A Dream to Follow (15 page)

Blessing, North Dakot

Thorliff took the letter from his mother’s hand. He glanced at the return address and felt his heart ricochet off his ribs. “From St. Olaf.”

“Ja, aren’t you going to open it?”

He nodded and dug in his pocket for his knife. He held the letter with his teeth, using both hands to open the blade, then slit the envelope along the top edge. His hands shook enough that it took both of them to shut the knife. Letting it slide back to nest next to an arrowhead he’d found in the field, he took out the paper and leaned closer to the lamp to read it. When he looked up, he held the letter out to his mother. “I’ve been accepted.” At the same time he shook his head. “But where I’ll find the money, I sure enough don’t know.”

“Don’t you worry about that.” Ingeborg folded the letter and tapped the edge on her finger. “The money will be there when you need it.”

“But if we have a drought again . . .” Thorliff inhaled enough to stretch his chest. “I know Far is worried.” Thorliff used
Far
and
Mor
and
Pa
and
Ma
interchangeably, being totally comfortable in either Norwegian, his native tongue, and English. While he still spoke with an accent, he no longer felt concern that people might not understand him.

“Instead of worrying, we must trust that God will take care of us. He always has. Why would he stop now?”

“But what if Far says no to my going? He’s not been agreeable so far.”

“When the time comes, he will do what is right and best.”

Thorliff cocked his head. “So how does one know what is right and best?”

Ingeborg tapped him on his chest. “You listen to your heart. That’s where God speaks to us. Haakan knows how much you want to go to school, how much you need to go away to school. He will come around. You just be patient and keep praying.”

“But what if God says no?” Thorliff clenched his fists in his pockets.
Please, God, you’ve got to say yes
.

“If God says no, sometimes He means not yet. Waiting is hard but good for building character.”

Thorliff groaned.
Surely I have enough character
. “I know.” His shoulders slumped, and he stared at the floor. When he looked up again, his voice broke in the middle of the question. “So what do I write back to them?”

“That you are looking forward to attending St. Olaf and thank you for the acceptance.”

“Really?”

“Ja. Really. If something happens, we can always cancel.”

“Thank you, Mor.” Thorliff picked his letter up from the table. “I’ll answer this tomorrow.” On the way up the stairs he thought back to the afternoon fishing at the river. If he went clear to Northfield, Minnesota, for school, there would be no more fishing, hunting, riding, or working with the men. And there would be no Anji. That thought made him clunk the toe of his boot on the riser and stumble. While he often tried to convince himself they were just good friends, none of his other friends made his heart race or his tongue get tangled in his teeth. When he walked with her, he knew he could wrestle a buffalo to the ground if need be. Not that he’d ever seen a live buffalo in the area, but he had picked up a wagonload of bones.

He hung his shirt and pants on the pegs lining the wall and crawled into bed beside his sleeping brother. Hands locked behind his head, he lay listening to the night noises. A nighthawk screeched. An owl hooted up the river. The curtains rustled in the breeze, puffing out like white clouds, then falling straight again. The house creaked. Andrew snuffled as he breathed. Crickets sawed their summer medley. Home sounds, comfortable like the down-filled pillow he rested his head on. Would he miss all these things too, or only his family and friends in Blessing? Surely there were crickets and curtains and peeper frogs in Minnesota too.

But no Anji or Andrew or Astrid. No Mor and Far and Tante Kaaren. Sadness bit his tongue like vinegar.

Breakfast the next morning was nearly over with, the cows already milked, and the rooster still crowing when Haakan gave his sons their chores for the day. “Thorliff, you go on over and help Lars today. Andrew, you can help the girls in the garden.”

Andrew groaned. “I could help Onkel Lars.”

“I know, but you’re better on the hoe.” Haakan leaned over and tousled Andrew’s hair.

Andrew rolled his eyes and propped one hand under his chin. “How come the weeds grow without rain and the corn and beans don’t?”

Haakan looked to Ingeborg and shook his head. “I don’t know. Ask your mor.”

Ingeborg shrugged. “That’s a good question for Pastor Solberg. But I do know that weeds even grew during Bible times.”

“Tante Kaaren said a weed is just a flower in the wrong place.”

Astrid looked up from spooning oatmeal into her mouth.

“Tell that to the pigweed and thistles.”

“I heard down in Richland County the thistles are so bad they have to wrap canvas around the horses’ legs and bellies to keep them from being cut up.” Haakan drained his coffee cup. “Sure am grateful that’s not the case here.”

“How come there were no thistles when we came here?”

“The prairie sod was so thick nothing new could grow. And before you ask, the thistle seed came mixed in with the seed wheat. Weeds don’t need much invitation to take over.” Haakan thumped his young son on the shoulder. “That’s why we hoe the garden. If we don’t get rain soon, we will have to haul water from the river again for the garden. Can’t take a chance on our well going dry.” He pushed his chair back. “Takk for maten,” he said to his wife.

The boys echoed him as they followed his broad back out the door.

“Velbekomme,” Ingeborg called after them.

