Sophie glanced down the list, seeing no names that she recognized. But then when she thought of it, she’d not paid a lot of attention to the boardinghouse last summer. ‘‘What do all these people do?’’
‘‘Mr. Vell, he is the barber. Mr. Wiste runs the flour mill, and these two work at the flour mill also. Miss Maisie Christopherson owns the Dress-Making Shop. She sews mostly ladies’ dresses, but she makes some hats too. This one works for the railroad, and this man runs the grain elevator. Blessing is really growing, you know.’’
‘‘Looks like it. In Ballard, at Mrs. Soderstrum’s, she had one long table where everyone had their own place, not small tables like those in your dining room.’’
‘‘Did you like that better?’’
‘‘I don’t know about better, but you can pass the serving dishes from one person to another more easily.’’
‘‘Ja. We are more restaurant style, but mostly we have too many for one long table. And everyone does not eat at the same time. We serve Mr. Wiste after eight every night, so we keep food warm for him. I think he has had some tragedy in his life. He never smiles.’’
‘‘And the barber?’’
‘‘He closes his shop at six, so he can eat on time. He likes his meals nice and hot, that one.’’
‘‘And Miss Christopherson?’’ While she asked the question, Sophie wondered what this woman looked like. She must be brave to come to a strange town and start her own business.
‘‘The same. When Penny started closing her doors at six, the others followed suit. The Garrisons, who own the new grocery store, they got their house built, so they moved out a week or two ago. Andrew started something with his Sears and Roebuck house. There are three of them in town now.’’
Sophie tried to get all this information in her head, but all she could think on was that one man’s tragedy. What could have happened to him? Tragedy she understood.
Ah, Hamre, if only . . .
She swallowed the thoughts and the tears. Right now she wanted a nap, something she could have had at home. Had she made another hasty decision she might come to regret?
They could hear the whistle of the westbound train, and the entire building shook as the train squealed to a stop just past the boardinghouse. Not long afterward two men came laughing through the doorway.
‘‘Ah, Mrs. Aarsgard, it’s hoping I am to have a room and a bath.’’
‘‘Ja, Mr. O’Rourke, did you want a single or shared?’’
‘‘Single if you have one.’’
‘‘This is my granddaughter, Mrs. Bjorklund. She will be helping you.’’ She turned to Sophie. ‘‘Mr. O’Rourke is a regular.’’
‘‘Welcome to Blessing Boarding House. I am pleased to meet you.’’
Sophie could feel her knees trembling, along with her stomach.
Please
don’t start now
. She concentrated on what the man was saying.
‘‘Ah, and a lovely lass like this would make any man feel welcome.
Haven’t I seen you before?’’
‘‘Most likely. My sister and I helped out here sometimes in the summers.’’
‘‘Summer is good. That wind today nearly blew the train off the tracks, let alone us poor working men as we stepped off it. Dillings-worth here, I had to grab him by the ankles to keep him from flying away.’’
Sophie handed him a pen. ‘‘You need to sign here.’’
‘‘You already have my address.’’
‘‘Perhaps so, but if you will fill it in again, that will make it easier.’’
Please don’t give me an argument
. If her face was turning as pale as she feared and her stomach kept churning, she might have to leave in a hurry.
‘‘Easier for who?’’
‘‘Now don’t you go giving her a bad time. Just because she is young and pretty, don’t make her up to your jokes.’’ Bridget scolded him like he was one of her own kin.
Now Sophie did almost smile as the man took a step back and sketched a bow.
‘‘I beg pardon, miss.’’
‘‘Mrs.’’
‘‘Aye. I thought perhaps I misheard, Mrs. Bjorklund.’’ His right eyebrow cocked in a way that said surely she must be joking. ‘‘I thought both of the Bjorklund boys were already married.’’
‘‘Sophie married my great-nephew,’’ Bridget informed him.
‘‘Ah, now I remember. You are one of the Knutson twins.’’ He smiled at Bridget. ‘‘She has grown into a lovely young woman, hasn’t she?’’
‘‘Uff da, the way you go on.’’ Bridget rolled her eyes at him, and he smiled in response.
Sophie might have laughed had she felt able. She flipped to the front of the book to check the room rates. ‘‘You will be staying how long?’’
‘‘Only overnight this time. Just needed to get me a fill of good fare. You have no idea how bad some of the food is when you’re a traveling man.’’ He leaned an elbow on the desktop. ‘‘That’s why I tell all my friends about the Blessing Boarding House. Dillingsworth came because I recommended it. Right, my friend?’’
