To Everything a Season

by Lauraine Snelling

  “That seems to be the gathering place for the kids.”

  Penny pointed to a chair. “Sit yourself. I need to get back to the store, and I hear this is a business meeting. I do not need one more business to think on.”

  “Uh-oh. What do you have in the works now? Are you in cahoots with Sophie or some such?”

  “Lord save us,” Hjelmer muttered under his breath.

  “Now look who’s talking.” Penny playfully slapped his shoulder. “You just want to come up with all the new ideas yourself.”

  “There’s a new man in town. He just walked in with a lame horse. Daniel sent him over to work on the boardinghouse.”

  “Really? Do you think he might be interested in drilling wells?”

  “I have no idea. Ask Solberg his impression. The man has an Irish accent but speaks good English.”

  That was getting to be the password lately. Speaks good English. So many of their immigrant workers spoke little English. Mrs. Jeffers’ class for learning English was growing all the time.

  “See you later.” Penny headed for the store and Hjelmer pointed to the coffeepot.

  “No, thanks. I need to get back to Thorliff’s before Haakan takes it in his head to walk home alone. Ingeborg is trying to keep tabs on him now that he can walk decently again.”

  “He walked to town?”

  “Ja. I walked him here. He has to get his strength back. He so wants to get back to work. Said he’d start milking again soon.”

  “He could do more woodcarving. Penny’s store is carrying some other products made by people in Blessing. Maybe he could do something for that.”

  “Like what?”

  “I have no idea. Just thinking out loud.” Hjelmer turned slightly and looked straight at Trygve. “What would it take to get you to take this new crew out, just for a short run until they really know their jobs?”

  Trygve made sure it looked like he was thinking hard when all he wanted to do was shake his head and say, “Nothing. I won’t, that’s all.” But a soft answer turneth away wrath.

  “Hjelmer, what would it take for you to run for office again?” He’d heard Hjelmer’s diatribe against the legislature more than once. How you couldn’t get him back into that beehive of rascals for anything.

  “Well, I can’t think of anything. I just know I will not go back to that.”

  “Same here. I am more convinced than ever that I am needed right here in Blessing. I will not be going with the threshing crew when they start traveling either. I am staying right here in Blessing.” He kept his voice soft and gentle, shaking his head to make his point.

  “What if I doubled your wages?”

  “No. Onkel Hjelmer, please understand. It is not the money. I was happy running the crew. I enjoyed seeing the country, meeting the people. But now I need to be here.”

  “But now that you’ve finished getting the wagon and supplies ready, you don’t even have a job.”

  “There’s plenty of work here in Blessing. I’m not concerned about that.” He held up a hand, palm out. “Please, can we leave this here? You and I have both been accused of being stubborn. I don’t want hard feelings.”

  Hjelmer tented his fingers in front of his chest, leaning back in his chair. Tapping one forefinger against the other. “It takes a special skill—”

  “Drilling a well and building a windmill don’t take a genius. Just experience.”

  “Training.”

  “Ja, if you want to call it that. Why don’t you advertise for a well driller?”

  Hjelmer slapped his palms on the table. “I need one now! I have orders to be filled.”

  Trygve rose to his feet. “You’ll think of something.” He paused. “Wasn’t Zeb, uh, Mac . . . Can’t think of his name.”

  “MacCallister. He headed for Montana after Katie died.”

  “Right. Wasn’t he a well driller? Does Deborah hear from them at all?”

  “I don’t know, but . . .” Hjelmer quit tapping his fingers.

  Trygve left before he could get into an argument in spite of himself. He hoped he’d heard the last of it, but . . .

  Chapter 26

  What would you like me to do first?” Miriam asked.

  Nurse MacCallister crossed to the nurses’ station. “We have six patients in the ward and our man in the private room. He has not been responding much today. We changed his bed, and I’ve put extra pads under him, since we have to keep cleaning him up. This makes it easier.”

  “Has he eaten anything?”

  “We spooned a little broth in, and he swallowed. Did the same with water. He’s dehydrated something fierce. We’ve been keeping damp cloths on him to help with that.”

  “Do we know for sure it is consumption?”

