnappers.” He sobered slightly. “My daughter still plays the piano well, Fritz. You taught her to love it, not just play it.”

  “I’m so glad, Thor.”

  Nilda stepped back and followed a short distance behind as Mr. Haglund toured Fritz around the site. Fritz was wearing sturdy shoes, not the flimsy white ones that got all dusty on Mr. Esquire’s feet. She realized that Fritz was probably wearing work boots on purpose. He had said he was coming to help out.

  Nearly all the workmen greeted her as she passed, and she returned their greetings. Where would their work records be? A canopy had been raised on poles at the lot where house number three would someday stand, a sort of makeshift tent. She would try over there.

  Fritz and Mr. Haglund were nodding and talking excitedly, gesturing at various stages of the project. Fritz touched so many lives, not to mention his English classes and organ playing. He was a wonderful credit to any community. She felt very proud to know him, to know his loving aunt, to be a part of his life—of their lives.

  What else did she appreciate about him? No need to think about that very long. His enthusiasm. He taught English quietly and enthusiastically. He played the organ with heart and soul. And look at him and Mr. Haglund now as they scrambled over unfinished walls and squeezed between studs. She was confident that if he lived to a ripe old age as Mr. Haglund was fast doing, he would have the same enthusiasm.

  Thunder boomed and rolled, making her jump. She hadn’t been paying attention to the sky. The world flashed bright as lightning struck close by. Another crack of thunder, and the clouds overhead split open, dumping water by the oceanful.

  “To the tent!” Mr. Haglund called as rain fell so hard you could barely hear over the roar. He started running toward the canopy on lot three.

  Fritz took after him, peeling out of his jacket as he ran. Nilda was a good runner, but she had trouble keeping up. Fritz dropped his jacket over her head and shoulders, hooked an arm behind her, and boosted her along.

  As they ducked under the canopy, Nilda was panting. Some of the workmen joined them, but most simply stayed out in the rain to continue sawing, hammering, and toting lumber.

  A table under the canvas held a couple of water buckets and ladles. A grin split Mr. Haglund’s face as he dipped a ladle into a bucket and extended it toward Fritz. “Water?”

  Fritz was grinning too. “Thanks, but I just had some.” He bent forward and shook his head like a dog. Water droplets flew everywhere.

  Nilda laughed. She was so soaked, the wind was chilling her. Biting down to stop her quivering lip, she dragged Fritz’s jacket closer around her. Thunder cracked again, but not as loud and close this time.

  Fritz pulled her against his side, pressing her against him. He was just as wet, but for some reason she felt warmer. Together they watched the shower spend itself.

  “I hope this doesn’t buckle the new flooring.” Mr. Haglund bounced away even before the rain ended, heading for the first house.

  Nilda looked all around, but apparently the log books were not here. She would come back when Mr. Haglund was not so worried about his flooring.

  Fritz stepped out from under the canvas, and Nilda followed. He pointed. “Now the road graders will know exactly where all the low spots are.” True. Rivulets were coursing down the street, and huge puddles covered parts of it. “Well, shall we return to Aunt Gertrude’s and find some dry clothes?”

  She watched the ruined road for a moment. “Will the buggy make it through this fresh mud?”

  “If it doesn’t, I’ll quickly blame my horse.”

  He gave her a hand up to the seat and climbed in beside her. He clucked to his mare, and she started forward. Keeping her to a walk, he guided the mare to one side, then the other. Clearly, he knew where his wheels were and where the safest route lay.

  “You drive on this half-road as if it were a highway.”

 
; “This horse and I have gone a lot of miles together. A lot of miles.”

  He was pressed against her, or was she pressed against him? It didn’t matter. They were pressed together. She was absolutely soaked, but that didn’t matter. And Fritz didn’t seem to mind at all either.

  When they reached the main street, the surface flattened out, but it was still slippery and muddy. He held the mare to a walk all the way home.

  George must have been watching for them. He greeted them in the drive and held the mare as Fritz hopped to the ground and gave Nilda a hand down. “I figured you’d gotten stuck in the shower,” George said.

