A Harvest of Hope

by Lauraine Snelling

  “You go back to your sewing. I know you want to finish that dress for Emmy. And you should probably take a nap in case you are needed to sit with Mrs. Bach again.”

  “Freda, thank you. And thank you for staying here so I could be gone.”

  “You are welcome. That order for cheese should be shipped early next week. Manny put the crates together. The wheels are all waxed and ready—well, almost all. If we get any more orders in the mail, we could ship more.”

  I should be out there at the cheese house helping her. Actually there were a lot of things she should be doing. Baking cookies for one thing. The jar was nearly empty and all the children would probably be here at the farm tomorrow. Saturday seemed to be turning into grandkids’ day with Grandma at the farm.

  “First I’m going to mix up some cookie dough and put it in the icebox. Then I can sew and not feel guilty.”

  Freda shook her head. “Guilty for what? Running out of cookies?”

  Ingeborg shrugged. “It’s been too long since I’ve baked. You have spoiled me, you know.” Oh, Haakan, how I would love to bake you an apple pie. She sniffed and went to fetch the ingredients out of the pantry.

  Waiting is never easy.

  Waiting on the unseen is even harder.

  Thorliff had resolved on waking that he would just go forward today with what he knew. He knew setting the exterior windows and doors was next to be done on the apartment house. The building would then be ready for a full effort on the interior walls. A smaller crew had already gotten a good start on that, doing one floor at a time.

  He could lay out the newspaper, write his editorial column—a rather scathing one had come to mind. He laid out the ads first. Blessing Mercantile’s ad gave a discount on winter boots. Garrisons’ Groceries was running a special on sausages. Mr. Garrison had become a sausage maker and was building a name for himself beyond the outskirts of Blessing, thanks in part to the article Thorliff had written about Mr. Garrison and his delicious sausages two editions earlier.

  The Friday morning train came and went. He was in the middle of pasting an ad in place when the door opened and Hjelmer entered. “Gud dag!” He must have had a good trip if the grin on his face was any indication.

  “Welcome home.” Thorliff smoothed the paper precisely in place. “You missed the meeting last night.”

  “What meeting?”

  “A what-do-we-do-about-Anner-Valders meeting.”

  Hjelmer Bjorklund’s blue eyes widened. “Now what?”

  Thorliff filled him in on the happenings in Blessing since he’d been gone. “I figured you keep better track of the bank than any of the rest of us, so perhaps you could shed some light on things.”

  “And Elizabeth believes Anner’s behavior is vindictive?”

  “She does.”

  “But why against you?”

  “First chance he had was the extension I applied for. You know that has always been a formality. After all, we all own the bank he manages. But he’s been different since that robbery, like he took it personally.”

  Hjelmer wagged his head. “No one ever even intimated it was his fault.” He looked up. “And you went to talk with him?”

  “Sort of.” Thorliff explained what happened.

  “And the consensus of last night’s meeting?”

  “We all committed to pray about it, and pray for Anner, and wait on God to see how He is going to handle it.”

  “Not easy.”

  “Enough of that subject. How was your trip?”

  “Could have sold more if winter weren’t breathing down our necks. The crew is doing well, but I need two crews out there, and we have no more men to send. Anyone off the threshing crew that might work?”

  “If I don’t get money to finish that apartment house, some of those men might be interested.”

  “We’ll get you the money for that.”

  “Where?”

  “Threaten to rob the bank?” Hjelmer held up his hands, palms out. “Throwing ink pots is not allowed. Let me check into some things at the bank. How much did you ask for?”

  “Five thousand.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “It’s a good estimate. When we finish up with those houses, I’ll be more liquid again.”

  “I’ll drop my bag at home and get on this. By the way, guess who was on the train.”

  “I’m not into guessing games right now.”

  “Anji Moen and her four children.”

  “Good. Gerald and Rebecca were hoping to hear from her soon.”

  “What do you suppose she is going to do?”

  “I just hope she doesn’t want a house. At least not anytime soon.”

