“We got the scaffolding back up,” Hegdahl told him. “My son will paint too.”
“Good. Anybody big enough to wield a brush.”
The farmer whistled, and a younger boy came running from weeding the garden, his face beaming. Obviously, painting was more fun than weeding. Toby would agree.
“Paint fast, but do a good job,” Toby told him as he climbed down from the wagon. “We don’t have time to redo anything.” While the others unloaded the supplies, he walked around the building, checking the roof and all the siding. Back where they were stirring paint cans, he spoke to his lead man. “That corner trim isn’t finished. Get the others painting and you take care of that, please.”
The man nodded. “I do.”
“And remember, we have to get it right the first time because we don’t have time to do it twice. Understand?”
“Ja!”
Toby climbed back in the wagon. Now to Deming’s house. He clucked the team to a jog, doing his best to avoid the ruts and mud puddles. All that rain had left them the gift of Red River mud that stuck to everything. Not like walking in the grass, and barefoot no less. He smiled at the memory.
He swung the team around an especially large puddle. The wheels bogged down, and the horses leaned into their collars. But when one of them slipped and went down on his knees, Toby blew out his frustration and climbed down from the wagon. He’d need more horses and men to dig it out. He got a stick from under the seat and moved to the team, both of whom were blowing.
“I should have known better than drive out here today.” He patted the horse’s near shoulder and leaned over to scrape mud from its leg, then scraped out the hoof. He felt the horse blow on his back. “Yeah, I know, you did your best.” He unhooked the team, mud crusted to his knees by the time he was done. Leading them to the grassy verge, he cleaned them up a little more and then swung aboard one and led the other. Maybe Hegdahl could pull out the wagon, or maybe they’d just leave it there. No, bad idea. Once the mud dried, it would be even harder to dig it out. “Come on, boys, let’s go.”
Lord, I hope the rest of the day goes better than this.
Riding sure beat walking. He stopped at the door to the stables and swung off. “You’d better wash them down—legs anyway,” he told the man at the stable.
“Where’s the wagon?”
“South of town on the road to Hegdahl’s place. Maybe a four-up could pull it out. I had to get that paint out there.”
He ignored the grumbling groom and strode out to Deming’s house. Another two-story, but at least the dentist had not wanted as much gingerbread trim on it as some of the others. Toby stepped past the piles of milled walnut they’d had shipped in specifically and stored covered by tarps on the porch.
Dr. Deming met him at the door. He glanced down at Toby’s muddy legs. “Uh-oh. Another slowdown?”
“You could call it that. What can I do for you today?”
“Any idea when we can move in? We’re so tired of that apartment and someone else needs it. I just checked here, and the upstairs is pretty much ready. We could bring our belongings here. We’d stay out of the men’s way. After all, we’re at the office much of the time.”
“You can’t cook here, and the bathroom’s not all done.”
“I know, but the toilet works, and we’ll eat at the boardinghouse.” He paused. “We were supposed to be able to move in two weeks ago. We have crates of furniture stacked up at the train station. Come on, Toby, I hate to beg.”
“Let me talk to Mr. Belin and see what he says; he’s in charge here.”
Dr. Deming frowned. “I thought you were running this.”
Toby brushed him off and made his way to the kitchen, where he could hear men talking.
“Nyet!” Mr. Belin was gesticulating, arms waving wildly.
The man he was talking to—or yelling at—nodded. “Ja, we fix that.” His accent made him hard to understand too. The man picked up his plane and went back to a plank of walnut mounted on the sawhorses.
Somewhere in Mr. Belin’s tirade, Toby thought he heard something close to Get it right the first time. When Mr. Belin got angry, his English went out the window. Obviously they were all harping on that. When it came down to it, there was no way to rush finish carpentry like this. One of the other men was finishing with a fine sanding block.
Toby motioned Mr. Belin into the other room and lowered his voice. “The Demings want to move into the upstairs. What do you think?”
“Dust all over, in air. Not good.”
“I know. But they could use the big bedroom. Store some crates in the others.”