  “What was your first clue?” Fritz patted his wet shirt, a slapping sound. “Please don’t wash the buggy. I know you want to. But have it ready for me after breakfast, please.”

  “I shall.” George looked at the wheels, the undercarriage. “Are you certain I shouldn’t wash it, Mr. Larsson?”

  “Positive. If you do, it will only look like this again five minutes down the road.”

  “Very well.” George led the wet horse away.

  Fritz escorted Nilda up onto the porch and paused. They stood facing each other, still close together. Nilda didn’t mind a bit. He broke into a broad smile. “You know, silly as it sounds, that was a lot of fun. Getting soaked and all. I loved it.”

  “So did I.” Her smile matched his.

  His grin faded. He slowly drew closer, as if he wanted to kiss her. Her breath caught.

  Suddenly he stepped back. “Well. We should go dry off before we catch pneumonia.” He opened the door and ushered her inside.

  A moment ago she had felt happy. Why did she suddenly feel cheated?

  The next morning after breakfast, Fritz folded his napkin. “Do you mind if I go over to the building project and see if I can be of help there?”

  Gertrude nodded. “Not at all. I’m sure Thor will be glad to put you to work.”

  With a quick good-bye, Fritz left.

  “Now we find out how good our Fritz is at heavy lifting.” Gertrude smiled as she ordered tea and walked outside to the verandah with a book in hand.

  Nilda returned to her office. She was way behind in the chores she had to get done. This building project was taking far more time than she had anticipated.

  Fritz dragged himself back to the house just in time to get ready for supper. “I’ll be down as soon as I get cleaned up.” Sometimes he took the stairs two at a time. This time he slogged up the steps one by one.

  “Your face is sunburned. You need a hat with a wider brim,” Gertrude called after him.

  He paused on the landing. “At least I don’t have blisters, thanks to the leather work gloves Rune made for me. He sure knows how to do many things.”

  “He used some of the deer hide they tanned.” Nilda sat down to get some practice time in before supper. It didn’t look like Fritz would feel like giving her a lesson tonight.

  The next day he dragged in for supper a little earlier. He washed up and joined Gertrude and Nilda at the table. “Thor allowed me to nail on siding today.” He took several pieces of fried chicken. “Teaching school never prepared me for ten hours of hauling, sawing, and nailing siding. That man is a slave driver. In fact, they all are. Totally devoted to the work. And speedy. Much speedier than I am.”

  “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Gertrude reminded him. “We have plenty for you to do here.”

  “I told him I’d be back tomorrow because I want to contribute something.”

  Nilda peeled the skin off her chicken thigh. The way Cook prepared it was so tasty. “Helping here would be helping behind the scenes. Can you use a typewriter?”

  “A bit.”

  “There’s not a lot of difference between that keyboard and the piano. Once your fingers know the patterns.” Nilda smiled at him. He did indeed look like he’d been worked to the hilt.

  “If I don’t show up for breakfast, send someone to check on me. I might have gone to sleep in the bathtub.”

  “That bad, huh?” Gertrude smirked.

  On Thursday morning he went out to the site. That night he burst through the door. “Have you seen the paper?”

  “In here, and yes, we have it in front of us.” Nilda called from the sun-room. The sound of his excited voice made her smile. She glanced up to see Miss Walstead and Gertrude both wearing a knowing look. “What?”

  They glanced at each other. “Nothing, nothing at all.” They turned back to their newspapers.

  Something was afoot, but what?

  Fritz charged into the sun-room. “On the front page, no less.” For emphasis he slapped the paper he carried, freeing a cloud of dust to drift to the rug. “Oh, oh. Sorry.” He laid the paper down. “That reporter quoted you both, and Thor, and even quotes from others. It’ll be great if other papers pick this up.”

  “Did you see the box on page three?” Nilda flipped the pages. “And we didn’t even ask for this.” A two-column, five-inch box encouraged people to volunteer, to donate, and to make their town proud.

  “I can’t believe this.” Fritz read it again. “I have a feeling that if you thought we were busy before, we’ll all be dancing at high speed tomorrow. Did you give him permission to include your telephone number?”