  “Not for sure. There are several other things it could be, but Dr. Bjorklund thinks it is that. We all expected him to become more alert with enough fluids and easing the coughing.”

  Nurse MacCallister wrote something on one of the charts. “Once we have everyone settled for the night, there’s a list of chores on the wall in the nurses’ room. I will go ahead and dispense meds, and you can work with Mr. O’Flaherty. See if you can get him to respond. There is broth in the kitchen. Cook made a new batch today.” She paused. “Do you speak Irish?”

  “The language is called Gaelic.”

  “Are you Irish?”

  Miriam smiled and slipped into the accent she’d grown up with. “No, my mum sounded more like this. My father was killed several years ago, and his accent was even more cockney. But when I was growing up, we lived in a neighborhood predominantly Irish, so meself, I can speak plenty of Gaelic too. We learn languages so easily as children. Then I studied Latin in school, even some Italian, since my teacher spoke so many languages. I was fortunate.” She shrugged. “The languages have been helpful working at the hospital.”

  Nurse MacCallister looked at her briefly, strangely. “Well, maybe if he hears some Gaelic words he will respond more. If he can respond.”

  Miriam paused. “He’s that bad off?”

  Nurse MacCallister shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Miriam washed her hands before entering the room. Dusk was dimming the room, so she lit the lamp on the table beside the bed.

  “Mr. O’Flaherty, me name be Nurse Miriam Hastings, and I shall be caring for you tonight.” She took his hand. “Please squeeze me hand if ye can hear me.” She repeated the request in Gaelic.

  He immediately squeezed her hand.

  “Can ye open yer eyes?” Again in Gaelic. His eyelids fluttered but did not open all the way. Instead, he started to cough. She covered his mouth with one of the squares and waited, stroking his hand. When it eased, she wiped his mouth. No bloody sputum.

  “I shall return immediately, sir.”

  Quickly she set a tray with a cup of broth and a spoon, along with the mixture of honey, lemon, and whiskey, and carried it to his room. She adjusted his pillows so he was sitting up more.

  And she used Gaelic. “Here is food for you, Taoiseach.” She used the formal word for leader or presider. He almost smiled.

  She’d fed him half a cup when the next spoonful trickled out the side of his mouth. Another cough wracked him. When she’d cleaned up the phlegm, she said, “Let us see if this cough medicine will help.” She gave him a tablespoon of the syrup and watched him swallow. “I’ll leave ye now, but I shall return later, and we shall do this again. Need ye anything more, sir?”

  When he shook his head, she doused the lamp and stepped back into the hallway.

  A man with a clerical collar stood waiting. “I’d like to see him, if I may.”

  “Ah, you are Father . . . ?”

  “Thomas Devlin, Nurse. I heard of his need from some of the others who live in the tents. I have a cot there now too.” His voice carried a hint of the brogue too.

  “Well, Father Devlin . . .”

  The welcome Irish lilt came forth. “I be going by Thomas here, or if ye must be formal, Mr. De
vlin.”

  Questions bombarded her mind, but she kept her nurse face in place. “Of course ye may see him. Would ye like me to light the lamp again?”

  “No, and I thank ye. Does he speak English or only the auld tongue?”

  “He responds well to Gaelic, aye. He has not been understanding our orders or requests on how to help him.”

  “I see.” He nodded while talking. “I could translate for you.”

  “Meself does fine. ’Tis the others.”

  A broad, happy grin spread across his face. “I see. Thank ye, Nurse, for assisting me.” He touched his forehead and slipped into the man’s room.

  Now, that’s a puzzlement, she thought as she went about her duties. Half an hour later when she returned to check on her patient, Father Devlin was gone, but he had left a note on the nightstand.

  His name is Seamus O’Flaherty from Clifden in County Galway. He has been in this country about a year, his family still in Ireland. He has had this cough and feeling ill for over six months now. His mother died of consumption a year ago. I will return tomorrow evening after work.

  TD

  If he doesn’t want to go by Father, why does he wear the collar? What is the story behind this? Miriam knew there had to be a story. There always was. She finished her shift at six in the morning and, along with Nurse MacCallister, briefed the two incoming student nurses and the nurse named Annika Nilsson.