“Wallpaper not up.” Mr. Belin shook his head. “Not good.”
“Do you have the wallpaper?”
“Nyet.”
Toby bit back an expletive. He had resolved to no longer say even the mildest of swear words, but this morning was certainly testing that. “Do you have paper hangers?”
“Da. Women can do that. My wife, two others. They do that as soon as paper get here.”
“All right. I’ll look into that and tell Dr. Deming. Hopefully they can move into that room by the end of the week.”
Shoulders slumping, Mr. Belin nodded. “Not good, but da.”
Toby made his way back to the empty construction office and looked around for Thorliff. They needed someone in the office all the time now. Surely one of the women or older girls could do that. After all, this wasn’t writing or layout for the newspaper. He scribbled a note for Thorliff about the wallpaper.
Thelma met him at the door. “Dinner is ready. You need to eat.”
“Thank you. Thelma, did anyone ever tell you you’re a lifesaver?”
“Pshaw.” She grinned. “Oh, Thorliff is on the porch.” She was headed back to the kitchen before he could answer.
“Ah, she snagged you too?” Thorliff greeted him as he mounted the steps to the back porch that stretched the length of the house. Looking down at Toby’s legs, Thorliff almost kept a straight face. “I see you had some other jobs this morning?”
Toby took one of the chairs at the round table. “The wagon is half buried back from Hegdahl’s. I don’t know how I made it out there loaded. There’s no wallpaper at Chet’s and—”
“Just eat before Thelma comes to check on us.” Thorliff passed a bowl of potato soup and reached for the platter of sandwiches. “Coffee or . . .” He motioned to the pitcher.
“I thought I’d get something at the boardinghouse later, but this helps a lot.” Toby could hear Rolly and Thelma in the house as he ate half a sandwich in one bite. Now that he thought about it, he’d only had bread and cheese for breakfast at home and the rolls Thelma had brought to the meeting. He swallowed. “So we’re ready to lay out the new school this afternoon?” At Thorliff’s nod, he continued. “Me and who else?”
“You and me with the transit, Trygve and Samuel pounding stakes and stringing. Trygve has men ready to start digging in the morning, so we have to get this right the first time.”
Toby nodded and chewed. If I hear that one more time today I might have to . . . “Where is all the gear?”
“Behind the office. Wheelbarrows included. Decided not to use the wagon today.”
After they ate, Trygve and Samuel met them halfway to the deaf school site. “We need a construction shack out here so we don’t have to haul everything around like this.”
“I know, one more thing.”
“How about borrowing the cook wagon we use at harvesting?” Samuel suggested.
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Thorliff snorted. “Good idea. See if you can have it here tomorrow.”
“Or tonight. It’s at Ingeborg’s, but I’m sure Pa will bring it over.”
“Tell him if any of the deaf boys want work, they can help with the digging tomorrow.”
They stopped at the site for the new school, already graded and free of sod.
“It looks mighty big, doesn’t it?”
“Ja.” Toby shook his he
ad. “And this needs to be weathered in before winter. Pastor Solberg would say we need a miracle. Or ten. How will we ever get this done in time?”
“We’ll pray for a late fall, for starters.” Trygve handed the transit to Toby. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 17
Grandma, we can go fishing!”
She heard Manny yelling before his boots hit the steps. She met him at the door. “What on earth—”
“We can’t start mowing the hay ’cause it’s too wet and laying flat and Lars said we could go fishing.” His words ran together in his excitement. “And I ain’t gone fishing in forever.” He almost paused. “Haven’t. Can we go? I’ll telephone Carl, ’cause I know he’ll want to go. Where’s Emmy and Inga?”
“Down at the barn with the new calf.”
“Can we go, huh, please?”
She raised her hands, palms out. “Give me a minute to think.”
She looked to Freda, who only shrugged. “A fish fry sounds awful good.”
“See?” The look on his face made Ingeborg chuckle.
“I have a lot to do, you know.”
“That’s all right. I’ll help when we get back. We have to hurry, it’s almost noon.” Manny shifted from one foot to the other.
