A Dream to Follow (32 page)

A song sparrow trilled as if rejoicing in the good news.

“Agnes made sure we had enough to eat one winter,” said one man.

“Agnes helped me laugh again after my baby went on home to heaven. Bet she is holding my baby right now. Agnes loved babies so.”

The litany continued of the good deeds Agnes had done on this earth.

Ingeborg finally stepped forward. “Agnes grabbed me by the back of my neck and led me to believe again after Roald died. She snatched me back from the black pit of despair that threatened to devour me. I owe Agnes my life. Thank you, God, for a friend like her.”

Pastor Solberg waited a few moments, then recited the age-old words with great feeling. “Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. Lord, we commend this body to the earth from which we come, knowing that her spirit is with you and that on the Last Day, with a trumpet blast, you will raise all who have died, and we who believe in you will rejoice forever in the mansions you have prepared for us.” He leaned over and picked up a handful of dirt, drizzling the sign of the cross on the box Joseph had so lovingly made.

Solberg nodded for any others who wanted to do the same, then raised his hands. “Into your hands, Father, we commend our dear Agnes, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, amen.” He blew his nose again and announced that dinner would be at the Baard home as soon as the food could be set out.

Ingeborg wrapped an arm about Anji, and together they turned to the wagons.

Knute and Swen took the shovels that had been stabbed into the pile of dirt. Four men lowered the box into the grave, and the filling in began.

Becky clapped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want them to cover up my ma.”

“Me neither.” Anji held her clinging little sister. “Hush now. We must serve dinner to all these folks. I need you to help me.”

Ingeborg smiled down at Astrid, who still hung on to her hand. Together they walked to the wagon.

“Wish Pa and Thorliff were here,” Astrid said.

“Me too,” Ingeborg replied, giving the girl’s hand a squeeze.

By the time the meal was served and everything cleaned up again, Ingeborg looked around the empty kitchen, empty because only the cat sat in Agnes’s chair. Becky and Anji had gone to lie down, and the men had taken Gus with them to repair machinery in the machine shed.

“Oh, Father, bless this house and those who dwell herein. Comfort them as only you can do.” Ingeborg picked up her last pan and let the screen door close gently behind her.

The funeral might be over, but the grieving had only just begun.

That evening the Bjorklund family gathered at the boardinghouse after the chores were finished. Bridget had made ice cream for dessert, so the twins and Astrid were sitting on the back step licking their bowls clean.

The boys had started a baseball game, the thwack of the bat Uncle Olaf had turned for them sounding clear in the gloaming.

Ingeborg joined the girls, taking a seat beside Grace, who leaned into her aunt.

Sophie shook her head. “Sure was a sad day. Wish Pa was here.”

“Me too.” Astrid set her bowl down. “I’m going to play ball. You coming?”

“No.”

Ingeborg laid a hand on Sophie’s forehead. No, she wasn’t running a fever.

“I’m too sad. Poor Becky and Gus don’t have a ma anymore. It ain’t fair.”

“Sophie, don’t say ain’t.” Kaaren sat down on the other side of the girls.

“Still not fair.”

“No, it’s not.” Kaaren agreed with her daughter.

“Ah, I miss her so, and it’s not like I saw her every day, but the knowing she was here, that was comfort for sure.” Ingeborg turned to look up to see Hjelmer and Bridget behind them.

The bat cracked a resounding hit, and cheers went up on the ball field.

“Run, Trygve, run!” Andrew never worried so much about winning as having a good time. Yelling was part of it.

“You tell ’em, Andrew,” Penny called, smoothing her apron over her rounding middle as she sat down beside Grace.

“Sure wish those clouds would bring rain instead of heat lightning.” Hjelmer sat down in one of the rockers and motioned for his mother to take the other.

“Ja, that would be good.” Bridget sat and fanned herself with her apron. “The wind is so hot and mean today, and now, when we could use a breeze, nothing stirs. The air is still as a stick.” She looked up when her husband, Henry, laid his hands on her shoulders.

“Agnes will be missed, all right. She always made me feel right to home.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning flickered and danced across the black clouds.

Ingeborg swatted a mosquito. Fireflies twinkled in the grass.

“I think it must be time to go home. The boys can no longer see the ball.” They all stood, stretching and yawning.

“Some day this has been.”

“One I’d just as soon not repeat for a good long time.” Kaaren put her arms around her girls. “Come, let’s start walking, and Trygve will catch up with us.”

“I can hitch up the wagon if you like.” Hjelmer rose and smoothed back his hair, dark blond now rather than the near white of his youth.

“No thanks. Walking will be good.”

