Grace blew through the door.
‘‘Why aren’t you in school?’’ Sophie asked.
‘‘Something is wrong. I had to come to you.’’
Sophie held out her arms. ‘‘Ah, Grace, Henry died during the night, and I’m so sad.’’ The two sisters hugged and cried on each other’s shoulders. Finally Sophie stepped back so Grace could read her lips.
‘‘Thank you. That helped more than anything.’’
‘‘Should I go tell Pastor Solberg?’’
‘‘Lemuel has already left. Mrs. Sam says Henry died of a broken heart. I always thought that was just a saying.’’
‘‘Mor said he would probably get sick with something. She said that often happens. How old was he?’’
‘‘Seventy-seven. He mentioned that yesterday. Said Bridget had married an older man, and that this older man had a hard time keeping up with her.’’
‘‘They’re together again.’’ Grace smiled through her tears. ‘‘That’s good. I better get to school.’’ She hugged Sophie again. ‘‘I miss you.’’
‘‘Grace.’’
‘‘Ja.’’
‘‘I’m scared.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Who’s going to run the boardinghouse now?’’
‘‘Why you, I guess, and Mrs. Sam.’’
‘‘But I . . .’’ She shook her head and raised her hands, letting them fall to her sides. ‘‘But I’m not ready to be in charge of the whole thing. I mean, I . . .’’ She shook her head again.
Too fast. This is going too fast.
No, not this
.
T
HANK YOU, GOD,
for Mrs. Sam
.
In the week since Bridget and Henry passed away, Sophie caught herself praying more than once. When an order for the kitchen came in on the train, Mrs. Sam showed her how to check the supplies against the invoice and against the order to make sure she got all that Bridget had ordered. Nothing matched. They’d shipped an extra bag of flour, which was not a problem in the long run, but they hadn’t shipped sugar. She would have to buy sugar at Garrisons’ Groceries. No lard caused more troubles. By the time she got it all straightened out and the letter written to the supply company, she had a headache of mountainous proportions. When it didn’t hang on like the one had in Seattle, she found something to be grateful for.
The mice in the pantry and storage room had to go. She asked around and finally found a half-grown cat that Mrs. Solberg was willing to give away. It having never been in a house before, they had to be careful to keep it inside until it decided it was happy at the boardinghouse. Bits of leftover chicken, a dish of milk, and crumbles of cheese convinced it to leave off playing shadow and come when the food appeared. Sophie hoped the mouse problem would soon abate.
When Mrs. Sam came down with chills and a fever, Sophie wanted nothing more than to go home to her mother and cry her eyes dry in her mother’s aproned lap.
‘‘You go home and get well,’’ she told Mrs. Sam, forcing her lips to smile and her hands to not tremble.
‘‘But what will you do?’’ The few words sent Mrs. Sam into a coughing spell.
‘‘We’ll manage. I’m sending Dr. Elizabeth out to see you.’’
‘‘No. I’ll be all right.’’
Lily Mae, Mrs. Sam’s daughter, looked up from mixing pancakes. ‘‘I’ll cook; you serve. Tables need setting.’’ She turned to her brother, Lemuel. ‘‘You set the tables.’’
‘‘I’ll start the coffee, then.’’ Sophie dug out the coffee grinder. They had run out of ground coffee the night before, and Mrs. Sam had said she’d grind it in the morning. Something had awakened Sophie early, for which she was thankful. ‘‘Oh, the oatmeal.’’ She pulled out the deep kettle and half filled it with hot water from the reservoir, then measured in the salt and rolled oats. It should have been cooking already.
Since Lily Mae was cooking, Sophie took over the dining room, with Lemuel bringing the heavy trays of food out so she could serve their guests, Lily Mae’s usual job.
‘‘Is Lily Mae sick?’’
If she heard the question once, she heard it twenty times.
‘‘No. Her mother is, so Lily Mae took over the kitchen.’’
‘‘Mrs. Sam is sick? It must be really bad.’’ Mr. Vell, the barber, shook his head. ‘‘First time I know of she wasn’t cooking.’’
Sophie made sure all the coffee cups were refilled and that the men who took dinner boxes had them before they headed out the door.
Miss Christopherson, who owned the Dress-Making Shop, stopped on her way out. ‘‘If you need more help, things are slow in the shop right now, and I could hang a
Closed
sign on the door. From the looks of the weather, no one will be by today anyway.’’
Sophie started to turn down the offer, but at the look on the young woman’s face, she changed her mind.
‘‘Are you sure? I mean, you have nothing to do over there?’’