“You telephone and see if Carl can come. It’s a shame Benny isn’t out here; well, next time we’ll plan ahead so he can go too. Freda, please pack our dinner in a basket, and why don’t you and Clara come too? We can have a party.”
“Uff da, I never have liked fishing much.” Freda reached up on the shelf for the big basket. “Clara, you can go, and I’ll take care of Martin here.”
Clara shook her head no.
Ingeborg stopped and looked at her. “Martin will be fine here, you know. You can leave him for a while.”
Clara signed “Do I have to?”
“Well, of course you don’t have to. You just don’t like catching fish?” Ingeborg heard Manny babbling excitedly on the phone.
Clara made a face.
Freda and Ingeborg exchanged looks but went about packing the food and filling the jug they used for picnics and anywhere they needed cold drinks.
“He’s coming. I think he’s running. I’ll go down and get some worms.” Out the door Manny charged.
Ingeborg followed him, catching the screen door before it slammed. “Tell the girls to come up.” They probably heard her clear to the barn.
“How come?” Inga asked when they hit the porch only seconds later, it seemed.
“Lars said so.” Ingeborg made a funny face. “I guess they can’t mow and he figured Manny . . . Just get the fishing poles. The basket is almost ready.”
Within minutes, they were heading for the barn, where they saw six-year-old Carl running on the path from his house, shrieking, “Going fishing!”
Inga took her grandma’s hand. “It’s a good thing they got those wild dogs.” She looked up. “They sure scared us. We never ran so fast.”
Carl slid to a stop and checked the worm bucket. “Do we need a few more?” Manny turned over another forkful of aged manure, and Carl dug out the worms. “Good. There’s plenty.”
Emmy and Inga swung the basket between them and they headed down the path, fishing poles in their free hands, and Ingeborg carrying the jug by its handle and marveling at the change in her day. This most certainly had not been on her list of things to do this glorious day.
As if to make up for the time before when she had to throw part of their catch at the attacking dogs, today the fish seemed to bite practically before the worms hit the water. The fisherfolk ate their dinner while snagging fish. Sometime later, after the catch had swelled to three stakes in the shady water, Manny snagged one that had him digging in his heels to keep from being dragged down the bank.
“Hang on, Manny.” Ingeborg handed Carl her pole and grabbed the back of Manny’s shirt. “Do you think you have a dead tree?”
“Huh-uh. Whatever it is, it’s alive.”
Up to his knees in the water, he fought with the fish on the end of his line, Ingeborg right behind him, hanging on.
Carl looked up at Ingeborg. “Maybe he caught a big turtle.”
“Carl, your bobber!” Inga yelled, earning a scolding look from her cousin. Fishing was supposed to be a quiet event.
Today was anything but quiet. The girls shrieked when a black head with barbels broke the surface.
“It’s a big ol’ catfish,” Manny breathed. “Biggest one I ever saw, and we had big catfish in Kentucky.”
“Ew, ugly.” Inga made a face. “Did you ever see anything like that, Grandma?”
“Not that big. They usually head for the deepest water and hide in the mud.”
Bit by bit, Manny eased back, keeping the line taut. “Carl, find something to club this thing.”
Back on the bank, her skirt weighted with muddy water, Ingeborg wagged her head. “Son, you are some fisherman.” Oh, if Haakan were here, he would be so proud of Manny. Haakan had caught plenty of catfish through the years, but none this big.
Manny dragged the thrashing, slimy black fish up on the bank. It flopped around clumsily.
“Don’t touch him, Carl. That monster is dangerous. My grandpappy warned us.” Manny took the knotted stick Carl handed him and whacked the fish’s head, once, twice, three times before he pulled it farther up the bank. When the fish finally lay still, he sucked in a huge breath. “Did it. Thought for sure I’d lose it.”
“How are we getting it home?” Inga asked, looking up at Ingeborg. “Drag it?”
Manny used his knife to cut the fishing line a ways back from the monster’s mouth. “I’m not puttin’ my fingers near it. Might not be all dead yet. We shoulda brought a chain or something.”
