“Ja.” Ingeborg picked up the scrub brush. “We have enough guts here to bury beside all our corn and—”
“Ja.” Freda took the brush. “You go get a clean skirt and apron. I’ll finish this. Maybe we should do as Emmy wants and dry some. Her folks dry all their fish.”
Ingeborg grabbed the stair rail to the porch and almost hauled herself up. She couldn’t remember being this tired for a long, long time. But she stopped to smile at Martin and his newest best friend playing, if you could call a baby and Patches facing each other on a quilt on the porch floor “playing.” When Ingeborg saw her bed, the urge to flop down on it made her snort. Bedtime would come soon enough.
By the time everyone had gathered for dinner, including Thelma, who had brought Roald out, Freda had potatoes and carrots prepared. What a feast this would be. They all settled themselves at the table, and Andrew looked at Carl. “Will you say grace, please?”
Carl dipped his head. “God, thank you for all our fish and that Manny didn’t lose the cat and not even his fishing pole. Oh, and thank you for all our other food too. Amen.” Carl looked to his pa. Andrew smiled and nodded.
Twelve people at the table, pulled out as far as it could go, attacked the fish, the fresh lettuce salad, potatoes and carrots, and the peas Freda and Clara had spent the afternoon shelling. Creamed with the last of the canned small potatoes from last year, they disappeared nearly as fast as the fish.
“We have lots more. We don’t want the fish to spoil,” Freda admonished more than once until everyone was groaning.
“Give ’em away,” Andrew muttered, then rolled his eyes at the glare Carl sent him. He looked to Freda. “You didn’t fry them all?”
“No. We had plenty, so Emmy wants to strip some of the catfish to dry. You and Ellie are taking plenty home, Thelma is taking fish home, and that should do it.” Ingeborg and Freda exchanged nods. “And we will eat more tomorrow.”
“Ja, for breakfast, dinner, and supper?”
Ingeborg snorted at her son’s answer. “We can never get too much fried fish. Besides, you know Carl would go again tomorrow if we let him.”
“Not me.” Manny groaned from his chair. Then he grinned at Freda. “What’s for dessert?”
“Gingerbread.” Emmy started gathering up the plates and thumped Manny on the head. “Ha.”
“Out on the porch,” Freda said from her post at the dishpan on the stove. “If the mosquitoes don’t drive us in.”
Andrew and his family left for home before dark, and before they left Ellie had salted a tub of fillets.
Manny brought the buggy up for Thelma and the sleeping Rolly. When he saw a man walking up to the gate, he called, “Hey, Thorliff, there’s lots more fish.”
“Takk. I’m hungry as a bear.” He lifted his hat to wipe his forehead. He looked to Thelma, who was about to climb up in the buggy. “Do you want to wait a few minutes?”
“I have your supper all here.” She pointed to the basket at her feet.
“Pa, you came!” Inga raced down the steps and threw herself into his arms. “We caught so many fish. Manny got a monster catfish and—” She stared up at him, the deepening shadows nearly hiding her face. “You could write about him for the paper. Make Manny famous.”
“Ah, ja.” He stared down at his daughter, then looked to his mor, who had joined them. “I think we have a fledgling newspaper writer here.” He motioned to the buggy. “You get up there, and you can tell me about it on the way home.”
Inga looked to her grandma, obviously torn between staying and going. Ingeborg nodded. “We’ll see you early tomorrow, because Emmy needs you to help dry the fish.” She handed the sleeping Rolly up to Thelma.
“I will come fast.”
Thorliff nodded to his mor. “Takk.”
Ingeborg stared after the buggy. Perhaps there was hope for her son after all.
Chapter 18
Two days passed, then three days, and now four and not one single word from Toby. Deborah kept reminding herself the construction crews were working from dawn to dusk, but still.
“What is the sigh for?” Astrid asked. “By the way, weren’t you supposed to leave by now? As in go home and sleep so you can come back tonight.”
“I will. Is there anything more you need here? I mean, I could help with the ordering or . . .”