  Hjelmer started out the door, then turned back. “I’ll let you know what I find. And never fear, there will be money to finish that building. We sure need a long fall to get all the housing ready.”

  Thorliff went back to work on the next edition. Now to keep his thoughts from Anner. What was that Scripture Solberg had quoted one time? He snorted at the memory. That’s right, Bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ. That was one tall order. How did one control his thoughts? Choose to think on something else. Like what? So many verses in the Psalms, especially, talked about praising God.

  Setting type was a good way to focus his mind. And relax. His fingers flew over the trays, and the lines appeared on the setting tray.

  Putting together a new edition of his newspaper always challenged him. Time slipped away as the layout took shape in type. Had he invested in a newer printer, he could do this more easily, but newer did not necessarily mean better. Thank you, Lord, that I get to do this job that I love. Thank you that Elizabeth is seeming stronger. Thank you for such a glorious fall day, and for Hjelmer showing up today. The rhythm of typesetting, the pungent odor of ink—oops, a misspelled word. He reset that.

  What was he doing building houses and apartments anyway? This was what he loved doing. But running a newspaper in a small town like Blessing did not make enough money to support his family. Construction was a solid business, a good investment.

  And Blessing was growing. He knew he was doing the right thing. Wasn’t he?

  Chapter 16

  Mister Trygve? Lookit here!”

  Trygve paused from digging Tante Ingeborg’s potatoes and turned.

  Manny’s bay gelding, saddled and bridled, stood right behind him. And on the horse sat Manny! The grin on the boy’s face was wide enough to slide a saucer into.

  “Done it myself. Climbed up on him all by myself.”

  Trygve was grinning too. He leaned on his fork. “That’s wonderful, Manny! But where is your cane?”

  Manny jammed his right toe forward, poking it in behind the horse’s elbow. The horse obediently turned aside in place. “Right here. In this rifle scabbard under my right stirrup. I climb aboard and slide my cane into the rifle scabbard. See?”

  “So it’s handy that you don’t own a rifle.”

  “Used to have one, but Shack lost his. We backtracked and all, but we never found it. So he took mine for hisself. He said it’s ’cause he’s the better shot.”

  “Is he?”

  Manny shrugged, grinning. He didn’t have to say “No, he isn’t” out loud. The grin faded. “Mr. Trygve, I’m beholden forever to Dr. Bjorklund for saving my leg when she didn’t hafta. I can’t grip good with it yet, but I can knee Joker aside and use spurs. If I had any spurs.”

  “A lot of us are beholden to her for one thing or another. It’s a fine thing when you can do so much good for so many people.”

  “Yes, sir.” Manny watched him dig potatoes for a minute. “I’m not so sure I could help you fork up taters. Don’t know if my leg can do that.”

  “You could sit on the ground and pick them up as I turn the dirt.”

  Still grinning mightily, Manny kicked his stirrups free, swung his bad leg over the cantle, and slid off onto his good leg. He plopped down onto the ground beside the potato row.

&n
bsp; “Shouldn’t you tie your horse up somewhere?”

  “Nah. He ground ties real good. ’Bout hafta have a horse that ground ties out here where there ain’t no trees.” And Manny was right about the horse. Joker just stood there.

  Trygve dragged the peck basket in closer and forked up a clump of dirt. Manny ran his fingers through it, sifting out potatoes. He got not only the small potatoes but the very small ones. “Are these too little?”

  “Nope. Wait until you taste those little darlings in Tante Ingeborg’s potato soup.”

  “Haven’t tasted nothing around here yet that ain’t mighty good.”

  “Well, there’s spinach.” Trygve found himself still grinning. This was such a different boy from the sullen youngster that Tante Ingeborg and Onkel Haakan had taken under their wing.

  They worked together well. Trygve dug and Manny sifted, his fingers working through every inch. Trygve brought out all of the bushel baskets from the barn and dumped the peck baskets into them. It had been a bumper year for wheat. Looked like it was a bumper year for potatoes as well.

  Presently Manny sat up straight. “You know something, Mr. Trygve?”

  “You can call me just Trygve.”

  “You sure it’s all right? Ma said I had to mister everybody.”