What a
thing to say. You better think before you let your tongue get away from you
.
‘‘Oh, I have plenty to do, but most of it can wait. If you need help, that is.’’
Sophie swallowed a lump in her throat, not realizing until that moment how close to tears she was. ‘‘I do, and I really appreciate your offer. I was about to run over to the school and drag my sister out of there for the day.’’
‘‘Good, then. I’ll be right back.’’
Sophie returned to clearing the tables, stacking the dirty dishes on the trays for Lemuel to carry back to the kitchen.
‘‘You eat now.’’ Lily Mae pointed at the table where Lemuel was pouring syrup on his pancakes.
‘‘I better—’’ ‘‘Eat. That’s what I said.’’
Sophie’s stomach took that instance to complain loudly at the lack of sustenance, and at Lily Mae’s giggle, she gave up. ‘‘You sound just like your ma.’’
‘‘Bossy and demanding?’’
‘‘You said it. I didn’t.’’ Sophie dished up a bowl of oatmeal and sat down at the table, where Lily Mae passed her the cream and brown sugar.
‘‘Pancakes and eggs?’’
‘‘No thanks. This is plenty. Have you eaten?’’
‘‘Going to right now.’’
As the three of them finished their meal, Sophie thought about all that needed doing. Today was wash day. That could wait, at least until the afternoon. The main thing was to get the meals ready. Unless they had a large group arrive from the train, they should have only five or six for dinner, and supper could be up to fifteen, depending on the train. The more she pondered, the more she realized how much the boardinghouse depended on Mrs. Sam now that Bridget and Henry were gone.
‘‘What had Mrs. Sam planned for the meals today?’’
‘‘I sliced the last of that roast for sandwiches so we can make soup on the bone,’’ Lily Mae said. ‘‘That with fresh bread and apple cake for dessert should be enough.’’
‘‘Those men come in really hungry. Do we have any ham to slice?’’
‘‘Hangin’ in the storage room. Might be half froze.’’
‘‘Then let’s bake that for supper. We can slice off enough to serve with fried potatoes for dinner if we need to. That’s something to fix quickly.’’ Sophie rubbed her temple, where a headache had been hinting toward an arrival for some time. Her stomach felt woozy again too.
Go
away
, she mentally ordered the nausea.
I have no time for you
.
‘‘If ’n I bakes a pie or two, that always make de men happy.’’
‘‘Good idea. One apple and one from the canned Juneberries. Juneberries.’’ She rubbed her stomach and stopped as if listening for a faraway voice. The movement continued, like the faintest of fluttering wings. ‘‘The baby is moving.’’ She spoke in a whisper, as if a loud voice might scare it away.
‘‘Ma says that the most heavenly feeling in the world.’’
Ah, Hamre, look what you are missing
. Not that he would have been able to feel it yet. Her hand didn’t but her insides did, especially her heart, which seemed to be expanding and breaking out into a smile.
Her whole body was laughing. If only she had time to go talk to her mor, Ingeborg, or Dr. Elizabeth. Even the snow blowing outside could not dim the feeling. Her baby was real. He or she was moving, alive and growing.
The sound of the bell over the front door brought her out of her reverie. Miss Christopherson slipped through the door before Sophie could even get to her feet.
‘‘All right. Tell me what to do.’’ She unpinned her hat and set it on one of the tables. ‘‘I’ll take that to my room after we get dinner going.’’
The morning passed in a whirl, with Lemuel hauling wood in to the rapidly emptying woodbox, then bringing carrots, turnips, and potatoes up from the cellar, and Miss Maisie, as she insisted they call her, taking over the pies so Lily Mae could chop vegetables for the soup. That left Sophie to change the bed in a vacated room, dust, and make sure everything was ready in all the empty rooms for new guests. Half of the twenty rooms had permanent guests like Mr. Wiste. She paused as she walked by the closed door to his room. Today his room should have been cleaned and the bed changed. Should she leave him a note of apology?
I’ll explain things to him tonight
, she thought and continued down the hall. The baseboards needed dusting and the wall sconces needed polishing. Bridget would never have allowed such slack. A two-pronged attack of guilt and sorrow made her catch her breath. Guilt for letting things slip and sorrow that Bridget wasn’t there to order more cleaning.
