A Dream to Follow (39 page)

“Do you want to pray about this?”

“I will.” He slid down to lie prone. “I got to think on it some more first.”

“All right. Since God loves us and hears us all the time, He can help with our thoughts too.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m proud of you, Andrew Bjorklund.”

“ ’Cause I hit Toby Valders?” His eyes lit up.

She ruffled his hair with a loving hand. “Good night, Andrew.”

“So do I need to go talk to Pastor about this fighting son of ours?” Haakan sat against the bed pillows, his Bible in his lap.

“No. At least not now.” She slid into bed beside him and laid her head on his chest. “Did he tell you?”

“Ja, when we were milking.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him to make sure the first punch was hard as he could throw so the other guy didn’t get up and come back to hurt him.”

“Haakan Bjorklund, what a thing to say.” She stared at her husband, then thumped him on the shoulder when she realized he was teasing her.

He cupped her head with one hand and laid his other on the Bible. “I told him the answers are in this book, and if he could find them and put them to work, he was a better man than his pa.”

“Did you really?” At his nod, she laid one arm over his chest and hugged him. “He’d have to go a long way to be a better man than his pa.” Some time passed before they fell asleep.

She was dreaming of someone pounding nails when she finally woke enough to realize someone was banging on the door.

“Ingeborg!” Hurrying footsteps crossed the kitchen.

“Ja? Who comes in the middle of the night?” Haakan reared up and threw back the covers, but Ingeborg was already pulling on her wrapper.

“Hjelmer?”

“Ja. Penny is having the baby.”

“Ah, good. It’s about time.” While she talked, Ingeborg changed from nightdress to day clothes, tying on an apron as she entered the kitchen where Hjelmer paced from one side to the other. “How long ago did the pains start?” She lit a lamp and went for her bag.

“Forever ago.” Hjelmer wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “She says there is no rush, but you know Penny. She’s so stubborn she’d—”

“Easy. First babies usually take longer.” Ingeborg made sure everything was in its place and snapped the brown leather bag shut. “I’m ready. Did you go for Metiz?”

“Do you need her?”

“No, but I know she would love to be there when this baby is born.”

“I’ll bring Metiz.” Haakan finished tying his boots. “You go on before Hjelmer here keels over with a heart attack.”

Hjelmer usually had plenty to say, but this night he flicked the horses into a fast trot and said not a word.

“Hjelmer, Penny is healthy and has been so all along. There is nothing to worry about.” The specter of Katy dying in childbirth hung over them all.

“Ja, I know.”

But Ingeborg knew he was only mouthing polite words.
Oh, God, please let me be right this time. Give her strength and an easy birth
.

Penny met them at the door, ready to toss a bucket of soapy water out on her roses.

“What were you doing?” Hjelmer stared at his wife, fear, shock, and horror chasing each other across his face.

“I scrubbed the floor.” Penny clamped her jaw and waited for the pain to pass. “I thought I might as well get some of the housework done while I am waiting.”

Ingeborg broke out in laughter. “Ah, Hjelmer, you are a wise man to have married such a woman as this.”

“Well, you said to walk, and that seemed a waste of time, so I scrubbed instead. Think I’ll work on blacking the stove next.”

“Ingeborg, is she touched in the head?”

“No. Not at all.” She set her bag down by the door. “Now you go out in the blacksmith or something. We’ll call you when we need you.”

“Penny?” Hjelmer took a step toward his wife, but she shook her head.

“This here’s woman’s work. You go on now.”

“What would you like to do next?” Ingeborg looked around the immaculate kitchen. “ ’Pears to me, you been keeping right busy the last few hours.”

“Ja, I let Hjelmer sleep. No sense the both of us pacing the floor. Time passes much easier when you’re busy.” She doubled over, her arms clasped around her belly.

“How far apart?”

“Too far. It’s going to be some time yet.”

“Why don’t you lie down and let me see how far along you are. Has your water broken?”

“No. You think beating the rugs on the line will help this along?”

“Can’t hurt, unless you’d rather scrub the stairs. Kneeling is a good position. It takes the pressure off the baby.”

“Scrubbing it is. You could go on back to sleep in our bed until I need you.”

Ingeborg laughed. “Thanks, but I’d rather start some bread for you.”

The two women worked away, trading gossip and snippets of news. When the contractions came, Penny grew quiet but then picked up right where they’d left off as if nothing had happened.

“Oh, oh. Bring a rag and a bucket.”

“Water?”

“Mm-hmm. Uff da. That one was a doozy.”

Ingeborg brought the bucket and mopped up the floor. “Okay, from now on we walk together. Don’t want you collapsing on me, then I’d have to call Hjelmer, and he dithers enough for ten men.”

“Funny, isn’t it, how men . . .” Another one hit.

“I think we’ll go upstairs now.” One stopped them midway.

Ingeborg settled Penny on the bed with her back propped against the headboard, one carved by Uncle Olaf with oak leaves at the height of the curve. “Now remember, shouting with the contractions helps release them, so don’t go all brave on me. Let’s just get this baby born with the least amount of work on your part.”

