From This Day Forward

by Lauraine Snelling

  “He fell when he was playing,” Astrid told him. “I don’t know how bad for sure, but the skull palpates solid, so it is a flesh wound. Head wounds bleed a great deal. I need you to help hold him down. He is mighty strong and not cooperating. I need to clean the site, shave it, and stitch it closed. We might have to sedate him. I wanted you to know all this before we start the treatment.”

  Thorliff stopped by Thelma’s side. “Here, let me hold him.”

  He started to take his son, but Roald shrieked, “No, Pa! Want Ma.”

  “Roald, I will hold you so Tante Astrid can make you better.”

  Roald arched his back and reached for Thelma, screaming, “Ma!”

  Thorliff clamped his jaw.

  “Let him be for the moment,” Astrid said in a calming voice. “We’re going to lay him back down on the table, and Thorliff, if we need to, you lie across him to hold him down. Thelma will hold his head. Or we can sedate him.”

  Thorliff shook his head. “Let’s try this.”

  “I need you to scrub and put on one of the aprons to cover your clothes so we can keep this clean.” She glanced at his shirt speckled with sawdust. “I’m going to give him a bit of laudanum to help him relax, but it won’t put him under.” She turned to Deborah. “Bring us some juice please. Just a bit.”

  While waiting for the juice, Astrid handed Thorliff an apron and indicated the basin.

  “You need to scrub your arms too.” Astrid looked at his hair now that his felt hat was hanging on a peg by the door. “How about just wiping that wet cloth over your head and face? The apron will cover the rest.”

  Thelma got Roald to drink the juice, and within a couple of minutes, the little boy’s eyes drifted closed.

  “Here we go. Lay him down, Thelma, and hold his head to the side so I can work on the wound. Thorliff, be ready to lie across him. But first hold his hands with one hand and his feet with the other. We’re going to work as fast as we can.”

  She removed the dish towel and dropped it in the basin on the floor just for that purpose. Using a sterile cloth, she washed the blood out of Roald’s hair. Blood welled up out of the wound, so she pressed a sterile pad against it. “Scissors, please, so we can cut the hair away. I’m afraid he might jerk when I am shaving and . . .” She started trimming. Roald convulsed and whimpered again. Thelma started singing to him, a little song she had taught Inga first and now Roald.

  Once the hair was clipped, Astrid studied the laceration. “We need some ice in here. I am going to sponge it with cocaine, and that can hurt, but then it will go numb. Be prepared.”

  Roald arched his back and ripped his arms and feet out of his father’s hands. Thorliff muttered something and threw himself over his son’s small body, effectively pinning both arms and legs.

  Astrid let the blood flow a bit, giving the cocaine time to work. “They developed a new topical that is less toxic, procaine, but I haven’t been able to afford it.” She picked up her threaded needle. “This shouldn’t hurt, but he may think it does.” She put in six small, neat stitches, with both she and Thelma crooning to the blubbering child. When she had them in place and the bleeding stopped, she covered it with another sterile cloth and rested the ice pack against it.

  “All right, we can relax for a bit now. I just have to bandage him, and that won’t hurt.” She patted his little chest. “Good boy, Rolly. I’m going to give you a big bandage all around your head.”

  “No!” He reached for Thelma again, never even looking at his pa.

  Astrid looked at Thorliff, however, to read anger in his eyes, even though he schooled his face to a bland expression. So who is he angry at? His son? Thelma? Me? Or does he realize he brought this upon himself? She doubted the latter.

  With Roald sitting up, groggy but easier to bandage, Astrid did exactly that. Once the pad was wrapped in place, she looked at Roald. “Now, you have to leave that in place until I take it off. You hear me?”

  He nodded.

  She tipped up his chin to check his eyes again. No sign of concussion. “He’s probably going to have a headache, so if you can keep him quiet this afternoon, he should be fine. But you’ll hear plenty if he bangs it again. Bring him back immediately if he starts to act strangely or doesn’t wake up from his nap. He might be mopey from the medication, but he might not be. Bring him back to see me in a week, and we’ll decide then when to remove the stitches. Any questions?” She looked to Thorliff first, then Thelma. They both shook their heads.

