A Harvest of Hope

by Lauraine Snelling

  Lying on her back, tears leaked out of her eyes and meandered through her hair onto her pillow. But at least they were gentle tears, more like a spring rain than a thunder and lightning storm. And like with a spring rain sinking into the earth, peace settled into her heart and she slept.

  There was no pit last night was her first thought on waking Monday morning. Thank you, Lord, there was no pit. She could hear Freda in the kitchen rattling the grate. The rooster was trying to wake the dawn, and since the cows were not bellowing, they must have been in the barn already, being milked. How had Manny managed to leave the house without her hearing him? Maybe he was still sleeping? She threw back the covers and, grabbing her wrapper, headed for the kitchen.

  “Is Manny—”

  “Down at the barn? Yes. Sorry I woke you.”

  “I just woke up. It was time.” Ingeborg stretched and yawned.

  “I thought sourdough pancakes sounded good, so I started the batter last night.”

  “I see that. Let’s make extra for raised biscuits.”

  Ingeborg returned to her room to dress and make the bed. It must have gotten close to freezing during the night, as chilly as the house was.

  They had plenty of batter left, so Ingeborg stirred in more flour and emptied the crockery bowl out on a floured board. There was something about kneading bread that settled the soul. The sourdough fragrance tickled her nose and made her smile.

  “I think we’ll keep some out to fry for when Emmy and Manny get home from school. I haven’t done that for a long time.”

  “Probably since last winter. Somehow that seems like a cold-weather food.”

  “Trygve said earlier that he would haul the cheese orders in today, right?”

  “Ja, but I didn’t remind him.”

  The sound of jingling harness accompanied Patches’ barking that someone was there. Ingeborg looked out the window. “Speak of the angels. Do you want some more help?”

  Freda slid her arms into her coat that hung on the pegs by the door. “No, we can do it. We have all the invoices ready, right?”

  “That we do. And checked against the labels on the crates.”

  “We’ll check one more time.” Out the door Freda went, greeting Trygve. She climbed up on the wagon with him, and they drove over to the cheese house.

  Ingeborg answered the insistent telephone. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, Mor. Are you planning on coming into town today?” Thorliff asked.

  “Well, I wasn’t, but Trygve is here to pick up a cheese shipment. I can come in with him, easy enough. Or do you mean later?”

  “If you tell Elizabeth I said this, I will pour sour cream in your coffee, but she needs some Mor time.”

  “Is she weaker?”

  “No. More frustrated with being housebound, I think. Which, on one hand, is a good thing.”

  “But on the other . . . I will come in with Trygve.”

  “Takk.” He paused. “Did you think it strange that neither Anner nor Hildegunn were in church yesterday?”

  Actually I enjoyed the peace and quiet. But Ingeborg did not say that aloud. They all had learned that anything said on the telephone, thanks to the party line, would be around Blessing faster than a horse could run. “They were probably helping Gerald and Rebecca.” Thorliff’s silence said he wasn’t buying that line. “Did you mention your concern to Reverend Solberg?”

  “No. See you in a while.”

  Ingeborg hung up the receiver. What could she take to Elizabeth that might cheer her up? An idea tiptoed in. She gathered up some of her smaller squares cut for a future quilt, looking for the ones with red or blue in them. Then she picked up the extra blue corduroy and folded that into the basket too, all the while smiling at her idea. This would be a surefire way to please both mother and daughter.

  Chapter 18

  Ingeborg met the wagon as it was leaving the cheese house. “Trygve, do you mind if I ride into town with you?”

  “Not at all. How quickly can you be ready?”

  “I’m ready.” Ingeborg raised her basket.

  “Then I shall go get some other things done.” Freda stepped down out of the wagon and handed her the envelope with all the shipping information. “It is all there. We just made certain of that. I’ll make sure there is dough left.”

  “Takk. Just punch it down again. If I were you, I wouldn’t do the wash today, after all.”

  “Ja, it does look like rain.”

  Ingeborg handed her basket up and climbed up the wheel into the wagon.

  Trygve looked to the north as he clucked to the horse. “That sure is blowing in quick.”

  “We might be grateful for the roofed end of the train depot. Not that rain could hurt the cheese any, but it sure could mess up the labels.”

  “I have a tarp in the back if we need it.” He sent the horses into a trot as they drove down the lane. With the wind against their backs, Ingeborg unfolded her shawl and wrapped it over her head and shoulders. The trip to the train station passed without discussion, since they needed to shout to be heard over the wind.

  Trygve parked the wagon under the roofed section, and Ingeborg climbed down to take the paper work in to the stationmaster.

  When she came out, Trygve was looking wistfully down the street to the apartment building. Ingeborg smiled. His face, his hands, his everything betrayed that he would best love to be building right now. He was heart and soul into these building projects, first simply volunteering labor when he should have been working on his own house, then getting paid to do carpentry. Bitterness bubbled to the surface again when she thought about the dispute with Anner.

  With this wind, there would be no working on roofs today. At least they had the exterior nearly done, so most of the work now was inside. One of the single houses still had to be roofed, but the others were closed in too. The plan to be ready for fall move-ins needed to speed up. While the tent houses had worked for the summer, it would be too cold in weather like this. And this was just the beginning.

  Trygve climbed down and walked over to the station to grab one of the dollies and started to unload the cheese crates.

  “Eh, Trygve, might we lend ye a hand?”

  They turned to see Thomas Devlin come crossing the street. With him, Silas Nordstrund, grinning inanely, ambled along. The fellow was a head taller than Thomas and twice as wide, but he seemed smaller in a way. A lovely meerschaum pipe stuck out of his ragged shirt pocket.

  “If you want, certainly. I never turn down an offer of help.”

  “Wise man ye be. Ye’ve met Silas here, I aver.”

  “I have. Good to see you, Silas.” Trygve extended his hand for a shake. “Tante Ingeborg, this is Silas, the night man at the grain elevator.”

  Ingeborg smiled. “Trygve mentioned you. How do you do?”

  “Jus’ fine, Miz Tanty.” That same silly grin. Ingeborg remembered what Trygve had said: “Silas makes Manny look like a Harvard professor.”

  Devlin grabbed a four-wheeled baggage cart and pulled it over. “With three of us we can stack them on this. Ingeborg,” he said, nodding toward her. “Top of the morning to yerself.”

  “Good morning, Father Devlin.” She greeted him with a smile. “And to you.”

  As the train screeched in, the stationmaster stepped over to the door of the freight car, the paper work all ready.

  She watched Mr. Nordstrund. The man was slow of mind, that was for sure. But what a fine worker he was! And strong! He ignored the baggage cart and simply tucked a cheese crate under each arm, strolling into the freight car, hardly noticing his burden. Within minutes they’d transferred the load, just in time to hear the whistle of the train. This time, the train whistle announced its departure, and the train headed for parts east.

  The conductor shouted, “All aboard,” and the train wheels screamed steel against steel to get the behemoth in motion again.

  Thomas stood erect and wiped his brow. “I take it this is from your cheese house?”


  “Ja. Our first big shipment this fall.”

  Trygve smiled. “Thanks for the help.”

  “Most welcome. We’ll be getting back to our jobs.” Devlin touched the brim of his hat and strode back across the street and past the post office next to the apartment house, his friend tagging along beside.

  “So often he manages to show up at the just right time, doesn’t he?” Ingeborg smiled at Trygve. “I’m going over to Thorliff’s. What about you?”

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  Trygve stopped the wagon outside the fence and headed for the newspaper office off to the right while Ingeborg climbed the steps to the house.

  Thelma met her at the door. “Oh, how good to see you! I know this will help cheer Elizabeth, for sure. You go on in.”

  “Ingeborg? Am I hearing right?” Elizabeth called. They had turned one of the two rooms where they used to take care of patients into a sitting room/office for Elizabeth, and she slept in the other room, since she was forbidden the stairs.

  Ingeborg found her in the sitting room with a shawl around her shoulders, dressed in a simple day dress. The fact that she wasn’t in nightclothes meant she was indeed feeling better.

  “You have color back in your face, and even your voice is stronger. Oh, my dear, I am so glad for you.”

  “We can blame it on Astrid. What a tyrant.” She waved to the other rocker. “Sit. It has been too long since we had a real visit.”

  Ingeborg sat and set her basket on the floor.

  “So what do you have there?”

  “I have an idea for something really special for Inga.” Ingeborg picked up the basket and set it on her lap. “I have been sewing for Emmy ever since I realized everything she had was too small. Like far too short and too tight, and I felt terrible. So Miriam and I bought both red and blue corduroy to make jumpers for Emmy. I was sewing the red one, and Inga said blue was her favorite.”

  “I can guess where this is going.”

  “So today I had an idea. I don’t have enough blue left for a jumper, but I have quite a bit. So what if we pieced these squares together for the bodice, and put a band around the middle of the skirt?” She laid out the squares. “What do you think?”

  “I think we’d better start stitching. What a clever idea.”

  “This way we can make do with what we have.”

  “We could go buy some more corduroy, you know.”

  “I know, but I think this will suit her.” She laid out alternating blue and red print cotton squares on her lap with several white ones, then laid blues on red and vice versa. She handed one stack to Elizabeth, along with a needle and thread. “Sew them in pairs, and then we’ll alternate them on the next row.”

  “Coffee’s ready.” Thelma brought in a tray and set it on the low table. “What’s this you’re doing?” She peered at the pairs. “A quilt?”

  “No. A jumper for Inga. Do you want to join us?”

  “I could for a while.” She poured the coffee, handed the cups around, and they chose their own cookies.

  Ingeborg explained the design again, and they sewed the pairs together. Thelma whisked the tray off the table, and they laid them out again. Quickly they had enough for the bodice. “Now I’ll lay the pattern on this and cut it out. I’ll use white for the facing and possibly to line it. We can sew a long strip for an inset in the skirt.”

  While they stitched, they caught up and shared what they knew of events in Blessing. Elizabeth’s delight was contagious when Ingeborg told of the children and then of Benny’s riding Joker, Manny’s horse.

  “Inga had such fun that day. She bubbled past bedtime.”

  “I think all the children did. I was so proud of Manny, I nearly busted my buttons.”

  “You know Inga. She has to have pockets. Ouch!” Elizabeth sucked on her finger.

  “True. Let’s see. Four squares is too big for pockets for her, and two won’t look right.”

  “Why not cut the original squares in four? We can piece them like we did the bigger ones and then use three across.” Thelma looked to Ingeborg, who smiled and nodded.

  “I should have brought the pattern with me.” Ingeborg rolled out their pieced strip. “But I never dreamed we’d get this far.”

  “Six hands are faster than four.” Elizabeth cocked her head. “You think we’ve solved all of Blessing’s problems too?”

  “Short of what to do about Anner Valders, I’d say so.” Ingeborg shook her head. “I’m sure grateful that God knows what He is doing, because I most assuredly have run out of ideas.”

  “I watch Thorliff trying to act as if he is no longer angry, and then I see him lose his temper over some little thing that goes wrong. Like he ran out of shaving soap. He was furious. Over shaving soap! That is not my Thorliff.”

  “Nor mine. I keep thanking God for the answer, but I have no idea what it will be. The Valders weren’t even in church yesterday. Neither of them.”

  “I’ve been reading Hebrews, chapter eleven: ‘Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’” Elizabeth laid her sewing in her lap. “I have never before read my Bible like I have been doing lately. Some of the verses have brought me such comfort and peace. More than that, I’m discovering how much it fits this situation. We have no idea what will happen with Anner, but we know God will deal with him. And that’s faith.”