‘‘Ja, if his blarney can be believed.’’
‘‘Blarney?’’ Sophie asked, pushing the registration book toward him.
‘‘It’s Irish for blather.’’
‘‘Blather?’’
‘‘You know, friendly talking like we been doing.’’
Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘‘That’ll be one dollar and fifty cents.’’
‘‘I’ll take a shared room,’’ the shorter man said, smoothing his mouse brown hair back with one hand.
‘‘And what do you sell, Mr. Dillingsworth?’’
‘‘Washing machines.’’
‘‘Washing machines?’’ Sophie stared at him.
‘‘Would you like to see a picture? I’m hoping Mrs. Bjorklund over at the store will decide to carry them. My mighty machines will save the backs and hands of all the women of Blessing, leaving them far more time to cook and care for the children. Cleaner clothes in half the time. No more hand wringing and rubbing knuckles raw on a scrub board.’’
‘‘I see.’’ Sophie glanced at the picture he laid on the counter. ‘‘What a contraption.’’
‘‘Just wait until you see a demonstration. Why, Mrs. Aarsgard, you need two of these right here in the boardinghouse. Launder all those sheets and wring them dry enough to freeze real quick. Why, in the summer a nice breeze will dry them before you can bring another load out.’’
Sophie and Bridget exchanged amused looks. Get that young man going and he didn’t know when to stop.
‘‘Complete satisfaction or your money back.’’
‘‘I saw his demonstration,’’ O’Rourke added. ‘‘What a miracle machine he has. You ought to look at it. Can’t hurt none.’’ He tipped his hat. ‘‘First room on the right at the top of the stairs, right?’’
Bridget nodded. ‘‘That is so. And you, Mr. Dillingsworth, follow him and four doors down, also on the right. Take your pick of the beds. No one else is in there yet.’’
As the men started up the stairs, talking and laughing, Bridget turned to Sophie. ‘‘You did just fine, but I warn you, watch out for such as O’Rourke. He’s got a silver tongue and a way with the women.’’ She lowered her voice. ‘‘And he always has a flask along—or two.’’
‘‘How do you know that?’’
‘‘He leaves them on the chest of drawers or beside the bed. You just need to be careful, is all.’’
Sophie took in a deep breath, but nothing helped. ‘‘Excuse me.’’ She headed for the basin in her room. Afterwards, she lay down on the bed, hoping she would feel better soon. She thought back to the boardinghouse in Ballard. If there had been flasks in the rooms, she’d sure never heard of it. But then there were saloons aplenty out there—not like here, where the women had made sure such a business never came to town.
She drifted off and awoke when Bridget brought a tray with tea and flatbread.
‘‘I thought this might help.’’
‘‘I’m feeling better now, thank you. I’m sorry for leaving like that.’’
‘‘I wondered. You were getting whiter by the minute.’’ Bridget set the tray on a small table by the rocking chair. ‘‘Come drink this and see if it helps. I’ve found that flatbread is good medicine. You keep some here in your room for the mornings.’’
After drinking the tea, Sophie straightened her clothing, smoothed her hair, and made her way back to the kitchen, where supper preparations were well under way. She donned an apron and asked what she could do to help.
When Trygve arrived with her trunk on his shoulder, she led the way to her new room on the first floor, right next to Bridget and Henry’s. While they had a sitting room, her bedroom was large enough to have space for a bed for the baby too. She also had a chest of drawers and a dressing table.
He set the trunk in the corner. ‘‘You could stay at home with us and come in here every day.’’
‘‘I know, but Bridget wants someone to be here in the late evenings, so this will be better.’’ She couldn’t look at him or say what she was thinking:
Besides, I don’t think Far wants me there anymore
.
‘‘Grace was disappointed that you had gone already.’’ He parked his fists on his hips and looked around. ‘‘Well, at least it’s closer than Seattle.’’
‘‘True.’’
‘‘Did you like it out there? Hamre sure did.’’
‘‘It rained a lot.’’
‘‘Instead of snow.’’
‘‘It snowed in the mountains. You’ve never seen anything like Mount Rainier. And there were mountains on both sides of Puget Sound. The Cascades to the east and the Olympics across the water.’’
‘‘You could see across the water?’’
‘‘Oh yes. Islands too, all covered with fir trees. Trees so big you couldn’t believe it and some even with red bark that sheds like birch trees. We went for walks up among the trees. There is a lot of brush that grows. We picked huckleberries, smaller than our blueberries, so blue as to be almost black. Hamre says . . . said,’’ she corrected herself, a pang slicing into her chest. ‘‘He said that bears love the huckleberries. People can live off the land there. And the fishing—oh, you would love it, Trygve, all the different kinds of fish—and huge. My word, at the cannery some came through big as a pig.’’