  “I never dreamed they would do such a grand thing as this.” Gertrude was still shaking her head when the telephone jangled. “We need to send them a thank-you letter or gift immediately.”

  The phone call was someone already promising a donation. Nilda had not had time to set up the ledgers but went ahead and did so while Fritz took over answering the telephone.

  The next day, she let Fritz field all the calls in her office so she could man the donation ledger and start writing thank-you notes.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Fritz answered one caller. “I’m sorry no one offered to help you, but you must be doing well now if you have access to a telephone. Thank you for calling.”

  Nilda felt her eyes widen. “Someone resents others receiving help? I sure hope I don’t know who they are. What a pity.”

  “I guess some people feel that if they made it on their own, others should be able to do the same.”

  Nilda stared at the sheet of paper she was holding. How sad. But the more she thought about it, the less sad and more angry she felt. She looked up to find Fritz watching her. “I hope we don’t have many people feeling that way. I also hope I never learn who it is, because I would want to go . . .”

  Fritz smiled. “Yell at them? Send someone to beat them up?” He got up and wrote the latest donation into the ledger himself.

  “Sorry. I got carried away.” She reached for the telephone when it jangled again, sucking in a deep breath before saying hello.

  “Nilda, this is Jeffrey. I’ve not been able to get a call through for hours.” He sounded out of sorts, maybe even angry.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to keep this line clear. We are having a major response to the article about our housing plan in the paper, and we don’t want to miss those calls. I’m sorry, Jeffrey, but I can’t talk right now. Good-bye.”

  He was saying good-bye in an angry, pouty way as she hung up.

  Fritz sat down beside the phone. “I get the idea he is being . . . hmm, how should I put it?”

  “Persistent. Stubborn. Has no real idea of what we are doing. Cannot think of anyone but himself. Any of those fit?”

  Fritz shrugged. “Probably all of them. But you have to understand, Nilda, that is the way he was raised. He has never gone without anything he needed, although he probably did not get everything he wanted.”

  She shook her head. “We have a meeting here Saturday morning. When do you plan to leave?”

  “I’ll go after the meeting, and I’ll be back late Sunday afternoon.”

  She found herself grinning. “Thank you. We so appreciate your help.”

  Why was she grinning so broadly? Because Fritz was . . . Fritz was . . . here.

  When the committee convened i
n the Schoenleber dining room on Saturday morning, Fritz chose to go out to the site to paint. He seemed to be enjoying this new life of a tradesman. Nilda and Mr. Haglund gave their reports of the accomplishments so far.

  “All you need to do is visit the site, and you’ll see my report.” Mr. Haglund nodded at the others around the table. “The men have been sleeping in the first house with breakfast served there by the church. We have our crew of ten, but there have been plenty of volunteers, so all of the sites are cleared to begin raising the houses. We could proceed further, but we agreed to work on a cash basis. There is almost enough cash in the account to pay for the lumber for the second house, so we went ahead with it.”

  Nilda reported, “I have pages documenting the donations for those in the houses. We’re storing the donated furniture in the carriage house here. The women of the Catholic church and the Brethren congregation are sewing pallets that they will stuff with corn leaves and husks or hay, so hopefully everyone will have a bed to sleep on. The list goes on and on, and I am most grateful. But there is a problem: We do not have anyone stepping up to sponsor the building of another house.”

  Mr. Haglund raised a hand. “I’ve been pondering this, and I think the fault lies in our including supporting the family through the winter as part of the package. What if we divided the need into three sections? The lumber, the rest of the materials for building, and providing food as needed.”

  Mr. Amundson nodded. “I think you’re right, Thor. We were hoping for a package deal, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Can we publicize the change?”

  “I will take care of that,” Reverend Holtschmidt volunteered.

  “I’ll help you,” Homer Blanding, owner of the grocery store, said.

  “Everyone agree?” Nilda asked, grateful when they all nodded.

  By the meeting the following week, Nilda was pleased to report that three established immigrant families in Bemidji had banded together to pay for both the lumber and the supplies for one house.

  “I hope this stands as an example and a challenge,” Nilda added. “How wonderful.”