Ingeborg looked over at the four stakes that held the other fish in the water to keep them cool and alive. “We can fish a little longer or head home.”
Carl checked the worm bucket. “We still got some more. Can we stay a while?”
Ingeborg looked down at Patches, who sniffed the fish and looked up at her. “I know, fella. It’s a shame you can’t go home and get us some help.” She passed the jug around; she was thirsty, so she figured the others were too. What to do?
“I know.” Emmy jerked on her line and another fish whizzed by their heads. “When we’re done fishing, I’ll run home and get help.” She looked at Manny. “Are the chains in the machine shed?”
“Oh!” Inga pulled in her line. “Lost one.” She headed for the worm pail and dug out a wriggler to rebait her hook. “Grandma, you got one!”
Ingeborg’s line went slack.
“Grandma, you keep forgetting to pay attention.” Carl made it sound like a cardinal sin.
Ingeborg rolled her eyes at her eldest grandson. “Ja, Carl. Takk.” She rebaited her hook, still trying to keep from laughing. Carl took his fishing so seriously. Had Andrew been like that?
Sometime later, when the fish had slowed their biting and the mosquitoes had increased their buzzing and biting, Emmy ran home for a chain and returned with it looped over one arm and a bigger knife in a sheath.
Manny took the knife, nodding. “Good.” After chopping a bigger branch, he chained the catfish to it and looked to Emmy. “Can you help me carry this thing? You’re the tallest.”
They made two trips up the bank and staggered across the field toward home. The cows had started bellowing that it was time to milk them.
Andrew broke into a run when he saw them. “What in the world?” His mouth dropped open and he skidded to a stop. He stared at the monster fish, then at his mother and the others, all the while shaking his head. “You’ve got more fishing stories than anyone I know.” He walked around them. “That has to be the biggest cat ever dragged from the Red.” He stared at the rest of their catch, the muddy clothes that had dried, and at his son, trying not to snicker like the others.
“Manny caught it.”
“And you, Mor?”
“I had to keep him from being dragged down the r
iver. You ought to come fishing with us sometime. I think next time we’ll take the wagon or a wheelbarrow.”
Carl held up the worm bucket. “Empty.”
Ingeborg said, “I’d say we’re having fish tonight.”
“Ja, I’ll tell Ellie to bring the other kids. Do you want some help cutting that thing up?”
“No thanks, Freda and Clara can handle it.” Ingeborg pointed to her skirt. “I think I might change clothes.” The look on Andrew’s face was about all she could handle. She and the children hauled their bounty to the cleaning bench.
“I wish Haakan could see our cat.” Manny looked to Ingeborg, who rolled her lips and sniffed.
“Ja, me too. But I think he has.”
“I hope you’re right. You want me to stay and help clean the fish?”
Freda joined them and could hardly stop shaking her head. “Clara is sharpening some knives. Let’s lift it up on the bench.” Even with four of them scaling and gutting the fish, and Carl and Inga hauling fresh water, no matter how good they were, supper would be late.
When Ellie arrived, she set her baby basket on the porch and started the fish frying. “I could have come sooner, you know.”
“Can I ask Pa to come?” Inga asked.
“Of course, but don’t be surprised if he says they are still working.” Ingeborg nodded toward the deaf school. “They started digging.”
Inga nodded. “How about Thelma and Rolly? Pa can come later.”
“Ja, go ahead.” Ingeborg paused to heave a sigh. Please, Lord, make him come.
Clara went in to help Ellie, and finally Freda threw the last scaled and gutted sunfish in the tub of cold water.
She and Ingeborg stared at the fish. “We have enough here to feed half of Blessing.”
“If I don’t clean fish again for a month or more . . .” Ingeborg kneaded her lower back with her fists. “What else are we having for supper?”
“Do we need anything else?” Freda sluiced a bucket of water over the cleaning bench. “Maybe we’ll send fish home with everybody and some over to Kaaren’s.”
From This Day Forward Page 16