  Thorliff stepped forward to pick up his son, but Roald reached for Thelma. “Ma.” He raised his arms to be picked up. When his pa picked him up instead, he started crying again, small fists rubbing his eyes. “Ma, Ma,” he called between sobs. Without a word, Thorliff stomped from the room with his son, Thelma following after one last look at Astrid.

  Do I talk to him now or later? If he lays into Thelma because this little guy is calling her Ma, I swear I will take a two-by-four to him.

  How to approach this? The puzzle consumed her all day.

  Finally Miriam came in to take over the night’s duties. Astrid briefed her on the day’s activities—patient needs were so light, it did not take long—and left.

  But she did not go home. She did not go to Thorliff’s house. She went to his office, and there he was, hunched over his desk, with a pencil and paper in his hands. She entered without knocking.

  He snapped his head around to stare at her. “Is Roald . . . ?”

  “I presume he’s all right; haven’t heard. I’ll stop by there on my way home.”

  He grunted and turned back to the figures on the paper. “Good.”

  “Obviously, you have not been home since he hurt himself.”

  “I’m very busy.”

  “So I see.” She took a deep breath. “Thorliff, I could tell you were really angry today, but I wasn’t sure if it was directed toward Roald or Thelma.”

  “Look, Astrid, this is none of your business.” Thorliff pretended to be working. He wasn’t, and that was obvious. He wrote something unintelligible on the paper.

  “That’s my nephew I treated today, not just your son. Yes, it is my business. I’m sorry you feel that way, but you are my brother, and that makes us family, and our family takes care of each other. But Roald calling Thelma Ma was not her fault. I have heard her saying her name to him and making him say Thelma, but she is the one raising him. You are never there.”

  “I never said it was her fault.”

  “Well, you sure acted that way in the surgery. The looks you gave her could have sizzled her hair.”

  “No. You’re imagining things. I was . . . Look, I’m very busy. Please leave.”

  “Not until you leave also and go home to your children. They need you.”

  He turned slowly and his eyes frightened her. They were dark and sunken, and they crackled with anger. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

  “And sleep,” she added. “You haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

  He straightened his arms on his desk and leaned forward. “You are not my supervisor; you are not my conscience or my guide.” His voice was rising. “You do not belong here at all. Leave.”

  Her voice was rising too. “I don’t think you realize what you are doing to your children. You are so tied up in your own grief, you can’t see that you’re neglecting them, and they’re grieving too, especially Inga. Thorliff, those two children need their father. They need you right now!”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about, so take your advice and go home.”

  “Oh, I think I do. I have eyes to see with. Roald calls Thelma Ma, because that’s who he sees all the time. He’s too little to remember Elizabeth clearly, but he’s big enough to know he needs a mor. Inga needs you too. She knows she lost her mother, and she might just as well not have a father either. It makes her grief all the worse.”

  “Well, her father has two businesses to run and—”

  “And he works until he collapses. How many
nights have you spent out here because you fell asleep on your desk?” She knew she’d hit home with that one.

  His eyes flared and then narrowed. “Astrid, leave now!”

  “Thorliff, being pigheaded isn’t going to help!” She was shouting now, and she knew shouting wouldn’t work, but she couldn’t help it.

  He stood up so suddenly she took a quick step back. He extended his arm, pointing at the door, his whole hand trembling. “Out! Now!”

  “Thorliff, think! You can’t—”

  “Now!” His teeth were clamped so hard the word hissed between them. The red in his face flamed even more.

  Astrid was shaking now herself. She walked to the door and turned to look over her shoulder. Sorrow invited anger in. “Of all the stubborn, asinine—Thorliff Bjorklund, you don’t deserve the two precious children you have! Take your eyes off yourself and think of them!”

  Glaring venomously at her, he snatched up a paperweight.