  “Hmph!” Thelma snorted. “The verse in First Timothy is more like it. It says when you put away conscience, you make a shipwreck of your faith.”

  The rumble of thunder caught their attention. Lightning jagged the western sky. Looking out, they saw bending trees and flailing branches.

  “I knew it was getting darker, but we’ve been having such a good time, I didn’t pay much attention.” Ingeborg looked around. “Shall we light some of these lamps?”

  When the rain hit, it sounded like a roaring train, drenching the world like a washtub had turned over on it.

  Thelma returned with some matches. “You light the lamps. I better run upstairs and check the windows there.”

  “Good thing Freda is at my place. I might have left my bedroom window open a small bit.” Ingeborg lighted the two lamps.

  Elizabeth and Ingeborg finished the pieced strip and laid it out between two pieces of corduroy.

  Elizabeth beamed. “Oh, that is going to look so perfect! All these years I’ve not had time to join the quilters, and here we are making something beautiful for my daughter. Thank you, Ingeborg. You couldn’t have planned anything better.”

  Slowly the thunder and lightning moved away from Blessing, but the rain poured for another hour or more. Thelma brought in trays of bread and soup and the cucumber pickles she’d made in the summer. Thorliff and Trygve came running in from the newspaper office, and soon they each had a tray in the sitting room too.

  Thank you, Lord, for my son, for his calling me this morning. At least he wouldn’t have to pour sour cream in her coffee, as he had teased that he would do if she told Elizabeth what they were up to. The thought made her smile.

  Thorliff brought up what the women had been ignoring. “Anner is furious that he has to have a report ready in time for the meeting.”

  Ingeborg shook her head. “Why is that? He has always bragged that he has the bankbooks ready for inspection at any time. Give him an hour was all he asked.”

  “I know. This caught me by surprise too.”

  “I could understand if this was right after the robbery, but this is months later. Surely he has things in order again. And it was only that one money box that was stolen, not the whole bank.” Ingeborg rubbed her chin. “Has he said he cannot be ready?”

  “No, just that he doesn’t want to do it. This is Monday. He has three more days. If he gets it to me in time, I will print it out. If he doesn’t, he can write it on the blackboard. Always in the past, he brought it over, and I set it and printed it. He never seemed affronted before, not in all the years I’ve known him.”

  �
�But in the past, the date has been established long before the meeting time,” Elizabeth reminded them.

  “I know. That’s probably it. But this concerns me. Maybe running the bank is getting to be too much for him,” Trygve said.

  “He’s done it all by himself all these years.” Thorliff shook his head.

  I don’t think that’s the problem, Ingeborg thought, but she couldn’t get a handle on what was going through her mind.

  “I still think he is trying to get even. Anner Valders does not like change, and you have to admit, Blessing is changing faster than anyone ever dreamed.” Elizabeth laid her hands in her lap. “Ever since the robbery. Maybe that knock on the head addled his brains.”

  “What a horrid thought.” Ingeborg looked to her son. Thorliff was staring out the window, but she had a feeling he was not seeing the weather. “Everyone agreed to pray. Right?”

  He nodded slowly, barely. The wind rattled the windows, and rainwater sluiced from the drain spouts and into the barrels.

  Ingeborg caught Trygve looking at her with raised eyebrows. She shrugged and turned inward to remind God that He had promised to answer. Where two or three are gathered, I am in the midst. How often she had clung to that promise.

  Thorliff asked, “Do you think God will really answer? I mean, we put Him on the spot, almost like a demand.”

  Ah, the crux of the silence. “He says to pray, believing.”

  “I-I’m not sure I believe strong enough. I look at this mess, and I see no good outcome.”

  “Has He answered in the past?”

  Thorliff grimaced. “He did not keep Far alive.”

  And your wife is pregnant, dangerously so. “I know. Oh, how I know.” Tears didn’t leak, they spurted and, like the rain drenching the windows, soaked her cheeks.