“She near?” Metiz climbed the stairs and joined them. “Haakan, go stay with Hjelmer.”

“Good. I haven’t heard any hammering from the smithy.”

“He’s probably groomed all the hair right off that new horse.” Penny arched and groaned, panting her way through.

“Not long now.” Metiz laid a wrinkled hand on Penny’s belly and kept it there through another contraction.

Ingeborg checked the progress. “We have a crown. Not much longer now. You push whenever you need to.”

Penny groaned again and pushed, her body convulsing, her teeth clamped so hard her jaw was white.

Ingeborg guided the baby out, gently turning the shoulders to cause the least tearing. “Penny, my dear, you are made for having babies.”

The baby let out a squall, his face all screwed up as if he were telling them exactly what he thought of the indignity he’d just been through.

“Oh, oh. A Bjorklund through and through,” Ingeborg said, tears streaming down her cheeks, as always was the case at the beauty of birthing a baby. She laid the baby on his mother’s chest and turned to Metiz.

“He gift to many.” She nodded, her eyes seeing far into the distance.

“We’re naming him Gustaf after Hjelmer’s far and Joseph after my uncle. That’s a lot of name to live up to, little one.” She cupped his head with her hand. “Your pa will be so proud of you.”

“Oh, I have to go get Hjelmer.” Ingeborg dried her eyes. “You finish here, Metiz?”

The old woman nodded. “You go.”

Not finding the men in the smithy, Ingeborg leaned her head into the barn and announced, “You have a baby boy.”

Hjelmer ran by her as if wolves were chasing him, not bothering to say a word.

Haakan picked up the brush Hjelmer dropped and, after putting the brushes away, shut the door behind him and put an arm around his wife’s waist. “That was fast.”

“Ja, she was born for having babies. Easier time I haven’t seen. And he is beautiful. Started telling the whole world what he thought of leaving his safe home and coming into this one. He’ll be a talker, that one.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “The sun’s coming up.”

“I better get back for chores. You want me to come for you later?”

“No, Metiz can stay. I’ll come now.” She turned and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. “Though God seems to have decided we will have no more children, I sure do appreciate His allowing me to help others’ babies into the world. There is nothing this side of heaven more wondrous.”

Haakan kissed her and held her close, knowing that tears always came after such great joy.

A week later came another cry for help. Knute Baard galloped up to the house before breakfast. “Please, come quick. Pa fell out of the haymow.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-Four

Northfield, Minnesot

Thorliff stared at the grade on his paper.

“You look like you lost your last friend.” Benjamin, the student wh sat behind him in English, tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ah.” Thorliff felt as if he’d come from a far land. The large C i red ink stared back at him. He’d never gotten a C on a paper or test in his entire life. And this had been review material. It must be a sign. As he’d been suspecting, he was not supposed to be in college.

“Got a C, eh? Not bad. The highest mark was a B. Ingermanson doesn’t believe in giving A’s, at least not at the beginning of the year.”

“How do you know that?”

“My brother had him for two years. Said he is a fine teacher but rough on the freshmen.”

But maybe your brother didn’t dream of being a writer. Maybe he
. . . Thorliff shook his head. He’d thought this would be one of his easier classes, but so far nothing was easy.

“My brother said you can always go talk to the man. He really does want to help his students think and write clearly.”

“Ah ja. Thank you.”

“All right, class. We’ll begin for today.” Mr. Ingermanson strode to the front of the room. “I know many of you are surprised—perhaps shocked is a better word—at your grades.”

Thorliff felt that the teacher was looking right at him. Horrified was more like how he felt. He kept his gaze on his paper, fearing anyone could read his thoughts in his eyes.

“You have one week to rewrite this assignment, using my comments as guides. I will add one more question tomorrow. You will find it on the blackboard when you come to class.” He looked around the room. “Any questions?”

Someone behind Thorliff asked, “Can we bring our grades up that way?”

“Yes, one grade level. But I am not guaranteeing that. Anyone else? Good, then let us begin the lesson for today.”

When he left class, Thorliff wasn’t sure he had heard a word the teacher said. The notes he’d taken said differently, but his mind refused to concentrate. After his last class he headed to the newspaper office to help clean up his future quarters. Perhaps he would be able to study better without all the distractions of the dormitory.

The tinkle of the bell over the door announced his entrance.

“How can I help you?” The woman behind the desk pushed her glasses back up on her nose with one finger.

“I . . . I’m Thorliff Bjorklund, I . . .”

“Ah, the new boy. You go right on back through that door. They are waiting for you. By the way, I’m Mrs. Freeland. I help out here some.”

Thorliff did as told, sniffing the smell of printer’s ink as he went. Smelled almost as good as books.

“Ah, there you are.” Mr. Rogers stepped out of his office to meet Thorliff in the hall. “Come with me. Elizabeth is anxious to get started. There’s a wagon outside the back door to load those things we’re getting rid of.”