That evening when the chores were finished, Thorliff wrote his letter to St. Olaf and slid it into the envelope. He’d washed before climbing the stairs to his room. With Andrew downstairs playing checkers with Astrid, he’d finally had a few minutes to himself. The letter was simple, but his dream wore shadows. How could he possibly take money from his family in a drought year to go to school? He could always wait another year. Postponing didn’t kill dreams.

As Mor said, sometimes God answered with wait, not yet. He eyed the story he’d started about a young man who came to this country and made mistakes with the language. Something he knew a great deal about.

But instead of writing, he changed clothes, slicked his hair back, and letter in hand, descended the stairs.

“I’m taking this over to be mailed.”

At his announcement, Astrid looked up from the checkerboard. “You sure are dressed up to walk to the store.” Her merry grin told him more was coming. “Thorliff ’s going courting, Thorliff ’s going courting.”

“Hush with teasing your brother.” But the smile on Ingeborg’s face made Thorliff ’s go from warm to hot. “I have some quilt pieces to send to Agnes if you would please take them.”

Now his ears felt on fire. “Ja, I will do that gladly.” He shifted from one foot to the other as he waited for her to find the cloth bits and roll them together to tie with a scrap of cloth.

Giving him the packet, she patted his arm. “Don’t stay out too late.”

“I won’t.”

Freedom was running across the prairie with the moon rising behind him and throwing long shadows from every post and weed stalk. It was feeling his hair flopping in the breeze and shouting, “Anji! Anji!” with no one to hear. He slowed his pace to catch the breath cramping his chest, then shot off again, leaping a ditch, feeling pride at his long strides, wishing to dart and dip like the bats skimming the air for their evening bug feast.

He dropped his letter into the mail slot at Penny’s store and headed back to the Baard farm. The dog barked at his arrival, then wagged himself nearly in half, as if apologizing for not recognizing the guest.

“Hey, Thorliff, you come too late to play horseshoes.” Swen Baard, the eldest of the boys, leaned against the post of the front porch. Behind him rocked Agnes and Joseph, his mother and father.

“He don’t want to play horseshoes, you horse breath, you,” quipped his younger brother.

“Knute.” The tone of his mother’s voice even stilled the chortle at his brother’s expense.

“Mor sent this for you.” Thorliff managed to bump Knute with his knee as he passed on his way to deliver the fabric. “And I’ll beat you at horseshoes any time you want.”

“Well said. Have a seat.” Joseph Baard indicated the steps with the bowl of his pipe.

“I . . . ah . . .” Confounded ears. Why did they go hot all the time?

“All of you, stop it.” Anji backed out, pushing the door open with her hip, her hands full with a tray of glasses. “I already gave the little ones theirs.” She set the tray down on the stool Joseph removed his feet from and smiled at Thorliff. “I thought you might be thirsty after your run across the field and such.”

He could feel his ears, nay, his entire face warm up. “Dark was comin’ on fast.”

“Help yourself, young man.” Joseph nodded toward the tray as he took one glass and half drained it in one gulp. “Ah, must be the last of the raspberry juice. Was this just for us, or did you know we would be having company?” Thorliff prayed the moonlight wasn’t bright enough to show his red cheeks and ears.

Anji ignored her father’s teasing words and sat down beside Thorliff on the porch step, her own glass held between both hands, her elbows on her knees. “Mighty pretty evening.”

Thorliff stared at her moon-kissed profile. The tip of her nose turned up in the nicest way, and while in the moon glow he couldn’t see her freckles, he knew they were there, spattered across her nose and cheeks like dots of gold dust. When she turned to smile at him, his heart flip-flopped, and his Adam’s apple nigh to choked him.

“You want to go for a walk?” He kept his query to a whisper in hopes the boys wouldn’t hear.

“Sure.” She stood and set her glass back on the tray. “Come on, I’ll walk you partway home.” Snickers followed them as they left the yard.

“I mailed my thanks to St. Olaf.”

“Good for you. I’m glad. You’ve been wanting to go to college ever since I can remember.”

“Far hasn’t said yes yet, but Mor says not to worry.” He locked his hands behind his back, the urge to take hers drying his mouth.

“Looks like drought again. I hope not as bad as before.”

Who cares about the drought. What about us?
“You thought any more about teaching?”

“Umm. Sure, I think about it, but not for this year. I don’t dare leave Mor the way she’s been feeling.”

Thorliff lifted his face to the evening breeze. He sniffed the dryness, the dust-coated weeds, the wheat only half as tall and thick as it should be. “I don’t know how I can leave if the harvest is poor. With the sawmill no longer running in the winter, Far needs every dime he can earn from threshing, and if they have to pay one more man to help . . .” His sigh sucked up dust through his boot soles.

“But if your Mor said . . .”

“I know, but she said I would know for sure in my heart.” He turned to her and took her hands. “Anji, my heart says I don’t want to leave you either.”

“Our hearts speak alike.” She withdrew her hands. “Good night, Thorliff. I need to be getting home and so do you.”

Her lips were so close. What would it feel like to kiss her? Thorliff nodded. “God natt.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN