‘‘Dizzy?’’
‘‘A mite.’’
‘‘Put your head between your knees.’’ Elizabeth gently pressed down on the back of Mrs. Sam’s neck. ‘‘We should have gotten you up in stages.’’ With gentle fingers she explored the old woman’s head. ‘‘No bumps, so you must have fallen easy like.’’
‘‘You were lucky,’’ Sophie said.
‘‘We won’t be so lucky if we don’t get de supper on de tables,’’ she muttered from her knees.
‘‘We take care of that.’’ Lemuel flashed a smile at the doctor. ‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘I didn’t do anything yet.’’
‘‘Nothin’ to do. I be fine now. Sorry to bother you.’’ Mrs. Sam sat straighter and glared at her son. ‘‘Never seen an old woman faint before?’’ She mumbled some more under her breath. ‘‘Weren’t de first time I fainted. Most likely not de last.’’
‘‘I’d say you should go on home and take it easy for a day or so, then come see me.’’ Elizabeth turned to Sophie. ‘‘You want me to send Thelma over to help for a day or two?’’
‘‘No, we can manage.’’ Sophie laid a hand on Mrs. Sam’s shoulder. ‘‘You can go home or go lie down in Bridget’s room. Might be better to not go out in that cold.’’
‘‘I sit right in de kitchen and make sure—’’ ‘‘I will make sure all goes well. Which will it be? The bed here or go on home?’’
‘‘I could go get Pa,’’ Lemuel offered.
‘‘Good idea. As soon as we get the food served.’’
Sophie turned to see that Mr. Wiste was still there, standing back out of the way and watching the proceedings. ‘‘Thank you for your help.’’
‘‘You are welcome.’’
‘‘You could go on out to the party now.’’
‘‘I’ll stay here.’’ He smiled at her. ‘‘I’ll keep out of the way.’’
For some reason his smile made her feel comforted. He had chosen to stay just because he saw a need. ‘‘Would a cup of coffee help?’’ she asked.
‘‘That it would. Dr. Bjorklund, would you like one too?’’
Sophie turned back to see Dr. Elizabeth checking Mrs. Sam’s pulse again. ‘‘Coffee?’’
‘‘That would be marvelous, but here in the kitchen where I can keep an eye on my patient.’’ She studied Mrs. Sam. ‘‘I think she needs a cup too.’’
‘‘My land, this ain’t de way—’’ ‘‘You can have coffee or tea, in here or in the bedroom.’’ Elizabeth spoke in her doctor’s orders voice that even Mrs. Sam obeyed.
‘‘Coffee . . . in here.’’
That night after crawling into bed, Sophie sighed. What would they do without Mrs. Sam again? And what if something was truly wrong? She thought back to when Mr. Wiste told her thank-you and good-night, as if she’d done something special for him. He was the one to be thanked. She smiled to herself. He was always so proper to call her Mrs. Bjorklund. She tried to remember what being a missus felt like but could hardly even remember what Hamre looked like. His face seemed to be fading like a figure going off in the fog. Three months since he’d been gone, and she’d thought she’d never laugh again. Yet today she’d laughed and almost went to a party.
She rolled over onto her side. Would she ever get to attend popcorn parties again?
March
‘‘
Y
OU HAVE A LETTER,’’ Sophie told Garth as he stood before the desk in the boardinghouse lobby.
He took the letter she handed him and smiled. Not a wide smile, because he could scarcely hold his head up, but his lips moved in spite of the fatigue. ‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘Are you all right?’’
Her concern made him straighten—barely. ‘‘Just tired.’’ He paused and then for some strange reason, added, ‘‘I’ve not been sleeping well.’’
‘‘Too much coffee with your supper?’’
‘‘Perhaps.’’
‘‘Your supper is waiting.’’
‘‘Thank you. Let me wash some of the flour off, and I’ll be right back.’’ And no, it wasn’t the coffee. He half folded the letter in his hand. He knew by the handwriting who it was from. His mother. And he most likely knew what was in it. She was urging him to return to Minneapolis and resume the care of his children. But he didn’t have to go there to do that. All he had to do was build a house here in Blessing and have his sister bring the children out, and they would be a happy family again. All the better if Dan decided to come work for him at the flour mill.
Strange how lately the face he thought he would never forget, that he would mourn forever, seemed to be fading away. That was one of the reasons he’d not been sleeping well. While he fought to remember the shape of her eyes, the memories of their earlier years together always brought joy to his heart. The first time he met her, the way she laughed, their wedding, the birth of their first child—a boy who was, as the old saying went, the apple of his eye.