The church bell ringing brought Ingeborg out of a deep sleep. Two rings and a pause. Two rings and . . .

“Fire! There’s a fire someplace! Andrew!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

With the Threshing Crew

“Make sure those barrels are full of water.”

“I did.” Thorliff waved as he hollered back to his father up on the tractor. While they used the water mostly for the steam boiler, they also kept the barrels full in case of fire. He’d put out a small fire at the last stop. In spite of the spark shield, it only took one spark to start a fire with the land as dry as it was. Besides the barrels, he now kept a bucket close at hand too.

“They had a fire a couple farms over, a lightning strike.” Lars finished tightening the long belt from the tractor to the separator. He waved at Haakan and engaged the pulley. “Today I want you as the grease boy.”

“All right.” Thorliff reached in the tool chest for the oilcan. He checked to make sure it was full again. Haakan and Lars always made sure everything was greased, all the belts checked for wear, and everything tightened down before beginning the day’s work.

Wagons loaded with sheaves of wheat were already lined up. At Lars’s signal they pitched the first load onto the conveyer, and the day’s work began. Besides the greasing, Thorliff made sure there was fresh water for the hands to drink. Cruel hot and humid as it was, they’d had one man pass out the day before. Most of them had taken to wearing wet bandannas tied around their necks and to soaking their hats and shirts.

Hot as it was on the ground, Thorliff knew it was much worse up in the tractor cab keeping that fire going to produce the steam up in the boiler. At one point Haakan poured the bucket of water right over himself and Lars.

Mrs. Sam rang the dinner bell, and with sighs of relief they all watched the machinery shut down. They lined up at the long window that opened onto a ledge and helped themselves to the bacon beans and corn bread, finding whatever shade they could to sit and eat. Thorliff shoveled his food in, hardly taking time to swallow. He had to grease all the machinery joints again before the rig could be started up. Back on his feet, he dunked his hat and bandanna in one of the barrels, wishing he could dunk his whole body. What a relief a dip in a river would be. Thoughts of home crashed through the barrier he had built up during the day. How were they all? Especially Anji. Had she written? He’d soon find out. They were close enough to Devil’s Lake to get mail this evening. If there was any to be had.

That evening Thorliff took out the journal he’d brought along and, after reviewing the last two pages, continued writing his latest story.

“Another week and you leave?” Haakan leaned back against the wagon box. He chewed on a piece of dried venison, too hot and weary to do more.

“Five days.” Thorliff looked up in surprise. This was the first time his far had spoken to him, other than giving direct orders, since the argument at home. He waited for a response, then bent his head to write again. Too often he was too tired at night to write more than a paragraph, but he persisted. Fireflies dotted the darkness while moths and mosquitoes buzzed the lamplight. “How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“Another couple weeks is all. Sure thought there’d be a letter from your ma there.”

“Tante Kaaren likes Lars better.” Thorliff bit his lip. He shouldn’t be teasing Haakan, should he?

Haakan snorted. “Just because he’s gotten more letters don’t mean more than Kaaren likes to write and your ma doesn’t. Anji said anything more about how their family is doing?”

“Just that she feels lost, and so do the others. Good thing Joseph Baard didn’t come along on the crew this year.”

“He wouldn’t leave Agnes. We all knew it was coming. A blessing really. She’d faded away right before our eyes.”

Thorliff considered what he’d written.
Seems to me that dying is easier than living. The pain is gone, and believers go to heaven while those who have to go on living feel sorrow drag them down and into despair if they are not careful
. He remembered the days when his ma and Tante Kaaren had suffered after their husbands died. He’d tried so hard to help with the chores and even the fieldwork.
The soddy was so dark in the winter. And cold. Sometimes I thought we were never going to get warm enough. But when spring came, I never wanted to go back inside. I’d rather have slept outside too if the mosquitoes would have left me alone
.

Thorliff looked over at his father sitting at the rim of the lamplight. “Can I ask you a question?” His heart thumped against his ribs.

“Of course.”

“About my going away to college.” His throat dried up like a wind just blew through. “Do . . . do you think you could possibly . . . ah . . .”

The silence stretched.
Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Now I did it
.

Haakan hawked and spat off to the side. “I’d rather not talk about it now. I’m just too tired.”

Thorliff heard not only the weariness in his father’s voice but also a sadness, or was it resentment? Why, oh, why had he brought it up? Now there’d be a cloud, or even worse, over the remaining days—if Haakan talked to him at all. Thorliff closed his journal and spread his bedroll under the cook wagon, not that there was much dew to worry about. He watched the heat light dancing in the distance and fell asleep with a
Please, God
on his heart.