Astrid stared at her. “What is going on?”
“It’s not what is going on but what is not going on.”
It was Astrid’s turn to heave a sigh, along with a slight head shake. “Toby.”
“I know they are so busy and all, but I thought . . . I mean . . .”
“He walked you home from the celebration, and you had such a wonderful time, and now, typically Toby, you’ve not heard a peep from him?”
“How did you know? I’ve not said anything.”
“You were walking on air and now you’re back in the, uh . . .”
“Mud?”
“Your face says it all.” Astrid nodded toward her office. “You need to go home, but we can talk for a couple of minutes. Miriam is here, you know, and she will do her job.”
They both turned to see Miriam smile and wave from the nurses’ station. She mouthed, “Go home,” and pantomimed sleeping.
Astrid pointed to her office, then to the chair when they closed the door. Astrid propped herself on the front of her desk. “On again, off again?”
“Ja, but this time I think he almost kissed me.” What am I doing? I know better—don’t I? “Stupid me, getting my hopes up.” She started to stand, but Astrid pointed to the seat. Deborah sat.
“Back to the girl party. Remember the list we made?”
Deborah nodded.
“So what was the suggestion if this on-again, off-again stuff happened?” Astrid waited.
Sucking in a deep breath, ignoring the burning behind her eyes which surely must be the need for sleep, Deborah swallowed and clamped her jaw. “I will quit mooning and do something nice and friendly, like . . . I know. I will leave a plate of . . . of something good on his kitchen table. And if I still don’t hear anything from him, I’ll get on the train and head for . . .”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “You know you have a standing invitation to go to Chicago for more training.” It was not a question.
“I know, and more and more I’m thinking that when the doctor gets here in August and the student nurses are in place, I will do that. Go there, I mean.”
“And August is how far away?”
“Thank you.” Deborah stood, unpinned her nurse’s hat, set the starched-to-stiffness badge of the hospital on the proper shelf, removed her apron, and rolled it up to stuff in the hamper. “Thank you. See you next shift.”
“If I am still on duty.” Astrid’s voice softened. “You will get through this, Deborah. I still pray Toby will wake up, but I’m beginning to wonder about some men.”
“Pa is so sure Thorliff will see the light.”
“He’s more sure than I am. He inherited a double dose of the Bjorklund stubbornness. It hurts to see him like this.”
“Have you two spoken to each other since the fight?”
Astrid sighed. “Like I say, stubborn.” She made shooing motions. “Greet Mary Martha for me.”
Deborah marched out the office door and then out the front door to meet a warm breeze, birds singing, hammers pounding, and children laughing, all the sounds of a July morning in Blessing. Words floated into her mind from her father’s Sunday sermon. “Trust Him. Above all else, make your requests known to our Father and then trust Him for the answers.” You said you trusted Him, but do you? Sometimes that inner voice could be a nag. She headed for home at a brisk walk.
Exhaustion caught up with her as she stepped onto the front porch. She greeted Mary Martha in the kitchen.
“Good morning to you too. Your breakfast is in the warming oven. We’re picking strawberries today and making jam.” Mary Martha paused. “You look ready for bed.”
“I am.” Deb
orah took her plate out. “Ah, French toast.”
“I’ll make you eggs if you want.”
“No, thanks, this is plenty.” She smiled as her mother spooned fresh crushed strawberries on the egged and fried bread. “Oh, wonderful. You are so good.”
She fell to eating, turned down the offer of coffee, and when finished, washed her plate in the dishpan, rinsed it, and set it in the drainer. A quick kiss on her ma’s cheek, and Deborah headed down the hall. Since her room was on the north side of the house, a pleasant breeze set the lace curtains to dancing. Her brother and sisters were out in the garden, laughing, picking away, and if she knew them, eating about every third one. Perhaps she could leave something with strawberries on Toby’s table.