Some days he missed little Grant so much his heart tried to quit beating, but mostly he concentrated on his job to the point of thinking of nothing else. Going home at Christmas had made matters worse, not better, as he’d hoped.
His mother pleading for him to come home, to return to a house that was home no more, didn’t help either.
He washed his face and hands, brushed the flour from his hair, eyebrows, and mustache, shook out his suit coat, and left the letter lying on his chest of drawers. He headed for the kitchen, a place that had come to be the symbol of home to him.
Sophie—he couldn’t keep calling her Mrs. Bjorklund—turned from drawing a plate from the warming oven and smiled at him. Her smile could drive away demons.
‘‘Will you sit with me, Mrs. Bjorklund?’’ He asked her the same thing every evening.
‘‘I will.’’ She set the filled plate at his place.
He sat and tucked the napkin into the collar of his shirt.
Sophie brought the coffeepot to fill his cup. ‘‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have tea?’’
‘‘No. This is fine, thank you.’’ He waited for her to sit, started to cut his meat, paused, put the knife down, and bowed his head. Why all of a sudden he felt the need of saying grace, he wasn’t sure, but for some reason it seemed important.
Perhaps it had to do with Pastor Solberg’s sermon on Sunday. He’d spoken of finding joy in Jesus, of talking with the Father about everything. Heaven knew he needed a friend. When he opened his eyes again, he found Sophie staring at him. Was a man saying grace such a shock?
Go ahead and ask her
, he ordered himself while he buttered his bread. Instead, he cut his meat and took a bite. Even warmed up, the food tasted better than any other he’d had in his life. Maddie had not been a particularly good cook. His mother was adequate. What her meals lacked in flavor, she made up for in quantity. He could feel Sophie watching him.
He stopped to take a drink of coffee. ‘‘So how has your day gone?’’
Her smile made his heart kick up.
‘‘Busy. We have two new boarders, and they each paid for a month.’’
‘‘I’m glad to hear that. Who are they?’’
‘‘A Mr. John Snyder. He is looking for work here. He came from Indiana and is thinking of heading on west if he finds nothing here. I wondered if you might be needing another man.’’
‘‘I’ll talk with him. And the other?’’
‘‘A woman, Miss Bergstrom, from Minneapolis like you.’’ Sophie leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘‘She says she is a nurse and is looking to build a hospital.’’
‘‘A hospital?’’ He stopped chewing.
‘‘I know. She said she was planning to talk with Elizabeth. She heard of her through that doctor in Chicago. It takes a lot of money to start a hospital.’’
‘‘I’m sure it does. Perhaps she has a lot of money.’’
Sophie shrugged. ‘‘She is dressed very well.’’ She steepled her fingers and rested her chin on them. ‘‘She’s been to Europe and New York and lots of places. Why would she come here to start a hospital? You’d think a doctor would be more interested in starting a hospital than a nurse.’’
‘‘Why don’t you ask her?’’
‘‘I plan to the next time I see her.’’
Garth laid down his fork and picked up his cup to cradle in both hands, his elbows, like hers propped on the table. He took in a deep breath of courage. ‘‘I have a favor to ask.’’
‘‘Of course. What is it?’’
‘‘I am getting tired of calling you Mrs. Bjorklund when in my mind I always think of you as Sophie. Might I call you Sophie and you call me Garth?’’
Sophie stared at him, surprise lifting her eyebrows, then the corners of her mouth. ‘‘I think that would be very nice, but please don’t let Mrs. Valders hear of it. I’ve been castigated by her enough.’’
‘‘She seems to do that well.’’ He sipped his coffee. Sophie’s eyes sparkled in the lamplight. While her middle expanded, her face grew only more lovely. Like many women he’d heard tell, pregnancy became them, as it had Maddie. If only he dared to continue down that lane of thought. But society would condemn them both as being in too big of a hurry, and she had already tasted the censure. He’d heard the woman hiss at Sophie during the runaway automobile fiasco. What a nosy busybody. Running the post office must yield plenty of fodder for her nosiness.
‘‘Good. That’s settled, then.’’ He buttered another piece of bread and continued eating.
‘‘Would you like more? I could reheat some.’’
‘‘No thanks. Why don’t you tell me more about Seattle?’’
‘‘I always talk. I think it’s time I got to ask the questions.’’
Sophie’s chin tilted slightly, a sign he’d learned to recognize as her determined look.
Please don’t ask about my wife
. He looked down at his plate so she couldn’t read his eyes.
‘‘What was life like in Minneapolis?’’
He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘‘Well, I worked at a flour mill.’’
‘‘Not much different than here?’’
‘‘One major difference. Here I run it; there I had several bosses.’’
‘‘That would make a difference.’’ Her grin turned saucy. ‘‘Being boss is better.’’
‘‘Except you have all the responsibilities, like you here in the boardinghouse.’’ ‘‘True.’’
‘‘And if people don’t show up to work, you have to do it.’’
‘‘Or find someone else.’’
He guessed by the shadow that flitted across her face she was thinking of Mrs. Sam. ‘‘How is she?’’
‘‘She says she’s all right, but I see her stop to catch her breath at times. I don’t know how we would manage without her.’’ She paused, then tossed her head. ‘‘There you go, getting back to me. We decided that it was your turn. Remember?’’
‘‘We?’’ His eyebrows rose on the question.
‘‘Well, I did, but you didn’t disagree. So tell me about your family. You’ve met most of mine.’’ Her eyes took on a sheen.
She still misses her husband. What kind of fool am I, forgetting that?
‘‘I mean, if you want to. If you’d rather not, I understand.’’
‘‘No.’’ He swallowed hard. ‘‘I would be happy—’’
Not happy at all,
but I will tell you because it is necessary
. He prolonged the pause with another sip of coffee. When he made a slight face, she jumped up.
‘‘I’ll warm that up for you.’’
Wiste, when will you get yourself in order? It is only fair that you tell her
.
She returned with the coffeepot and a sober face. ‘‘I’m sorry. It is not proper for me to intrude on . . . on your grief.’’ After filling his cup, she poured her cup half full and set the pot on the table. When she sat down, she filled the cup with cream and took a swallow.
You are so young for all you’ve been through
. The thought made him want to reach out and take her hand. ‘‘Thanks for the refill. I never could abide lukewarm coffee.’’ He hoped his smile would reassure her, but she didn’t look at him.
‘‘I own a house in Minneapolis not far from my mother’s house. My sister lives next door. Ma is helping to take care of my two children. My son, Grant, is two and a half, and my daughter is now six months old. My wife, Madelynn—she went by Maddie—died giving birth to our baby girl. I—we found a wet nurse for the baby, and I . . . not long after that I heard of the opening here in Blessing, and the rest you know. My sister Helga took the baby to her house as soon as she had her own baby.’’
‘‘I’m sure your little boy misses you.’’
‘‘Yes, and I miss him. But I like my job here. I like Blessing, so when spring comes, I will build a house, and my sister will bring the children. I’m hoping her husband, Dan, would like to work here for me. We would build them a house too, or they could live with me.’’
There, he’d said it aloud, stating his plans. Now to write and let his mother
know for sure. She would not be happy
.
‘‘Is your father still alive?’’
Garth shook his head. ‘‘He was killed in a flour-mill explosion.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ Sophie’s eyes grew wide. ‘‘Does that happen often?’’
‘‘Not often, but the fine flour dust is extremely flammable. If there is an open flame or a spark—well, it can happen.’’
‘‘How long ago? I mean, your father’s death?’’
‘‘Four years. My older brother still works in Minneapolis at the Pillsbury ‘‘A’’ Mill. My mother would rather none of us worked in one.’’
‘‘I don’t blame her. Would she come here too?’’
‘‘No. She is near her other grandchildren there.’’
‘‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’’
‘‘Three of each. I’m the youngest.’’
‘‘You’ve met all of mine. Two girls and two boys.’’
‘‘You don’t see them often.’’
‘‘Oh—I forgot to get your dessert.’’ She pushed herself to her feet.
‘‘We have chocolate pudding with cookies.’’
He watched her walk away. While her twin was finishing school, she’d already been married and widowed and carrying a baby. Along with managing a boardinghouse.
And dreaming of adventures. She’d told him about that during one of their kitchen visits.
She has no idea what having a baby is going to do to her life
. The thought made his forehead wrinkle. He could feel it, along with the certainty that she was not thinking of a man with two children and a house in Minneapolis. Although that might be a bit of an inducement. There were many adventures to be had in Minneapolis.
But I don’t
want to return to Minneapolis. I want to remain here in Blessing
.
She set down a plate holding a bowl of pudding and four cookies.
‘‘Maybe I should have brought more.’’
‘‘You usually eat your dessert with me.’’