  “I’m sure. Call me Trygve.”

  Manny nodded. “I been thinking about that fifty-five dollars. They took it with them out to that hideout, but when you caught them, they didn’t have it.”

  “We figured they could have buried it anywhere. It’s a big prairie.”

  “Don’t think so. Jed’s sort of a good worker, and Gabe’s a fair worker, but Shack don’t use a single muscle he don’t have to. Now lookit this dirt.” Manny raised a handful and dropped it. “Good garden dirt, but kinda dry and hard to dig. Not like Kentucky dirt. You’re really working on your fork there. And the dirt out where you don’t plow is hard as rock.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So Gabe and Jed, and for sure Shack, wouldn’t be burying nothing. Too much work. Besides, I mucked out the stalls, so I know all the tools that’s in that barn. Ain’t any. Just a hay fork. I had to use a hay fork to muck stalls. Hit’s a real pain in the backside, trying to take up horse manure with a hay fork.”

  Trygve smiled. When they left their farm behind, the Hefner family would for sure have taken nearly all their tools and kitchen utensils with them, because everyone who moves on does that. He stopped digging. “So you’re thinking they did something with the money besides bury it?”

  “Yes, sir. I’d ride out there and look around some, but I can’t recall exactly how to get there.” He dumped two big handfuls of potatoes into the basket.

  Trygve mulled this. He knew how to get there, because Tante Ingeborg had shown them the way, leading them out there to catch Manny’s bank-robbing brothers. And Manny certainly knew those three robbers. He had grown up with them.

  Trygve turned a few more forkfuls of dirt. “Manny, how do your legs feel, being back on a horse after months of not riding?”

  The boy shrugged. “All right.”

  “I know how to get there. Let’s ride out to that place when we finish with the potatoes. Take some food and bedding along, of course. There isn’t much out there to eat. Look around a little, spend the night there.”

  Manny was grinning broadly. “You know the way?” At Trygve’s nod he clambered to his feet. “Gabe wouldn’t let us cook anything or light a fire because the smoke from the stove would give us away. But you and me can cook. Maybe even some of them little taters, you think?”

  “I think. Let’s talk to Tante Ingeborg.”

  By hanging on to his saddle, Manny could stand on his bad right leg, tuck his left toe into the stirrup, and swing aboard. Actually, he did it pretty slickly. He rode over to the house behind Trygve and took his cane with him when he got off. He galumphed up onto the porch and followed Trygve into the kitchen.

  Tante Ingeborg was sitting at the table, leaning on it with one elbow and gazing out the window. Just sitting. It was not at all like her. She turned toward them and smiled. “Did you dig the potatoes already?”

  Trygve plopped down into a chair. “Not quite. We have one short row to go, but with Manny helping, it’s going quickly. Lots of potatoes this year. They’re going to pretty much fill up the root cellar. Manny and I have been talking. We want to ride out to the Hefner place, spend the night there, and look around for the money that’s still missing. We think it might be out there. And we’re hoping you’ll put some food in a sack for us because there isn’t much out there.”

  “Except wormy flour,” Manny added. “Really wormy. More worms than flour.”

  Ingeborg stared at Trygve, frowning.

  Trygve added, “Manny thought of it. And I thought if we found the money, and he gave it away, that might redeem him in Anner’s eyes. Change Anner’s mind about him. See if we can lance this boil now and not let it fester any longer.”

  Ingeborg stared at her nephew. “Trygve Knutson, I am so pleased to be your tante. You make all of us proud. Daniel borrowed the wagon, though. You’ll have to wait until he’s done with it.”

  Manny had that big wide grin back. “No wagon, ma’am. Ride.”

  “Manny here is mounting his horse by himself, and he thinks he can make the trip.”

  Ingeborg’s mouth dropped open. “But your leg . . . it’s not ready yet. No. You could break it again, and then you’d lose it, for sure.”

  Trygve watched her for a moment, trying to read her sad face. “Tante Ingeborg . . .” He didn’t know how to say this. “Remember when Onkel Haakan got kind of negative when he started to slip downhill? When he used to say yes, but then he was saying no, it can’t be done. Not like him at all.” He took a deep breath. “Now you’re doing it.”