  She and Nurse MacCallister walked out into a glorious summer day. The dew still sparkled on the grass and birds sang from the trees growing along Main Street. Other than the birdsong, the early morning quiet made her stop and look around.

  “I’ve never heard such quiet.”

  Nurse MacCallister stopped too. “What do you mean?” She looked around in confusion.

  “I have lived in Chicago all my life, and it is never quiet there. Never. Even in the wee hours of the morning, there are trolleys clanging, conveyances on the streets . . . it is never still. The quietest I’ve ever known is when the first snow falls. But this”—she swept her arm in an arc—“this sky is so blue it hurts my eyes, birds sing, they really do, and . . .” She paused and inhaled. “The air is clean. No smoke, no grit, no stench of garbage and offal, and . . . and . . .” She raised her face to the sun again. “This is like nothing I’ve ever dreamed.”

  “That’s just the way it is here. When harvest starts, there will be more dust as farmers bring their grain into the flourmill. You’ll smell cow manure out by the Bjorklunds’ and other farms that sell cream to the cheese house.”

  “Cheese house?”

  “Ja, Ingeborg Bjorklund has a cheese-making business. They ship to lots of other places, even to New York. She started that soon after they settled here. She is an amazing woman. Most every baby born until Thorliff married Dr. Elizabeth and brought her here came into this world with Ingeborg’s help. She was the midwife and pretty much the doctor back then. Dr. Astrid is her daughter.”

  “You grew up here?”

  “I did. On a farm south of town.” They’d reached the street in front of Astrid’s house. “I’ll see you this evening. Hope you can sleep well.”

  Miriam smiled. “I hate to miss any part of this day sleeping.”

  “I usually sleep until one o’clock or so. Sometimes I have to put cotton in my ears to keep out the noise.” She nodded to the men gathering by the boardinghouse. “Once the construction starts, it is pretty noisy here. They are not only adding to that one, but houses are going up everywhere. That tent town out there?” She pointed to the south. “Those people have to have places to live in by the time the snow flies. You can’t live outside in the winter here—it’s too cold and windy.” She waved as she went up the street.

  Miriam looked over the workers getting set to work on the addition. They’d be able to move in in two weeks? But then, she’d not seen the inside. The new section that attached to the main building looked far ahead of the rest.

  She made her way up the walk to the front door. Surely she could come in the back way and take her coffee out on the porch there. She let herself in as quietly as possible, but a voice called from the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Miriam. Breakfast is ready.”

  She followed the voice down the hall to the kitchen, where Mrs. Jeffers was slicing bread. “Good morning.”

  “Oh, it is indeed. I can’t wait to get out in the garden.” She turned. “Now what would you like?”

  “Whatever you are making is fine with me.” All of a sudden a wave of weariness rolled right over her and nearly brought her to her knees.

  “Good. We have oatmeal if you’d like, or I can make eggs.”

  “Oatmeal is fine. And a piece of that delicious-looking bread. Is it possible to eat out on the porch?”

  “Of course. That is where Daniel and Dr. Astrid are right now. You go join them, and I’ll bring your food out. The milk and cream and both honey and sugar are out there.” She took a cup down from the cupboard and handed it to her. “Serve yourself coffee, or if you’d rather tea, that can be ready in just a couple of minutes.”

  “Coffee is fine.” She poured her cup and paused at the screen door. It was like another room out there—chairs with cushions, a round table with roses in the center, a settee with a low table in front of it that also had a bouquet of various roses on it. Pink, white, and yellow. Such beauty. These people must be very wealthy to live like this. A vision of the tenements where her family lived made her swallow. They used to live in a house farther out of the city, but after her father died, they were forced to move to the tenement, the only place they could afford.

  How her mother would love it here. She looked out the back. Surely that was the garden beyond the beds of roses. The riot of colors almost made her dizzy.

  “Come join us, Miriam. You put in a long day yesterday and the shift last night. You must be exhausted.” Dr. Astrid smiled at her.