Smiling, she hung her things on the wall peg, donned a soft cotton nightdress, and crawled under the sheet and light blanket. Ah, bed felt so good. She said her prayers and was almost asleep when she remembered her Bible reading. Like so many other times, she promised herself she’d read it when she woke. But she did stay awake long enough to mentally make a list.
When she woke up later in the day, she had to form the to-do list all over again because she could not remember what she had planned.
Day 1: Cut and sweetened strawberries on his kitchen table
Day 2: Bowl of strawberry jam and half a loaf of fresh bread
Day 3: Meatloaf, cooked peas, and broken lettuce in his icebox (leave note on table to tell him it’s there)
Day 4: Shortcake on table, strawberries and cream for shortcake in the icebox
With the plan in place and ready to start the next day, she had supper with her family and later went back to work. The following day she executed her plan for day one. The next day she left the bread and jam. Then the meatloaf, and then shortcake on the fourth day. And the result?
Nothing. Nil. No comment, no thanks, no acknowledgment. So much for that brilliant idea. Should she keep up the treats or forsake this whole idea, perhaps even forsake hope? Now she did not know what to do.
Wait. She did know what she should do. Toby lived alone. To fix a meal, he would have to get a fire going in the stove, prepare ingredients, then cook them, and after he had been working hard all day. Or she could leave a supper for him and he could rest. Whether he ever spoke to her or not, she could do that much for him. So many people were working long days to finish the summer’s building projects. She could contribute to that effort by feeding their bachelor foreman.
She was off the next night and after two days would be back on days for five. When she woke, she lay in bed for a few minutes and stood to stretch. It was a good thing she could go to sleep like everyone else tonight. After dressing in a loose shift, she picked up her Bible and diary and, barefoot, ambled out to the empty kitchen. Cutting a slice of bread and chunk of cheese, she dished up a bowl of strawberries and took her meal out to the round table on the back porch. There was no one out in the garden either. Curious, but not enough to go looking, she sat to eat and catch up on her reading and writing.
The last three days in her diary were brief. “No word from Toby.” Alternately chewing and reading, she reread Psalm 91 and contemplated the words while staring out over the lush garden and brilliant flower beds, her mother’s delight. They looked to need weeding. Back in her diary, she thanked God for His word, made note of her prayers for her family, and yes, Toby. Lord, I don’t know what to do. Is there something I should be doing? Or not doing?
As she reached for a strawberry, her elbow knocked her Bible off the table. Angry at her own clumsiness, she reached down and brought it back up. It had fallen open to . . . she gasped. Psalm 40, verse one: I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.
But God, I am so tired of waiting!
Patiently.
Very well, if she must exercise patience, she would do so. But it was so difficult, this being patient.
She heard noises of someone back in the house.
Mary Martha set a plate of cookies on the table, along with a pitcher of water with chips of ice. “I’m glad you are up. I volunteered us to bring supper to the construction crew over at the school. Or rather, John asked me to and I agreed.”
“Is this a new thing?”
“No, some of the others have been doing it, but John finished his sermon and went to digging. I have rabbit stew in the oven, thanks to Johnny—who, by the way, is also over there digging, along with Thomas and Mark. The others are playing at Sophie’s. Since we ran out of strawberries for a couple of days, they earned a treat too.”
“Speaking of treats, all of a sudden I would love a soda or at least ice cream.” No, you will not think of Toby, she ordered her wayward mind. “What do you want me to do?”
“Since we had sourdough pancakes for breakfast, I set the rest of the dough to rise for buns. I put the dough in the sun, so it should be ready soon.” Mary Martha patted her daughter’s hand. “You make the best buns and biscuits.”
“What else?”
“I thought we’d make a cake and frost it.”
“Chocolate?”
“How about that chocolate spice recipe we have?”
“What time do we take supper over?”
“They take a break at six. I hoped you’d help me.”
Deborah groaned inside but nodded. How could she refuse?
In the kitchen, she crossed to the area of the table devoted to the rolls as she measured out the dry ingredients for the cake.
Her mother commented, “I take it you’ve heard nothing from Toby?”
“How did you know?”