  “Yes, but Manny . . .” She frowned, a sad frown wrinkling a sad face that seemed to have gotten much older just in this last month. “But this isn’t like that. Manny shouldn’t test the leg yet.”

  “I’m sure I can do it, Grandma. Really sure.”

  “No. I don’t want to be any part of this.” She wagged her head.

  Trygve nodded. “Well, we certainly won’t ask you to do something you don’t think is right. That would be wrong.” He stood up. “Come on, Manny.”

  They went outside and Manny clumped down off the steps with his cane, following Trygve. Trygve picked up the reins of Manny’s horse and headed for the potato patch.

  Manny sighed. “I was sure ’nough wanting to do that.”

  From the porch, Ingeborg called, “I changed my mind. I’ll put together some food for you.”

  Manny whooped, grinning joyously.

  Trygve grinned too, but because he was happy for his aunt.

  Manny said, “Finish digging taters, right?”

  “Right. What’s out at the Hefner place in the way of bedding?”

  “Not much. We used our bedrolls. No kerosene either. Lamps were burnt dry, and we couldn’t refill them. And there was one kettle and a pot we had with us.”

  “Good to know. Soon as we finish up here, we’ll take off.”

  “Wait.” Manny frowned. “Who’s gonna milk?”

  “Andrew tonight. Maybe he can bring along someone or start earlier. Something.”

  Tante Ingeborg was waiting for them on the porch when they finished with the potatoes and rode up to the house. “Manny, if it feels that there might be problems, turn around and come back, will you? Or just sit by the track, and we’ll send Daniel out to get you.”

  “Yes’m, Grandma, I will.”

  And away they went.

  On the long ride out, Trygve glanced over to Manny now and then, but the boy didn’t seem uncomfortable. And he was certainly a fine hand with horses. They rode in silence. And rode. And rode.

  Manny interrupted Trygve’s idle thoughts of building his home and of Miriam in that home. “You sure we should be doing this if’n Grandma don’t like us to?”

  Trygve
almost answered, but as he thought about it, he changed what he was going to say. “No, Manny, I’m not sure. We might get partway and you’ll ruin your leg. But if we find the money and turn it in, that will be a big step toward the town accepting you better. Maybe soothing Mr. Valders too.”

  “Give it back to the bank?”

  And Trygve grinned. “Nope. That debt’s been paid.”

  “But I didn’t pay it. I just owe lots of people now instead of just one.”

  “Paid is paid.” Trygve thought for another few minutes. “Reverend Solberg will be the first to tell you that we, each of us, owe a debt to God we can never pay for sinning. Jesus paid that debt, and it’s paid. We don’t have to pay it, not that we ever could.”

  “Don’t seem right to me.”

  “It doesn’t seem right to lots of people, but that’s the way it is.” Did Miriam understand how Jesus paid with His lifeblood? The subject had never come up. In fact, it seemed that Trygve and Miriam pretty much avoided talking about religion. And if her views were different from his, would that taint his love for her?

  He knew the answer to that one. Absolutely not!

  “There it is!” Manny whooped and pointed toward a very distant farmstead. “Way out there, but that’s it! I recka-nize it! We found it!”

  Manny’s horse seemed to figure out this was home as well. It quickened its pace even as Trygve’s was slowing down.

  It was a beautiful farm. The buildings were rather small as farm buildings go. Milking sheds were usually built for ten or twenty cows, even if you had only one or two. The herd was going to grow. This one handled maybe three or four.

  They rode into the corral behind the barn and Manny slid off his horse. “Guess I ain’t used to riding no more.” He arched his back.

  “You’ll loosen up.” Trygve felt stiff too. He usually drove a buggy or a wagon. Saddles were for cowboys. They put up their horses and forked them some of the dusty gray hay from a big stack on the barn floor.

  “There’s still water in the trough,” Manny said, “’cause a-course we was planning on coming back. Not much water, though.”