  Without waiting to see if her brother really would have thrown it at her, she left, slamming the door behind her. She was sobbing, and that never won arguments either. She stood for a moment, sucking in barrels of soft evening air. It did not cool her rage. How could he abandon his own children like that? She thought again of Rolly turning away from him, screaming.

  And Thorliff himself was suddenly acting like a stranger. Never had she seen such fury.

  She walked to the end of the block, trying to pull herself together, then started home. She was still trembling a little and so angry she could not think. She stomped up the steps and into her own house.

  Daniel was sitting in one of the cushioned chairs on the back porch. He twisted to look at her. His mouth dropped open and he leaped to his feet. “Astrid, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  “Because as far as I’m concerned, Thorliff is no longer a brother of mine!”

  Chapter 10

  We’ll have rounds in about ten minutes,” Deborah whispered to Miriam. While the two of them weren’t usually on duty at the same time, today Miriam had waited to see what would be needed.

  Astrid entered the building and headed down the hall. Deborah followed her into the office and closed the door behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  Astrid hung her hat on the wall peg and reached for an apron. “You aren’t supposed to be so perceptive. I thought I was dealing with this off duty.”

  “No one else would know.”

  “No? Both my husband and my mother-in-law saw it immediately too.” As Astrid sank into her chair, she rubbed her forehead.

  “Headache too. Just tell me so we can pray about it and go out on the floor ready to treat our patients with all your usual calm.”

  “I attacked Thorliff about his children after I left here yesterday.”

  “Attacked? That’s rather a strong word.”

  “That’s the way he saw it. And he’s probably right.” Astrid raised her eyes. “You saw it yesterday. He’s destroying his son.”

  Please, Lord, help us and bring Ingeborg or Pastor Solberg here. Deborah blew out the breath she’d been holding without being aware. “I saw that he was terribly hurt yesterday when Rolly turned to Thelma.”

  “And called her Ma. But what does he expect? He’s not done a thing to help that baby, let alone Inga. She gets all her help at Mor’s, or what she can.”

  “I agree. But right now we need to pray about all this and know that our Father is handling this.” Like He does everything.

  Astrid stared at her friend, head nurse, administrator—all the roles that Deborah felt herself stepping into. “When did you get so wise?” The slight stutter on the words revealed more than what she said.

  “I have several good teachers. I asked for Him to send one or the other of them here.”

  Astrid’s eyes widened just slightly. She sniffed and dug a square of muslin out of the drawer to blow her nose. “Let’s pray.” She closed her eyes, sniffed again, and heaved a leaden breath. “Dear God, Father, Jesus, Holy Spirit. Oh, please help me.”

  Deborah reached across the desk and clutched Astrid’s hands. “Lord God, you know our hearts, our breaking hearts. Only you can love Thorliff and those children more than we do. How to help Thorliff is so far beyond our capabilities. All we can do is leave it with you, and that is so terribly hard.” She mopped her own eyes.

  “Help, Lord. Oh, help. Mor would say, ‘Trust Him,’ and I know that, but . . . I . . . I don’t think I really know how.”

  “Repeat with me: ‘Lord, I trust you.’ Now, Astrid, say it. ‘Lord, I trust you.’” Deborah squeezed her hands. “Now!”

  “Lord, I . . . trust . . . you.”

  “Louder! ‘Lord, I trust you.’”

  Astrid glared at her. Deborah felt it as well as saw it. “Lord, I trust you!”

  Deborah fought to hide the grin tickling her mouth. “All right. Now we dry our faces and go out there on His strength, because He sure is with us.” She blew out a breath as she stared around the room, fully expecting to see Jesus standing right beside Astrid’s shoulder. Lord God, I’ve never experienced anything quite like this before. She blew her nose, wiped it, and stood, watching Astrid do the same.

  Astrid took a deep breath and pulled herself straighter. “Ready?”

  “Yes, the clipboard is out on the desk. Miriam is still here, so we are all set.”

  “Are my eyes red?”

  “A bit, but we will do this.” Thank you, Lord. Deborah took the few steps needed to open the door and ushered Dr. Astrid ahead of her, both of them with not quite smiles but no more tears.