“Your eyes don’t sparkle. You know, if you’d rather not help . . .”
I’m a big girl. “Of course I will help.” She flipped the dough over and punched it down, probably harder than necessary. She’d always heard kneading bread was good for—
Mary Martha completed the thought for her. “I once heard a friend say that there was nothing better for getting rid of anger than kneading bread. And besides the anger abating, the bread was always lighter that way.”
Deborah snorted. And kneaded the dough some more.
With the sun starting to angle toward the west, they loaded their baskets into the wagon and pulled it out to the construction site, where they set out the dishes and food on a table set up for that purpose.
“Sure looks good,” Pa said after wiping his brow. “What a job.” They paused for him to say grace, and the two women dished up plates and handed them out. There wasn’t much laughing and joking; in fact, the men were mostly silent other than thank-yous and appreciative mutterings as they shoveled in the food. Toby wasn’t there.
Am I relieved or disappointed—or both? Deborah breathed easier and smiled at her pa and Johnny, both of whom looked ready to drag home. As they finished, the guys all muttered thanks and climbed back down into a hole that looked over half done, if one counted the stakes. Deborah and Mary Martha packed up the empty food containers and headed home with a much lighter wagon and plenty of dishes to wash.
“You can sure tell who works in construction regularly and who doesn’t.” Mary Martha shook her head. “I hope the kids did not devour everything in sight. I left more stew in the oven and we can have bread and butter in place of the buns.”
“I kept out some.” Pulling the wagon behind her with both hands, Deborah managed to stay out of the ruts. While the ground was drying fast, the ruts cried out for the men to use the grader to smooth the roads again. One more thing that needed doing—preferably before haying.
They heard the telephone ringing when they pulled the wagon up to the porch. Emily met them. “Mr. Valders said for you to call Ingeborg. I just took the supper out of the oven when I saw you coming.”
“Good girl.” Mary Martha handed her one of the baskets. “Is the dishpan on the stove?”
“No, but I’ll put it there,” Emily called back.
While their ma went to talk with Ingeborg, the kids set the outside table and brought out the cast-iron
stew pot to sit in the middle, along with a serving spoon. All the while they chattered about their day of fun and how Mrs. Wiste had treated them all to ice cream and somebody fell off the swing but only bled a little.
Deborah made sure she answered the kids’ questions, teased them about ice cream, and kept so busy she had no time to think of Toby.
After they ate, Mary Martha announced that several of the women were gathering to pray for the building projects and getting sufficient help, funding, teachers for the school, and whatever else anyone brought up. She looked to Deborah. “Would you like to go with me?”
Deborah stared at her mother. Dare I ask for help?
“You don’t have to, but really you are one of the women now, you know.” Mary Martha tipped her head slightly to the side and waited.
Her ma was good at waiting. Deborah stared up at a corner of the room, loath to look at her. Why not? What could it hurt? There was that voice again. She gave an emphatic nod. “Yes.” Then sucked in a deep breath. Just. . . I’ve not done something like this before. Usually I’m working. She picked up her plate and put it in the dishpan along with the rest.
“My turn for dishes tonight.” Mark stopped beside her. “You go on with Ma.”
“There’s plenty of food for the men when they get home—if they want it.”
Mark grinned. “Johnny will eat. Johnny will always eat.”
Deborah asked Mary Martha, “Do I have to pray out loud?”
“Not if you don’t want to. Just pray along with us for whatever the topic is. We usually do this during the day but not regularly. Perhaps I shall suggest we make this a standard practice. Like John says, ‘Blessing exists on prayer.’”
She was relieved to see Sophie was sitting with the group that was gathering in front of the altar at the church. The others were all older: Ingeborg, Kaaren, Penny, and Mrs. Jeffers.
“Mrs. Odell wanted to come, but her man needed help fixing a broken wheel,” Mrs. Jeffers said, her smile including Deborah. “I’m glad you are here. We pray for the hospital all the time.”
“Thank you.” Do you pray for husbands for the staff?
From This Day Forward Page 17