  “I didn’t know that until a couple of minutes ago.” Miriam walked over, and Mr. Jeffers stood to help her with her chair. “Thank you.” She sank down into the cushions with a sigh mixed of both weariness and pleasure.

  “How did the night go?” Astrid asked.

  “Good. Did you know we have a priest in town?”

  “What?” Astrid stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean a Father Thomas Devlin. Apparently they’ve hired him to work on the boardinghouse, and though he is wearing a clerical collar, he is introducing himself as Thomas Devlin. He came and visited with our consumptive patient. The patient spoke Gaelic with the priest, and he found out more information for us. Mr. O’Flaherty’s mother died of consumption less than a year ago.” Miriam smiled and thanked Mrs. Jeffers for the oatmeal now in front of her.

  “Are you of the Catholic faith?” Astrid asked. “Not that it makes any difference.”

  “No. I was born Anglican, but the two are similar in many ways.” Miriam started to add more and decided to keep her ideas about God to herself.

  “But you recognized him as a priest?”

  “He is wearing a rather dirty clerical collar.”

  “I see.” She sipped her coffee, elbows propped on the table. “And you speak Gaelic?”

  Miriam nodded. “Some. I learned it from the kids in my very Irish neighborhood. But since I’ve not used it for some time, I don’t remember it all.”

  “Like I learned to speak Norwegian as a child, but we don’t use it as much here in Blessing as we used to. Because of that, though, I can understand some German. Mrs. Jeffers holds classes here to help the immigrants learn English. She’s very good at it.”

  “I’m good at what?” Mrs. Jeffers asked as she joined them at the table.

  “I was telling Miriam about your classes.”

  “The hardest one to understand is Mr. Belin. He speaks Russian, but he is trying so hard to learn.”

  “He is such a good carpenter that we’ve made him a foreman. He has a good eye to see what has to be done next.” Daniel passed the
plate of sliced bread to Miriam, and Dr. Astrid moved the butter and jam nearer.

  “I’ve never had breakfast out on a back porch like this. You have no idea how idyllic Blessing is. Just walking from the hospital to here was a feast for the eyes. And ears too. The silence was alive, but oh, the gift of quiet.”

  “I went to med school in Chicago for my surgical training. I was not impressed with Chicago. I’ve never been to such a dirty place in my life, but then, I’ve not been to very many cities. Maybe they are all like that. Coal smoke is pretty dirty.”

  “I have always lived there, so that is what I know.” She smiled at Mrs. Jeffers. “This is so good. Thank you.” She turned to Astrid. “I have a favor to ask. I want to write a letter to my mother and family, but I’m afraid I do not have any paper.”

  “We’ll fix that.” Mrs. Jeffers set her coffee cup down. “I’ll get it right now.”

  “No, please. I am not going to do that before I sleep. I can feel myself slipping away here.”

  “I will have supplies ready for you when you wake up. You sleep as long as you can. I hope all the pounding and sawing won’t keep you awake.”

  Miriam snorted. “After what I am used to, this is more like music.” She folded her napkin and laid it beside her plate. “If you don’t mind, I am going to bed. Thank you for your hospitality.” She pushed back her chair and left before Mr. Jeffers had time to rise.

  She paused when she heard Dr. Astrid say, “This is sure a strange turn of events, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mr. Jeffers replied, “I think we should say nothing of the priest. Just a new man. For some reason he is not announcing it, and I want to honor that. Thank you for this lovely break.” He went whistling down the steps and out the gate.

  Miriam shed her clothes and slipped into bed. The sewing machine sat right under the window, where the curtains billowed in the breeze. Yes, there was construction noise, but no matter.

  Her room was in the shade by the time Miriam woke. The temperature had risen but was still not uncomfortable. Miriam could hear voices downstairs. One male and Mrs. Jeffers. What a nice woman she was. They all were. She washed at the basin and slipped into her one other dress, leaving the one she’d worn hanging on a peg along the wall. If only she had enough money to buy some cotton fabric and sew herself something for the summer. Her serge skirt had been hot enough on the train and good for traveling but not for wearing here. She tamed her hair as well as she was able to, confining it to a net at the back of her head and, after making her bed, left the room.