Trygve gave her one of his ‘‘Oh sure’’ looks.
‘‘I’m not exaggerating. Someday we’ll go there, and I’ll show you.’’
‘‘You would go back?’’
‘‘If I could. There are so many places I want to see. I’ve even thought of someday going to Norway and taking Mor and Tante Inge-borg along too.’’
‘‘Nothing wrong with staying right here.’’
‘‘No, not for those who want to. But some of us want to see other things.’’
‘‘You went to see other places, yet you came home again.’’
‘‘I know.’’
But not because I wanted to—I had no other choice
.
Trygve shook his head. ‘‘I got to go milk the cows.’’ He surprised her with a quick hug, and off he went.
Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat and returned to the kitchen.
That night after meeting more of the guests, Sophie studied the list of room rates and wandered the halls, seeing what rooms were different, remembering cleaning and changing beds when she had previously helped Bridget. Not that much had changed, but she’d never paid attention to why Bridget charged the way she did. She put some of her things away, hanging her dresses in her chifforobe. Feeling a chill, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. The bell over the door brought her out to the desk to check in another guest. When it rang again, she looked up to see a man dusted in white walking through the door.
‘‘May I help you?’’
‘‘No thank you. I’ll be down for supper as soon as I clean up.’’ He paused. ‘‘I’m Garth Wiste. I run the flour mill.’’
‘‘I’m glad to meet you. Bestemor said you’d be coming in late. I’ll go heat up your supper.’’
‘‘Thank you, Miss . . . ah . . .’’
‘‘Mrs. Bjorklund. I am Lars Knutson’s elder daughter.’’
‘‘Ah, the one who went to Seattle. I’m sorry to hear about your loss.’’ After looking like he would say more but didn’t, he touched the brim of his hat, sending bits of powder floating down. ‘‘I’ll go shake my coat and hat out the back door. Sometimes the wind blows me clean, but it is calm out there tonight.’’
So everyone in town knows about me, even strangers
. The thought made her uncomfortable. What all had happened in Blessing since she’d left only three months ago? Perhaps more than she’d thought. She walked under the arch to the dining room and through the swinging doors to the kitchen. Mrs. Sam had left soup to heat, and in the icebox, a plate full of the short ribs, potatoes, and string beans with bacon that had been served for supper. Sophie set the plate in the oven, added wood to the firebox, and set the small kettle of soup on the front burner, pulling the coffeepot to the hotter part of the stove also. Half an apple pie sat on the counter. She sliced bread and carried a tray with the bread, butter, jam, and some beet pickles out to a table near the kitchen door.
‘‘I usually eat in the kitchen,’’ Mr. Wiste said as he entered the dining room.
‘‘Oh. Well, if you would rather.’’
‘‘I would. The kitchen is cozier than this big room when I am alone. I do hope you’ll join me for a cup of coffee. Bridget . . . er, Mrs. Aarsgard usually does.’’
‘‘I see.’’ Sophie picked up the tray again, but before she could turn, he took the tray from her.
‘‘Let me.’’
‘‘But you’re a guest.’’ She let him take the tray and followed him into the kitchen. ‘‘If my grandmother sees this, she might fire me.’’
‘‘Oh, I doubt that. She was so hoping you would come and help.’’
Does Bestemor talk everything over with this man? Since when? I’ve
just been home a few days
.
‘‘She’s gotten older while I was gone.’’ Sophie fetched the kettle of soup and dished up a bowl for him.
‘‘You just notice it more. Thank you.’’
‘‘Would you like coffee now or later?’’
‘‘Now would be fine.’’
She filled his cup and set the pot back on the stove.
‘‘Aren’t you going to have any?’’
‘‘Oh, I guess.’’ Sophie got another cup and saucer and poured some for herself. ‘‘Do you take cream or sugar?’’
‘‘No thanks. Black is fine.’’
While he ate his soup, she checked on the plate in the oven and cut him a large piece of pie. Sitting down, a wave of weariness rolled over her, threatening to drag her under. She trapped a yawn before it stretched her jaw. Perhaps working in the boardinghouse wouldn’t be as easy as she remembered. Or was it the baby? Hadn’t Elizabeth mentioned she would be feeling tired? As if being unable to keep much food down wasn’t bad enough.