The windows rattled as the westbound train steamed into the station. She bundled the sheets tighter as she made her way down the stairs, keeping one hand on the railing. Good thing Bridget bought the washing machine from that drummer. Lemuel turned the crank just fine, and the paddles inside the belly of the contraption beat the clothes clean. But today even he didn’t have time. Amazing how one never realized how much work another did until they weren’t there. The porch along the back of the house was a good thing. They hung up sheets and other linens there until they freeze dried, then brought them into the storage room to finish drying and be ironed.
She dropped the linens into a box kept for such in the storage room and headed back to the counter in the lobby, arriving just as the wind blew two men through the front door.
‘‘Brrr. You forget how cold North Dakota can be until you come back in a storm like this,’’ the taller one said, unwrapping a muffler from around his neck.
‘‘You get used to it.’’ The shorter, rounder man pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into the square patch pocket on his coat.
‘‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. Next winter I’m putting in for a southern route. If I never see snow like this again, it will be too soon.’’ He stamped his feet and brushed the snow off the shoulders of his black wool coat. Then he looked up to see Sophie behind the counter, and a grin split beard from mustache. ‘‘Well, look who we have here.’’
‘‘Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to Blessing.’’
‘‘A good morning it is, after all.’’ He nudged his carpetbag forward as he removed his coat. ‘‘I sure do hope you have room for two hardworking men.’’
‘‘I’m sure I can find something. Have you been here before?’’
‘‘Oh, many times.’’ He looked around. ‘‘Where is Bridget?’’
‘‘Bridget and Henry both died a week ago.’’ Sophie fought to keep her voice steady and a welcoming smile in place.
The grin left his face. ‘‘I’m sorry to hear that. Must have been sudden like.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘I thought she’d go on forever, not that her replacement isn’t a sight for near frozen eyes. I’m Larry Borden, purveyor of the latest in household goods.’’ He turned to his companion. ‘‘And this here is Ernest Frieburg. He’s in machinery.’’
‘‘I’m glad to meet you both. If you would sign the register here, I will give you your keys. Do you want single or dormitory style?’’
‘‘Oh, I always take a single.’’ Borden sniffed. ‘‘Dinner smells mighty inviting.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’ If they only knew. But the fragrance of fresh bread and beef soup always made one’s mouth water.
‘‘And who might you be, miss?’’ Borden looked up from signing his name.
‘‘I’m Mrs. Bjorklund.’’ Sophie caught herself. She’d almost said Sophie Knutson. What was the matter with her? But then, how often had she answered that question since she’d come back to Blessing?
‘‘One of the Bjorklund girls, eh?’’
Ignoring his forwardness, Sophie smiled at the other man who finished signing his name. ‘‘Dinner will be served in about half an hour.
Do you need someone to show you to your room?’’
‘‘No thanks, miss, er, missus. We know the way.’’
‘‘Then here you are. The rooms are down at the end of the hall on the second floor.’’
‘‘I’m sorry to hear about their passing. Mrs. Aarsgard made everyone feel at home here,’’ Ernest Frieburg said as he turned toward the stairs.
‘‘I hope you continue to feel that way. Thank you.’’ Sophie smiled at him again.
‘‘So, who will be running the boardinghouse now that they’re gone?’’ Borden asked.
‘‘I will.’’
At his guffaw Sophie started to say something but then stopped and stared at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. ‘‘Interesting that you find that amusing.’’ Where had that all come from? Sometimes she surprised even herself.
‘‘A chit like you? Barely out of the schoolroom? You won’t last a year.’’
‘‘Really?’’ Her eyes narrowed a tiny bit, and she smiled in spite of gritted teeth. ‘‘As I said, dinner will be served shortly.’’
‘‘Something you might think on . . .’’
I have several somethings to think on, like there will be no single rooms
available next time you come
. ‘‘Oh, and what is that?’’
He leaned forward and dropped his voice. ‘‘If ’n I were you, I’d turn a couple of these downstairs rooms into a saloon. It’d make you more money than all the rooms combined.’’ He picked up his bag. ‘‘Good advice, that. And I won’t charge you a dime.’’
Sophie shook her head slightly. ‘‘I guess you don’t understand the folks of Blessing. They’ve turned down several people who wanted to open a saloon. They’d run me out on a rail if I did that.’’
‘‘Not one of their own. Don’t you know the Bjorklunds can do anything?’’ ‘‘No, I didn’t know that.’’
And if one of my uncles walked in now,
you’d be right sorry for this conversation
. ‘‘Excuse me, but I’m needed in the dining room.’’ She spun so quickly her skirt swirled. The nerve of the man. Barely out of the schoolroom. The audacity. And a saloon? She could just hear the women if she proposed such an idea. Why, Mrs. Valders would faint.