  “Good morning,” Astrid said to Miriam. “Thank you for waiting.”

  Deborah joined in the greeting and picked up the clipboard. “Our boy with the broken leg is asking when he can go home. Or at least his mother is.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Dr. Astrid greeted the boy’s mother and smiled down at the sober child. “I heard you walked with crutches yesterday.”

  He nodded.

  Deborah wondered if the boy would ever talk to them. She knew he could, because she’d seen him talking with his family. Inga and Emmy, she thought. That was what this boy needed. Her mind flashed back to Inga and Benny at the window when Manny wanted nothing to do with anyone in Blessing. He had been one hard shell to crack, but those kids did it. She jerked herself back to the bedside, scribbled a note on the paper clipped to the chart, and watched Astrid gently feeling the leg as they kept a close eye on the child’s face for any pain reaction.

  “Did it hurt yesterday when you walked?”

  “He not put the foot on floor.”

  The nurses and Astrid all smiled at the boy’s mother. She was taking the English class with Amelia Jeffers, and it was obvious. All the immigrants were taking the language classes, and this family had only arrived in Blessing last year. “Today we will remove the traction,” Astrid explained slowly, so Mrs. Chikachev could understand her, “and your Sergei can rest his foot on the floor—not stand on it yet, but balance. Keep using the crutches.”

  “I think we need to bring Emmy and Inga in to read to Sergei this afternoon. They can play down at the end of the hall.” Deborah motioned to the opposite end, beyond the private rooms.

  “Good idea. Any questions?” Astrid looked to the mother, who flashed her a smile, shaking her head.

  By the time they finished the rounds of their six patients, the first appointment was waiting to see Dr. Astrid. Many of their patients were from the countryside surrounding Blessing, some like this one five miles away or more.

  Deborah sent Miriam and the other night nurse home to sleep and gave the orderly instructions to bring the breakfast trays out. Despite the hard beginning for the morning, the day swung into normal hospital motion. She glanced up from writing on the charts at the front desk when she heard the door open and Reverend Solberg’s cheery greeting.

  Thank you, Lord, she whispered inside around the grin that leaped to her face. “Good morning, sir, so good to see you.�
�� When he stopped at her desk, she slipped out of her professional nurse persona for just a moment, leaned across, and whispered, “How did you know to come now? You usually come in the afternoon. Thank you, Pa.”

  He patted her hand. “Private messenger.” He glanced around. “Looks pretty normal to me. What was the emergency?”

  “Not a physical one, more emotional.” She nodded toward the exam room.

  “Astrid?”

  “And me. Please talk with her when you can.”

  “Can you give me a clue?” He leaned over to sniff the opening roses on the counter. “Bless Amelia.”

  She gave him a three-sentence description of the day before.

  “It’s been coming and was much needed,” he said.

  “I’m calling the young troops in to help our boy over there.”

  “Ah, Inga and Emmy to the rescue.” He grinned. “Wise.” He left her and moved off to greet the patients and family members.

  Deborah cranked the telephone and answered the cheery good-morning of phone company manager Gerald Valders with a request for Ingeborg’s.

  After the greeting, Ingeborg asked, “How soon do you want them?”

  “You read my mind. How about after dinner?”

  “We’ll be there.”

  “Reverend Solberg is here now, but perhaps you could kidnap your daughter for a while.”

  “Of course. What a joy.”

  Deborah put the earpiece back in the prong and closed her eyes for a moment. When thoughts of Toby shoehorned themselves into her head and took over, she ordered, I will trust you, Lord. I know even you need time to work. Trust. I think I need a visit with Ingeborg too.

  “Whew, it’s getting wet out there.” Ingeborg closed her umbrella as she came through the door, which Inga and Emma were holding open, one on each side.

  Deborah came around the counter for a hug. “I didn’t think you would come after the rain started.”

  “It feels so good. There was a tiny cool breeze and not much more than sprinkles until we were almost here.” Ingeborg smiled down at her girls. “If they look a bit damp, it’s because they ran ahead of the umbrella.”