‘‘Are you all right?’’ Miss Maisie asked as Sophie entered the kitchen.
‘‘Yes, of course. Why?’’
‘‘You look ready to do battle.’’
‘‘Oh no.’’ Sophie wished she had a mirror. She sighed and shook her head. ‘‘One of the guests who just arrived made me want to invite him to leave.’’
‘‘Was he unseemly?’’ Heat suffused her face.
‘‘If I’m going to run this boardinghouse, I have to learn how to deal with men like that. Do you know a Mr. Borden?’’
‘‘A drummer who sells household things?’’
‘‘That’s the one.’’
‘‘I don’t know how he makes a living, crude as he is,’’ Miss Maisie said.
‘‘Probably does all right dealing with men.’’ Sophie gave herself a shake.
I wish Bridget were here. She’d know what I should do. And Henry
would want to escort the man out the door, rather forcibly, I should think
.
Maisie leaned closer. ‘‘He thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind.’’
Sophie rolled her lips together to keep from giggling. ‘‘He called me a chit. Barely out of the schoolroom.’’
Of course, that last is true. Had
I not gone with Hamre, I’d still be in school. And not working here. My
boardinghouse. I’m too young to own a boardinghouse
.
She turned away from her thoughts. ‘‘What still needs doing?’’
‘‘Slice the bread. I put dumplings in the soup. Hope that is all right.’’
‘‘Good idea. What do we have for dessert?’’
‘‘I made the pies like you said.’’
‘‘Maisie, you’re a lifesaver.’’ She heard the scrape of chairs being pulled back from the table and the sound of male voices along with the jangling of the bell. ‘‘Sounds like we have guests. Lemuel, you bring the coffeepot. They’re all going to want hot coffee to warm them.’’
I should have set up only the tables closest to the kitchen
, Sophie thought later as she and Lily Mae cleared off the last of the dishes. They could have saved a lot of steps that way. And maybe she should have moved a couple of the tables closer together to make one long one and served family style like Mrs. Soderstrum used to in Seattle.
I have
a lot to learn. I do hope Mrs. Sam is back tomorrow
. She had a sick feeling that that wouldn’t be the case. What if someone else caught it? What would they do?
I
DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD
be colder here than in Minneapolis
. Garth stamped his booted feet on the swept stair tread, grateful he didn’t live farther from the flour mill. The wind, on top of the dropping temperature, was enough to freeze one’s bones. Stepping into the warmth of the boardinghouse, he paused to catch his breath. Even though he was later than usual, he could still smell coffee, beef something, and cinnamon. Had they baked apple pies again?
No matter how much he’d thought lately on missing Grant and having his children with him, he knew how fortunate he was to have a place like this to live. He unwrapped the muffler and shook off the snow before draping the scarf around his neck and removing his hat— the hat he’d nearly lost to a blast of wind intent on denuding him of as much apparel as possible. Sophie—no, he reminded himself,
it’s Mrs.
Bjorklund. You have to call her Mrs. Bjorklund, no matter how clearly she
has already become Sophie in your mind
. Their evening chats while he ate his late supper had become something to look forward to.
She wasn’t working at her books behind the counter, as she often did in the evenings. He peeked into the dining room. Not there either. Surely she hadn’t taken ill like Mrs. Sam? The thought made his stomach lurch. He made his way up the stairs to his room and divested himself of coat, hat, and boots, sliding his feet into the moccasins he’d purchased at Penny’s store, warm sheepskin that covered his ankles. Seeing a letter lying on his nightstand, he sat down on the bed and slit it open with his penknife. News from his sister had gained even more importance since his visit home at Christmas.
Dear Garth,
Thank you again for coming home when you did. Grant asks every day when his pa is coming back. He goes to the window and looks for you, and yesterday I heard him telling Linnie about going to live in Kota with his pa.
‘‘Linnie.’’ Garth closed his eyes. His anger at Helga for naming his daughter Madelynn after his beloved was volcanic when he first heard the news, but now he was grateful that she’d had the foresight to give him one more link to Maddie. His lips curled upward as he continued to read.
One of these days he’ll get all his words correct, but for now I enjoy his attempts to talk right.
Linnie is growing right before my eyes. I am grateful I have enough milk for our two babies. You’d almost think Micah and Linnie are twins, both with their dark hair, although I would wish his curls for her. They lie on the quilt on the floor and gurgle and coo at each other. Grant was telling them something yesterday, and they both watched him as if they understood every word. Perhaps they did, for I didn’t.
I believe this was our nicest Christmas ever, even though I know your heart grieves so for Maddie, as does mine. I’ve been writing down the clever and funny things Grant says so that one day you can show him how much we loved him. He’s quit asking for his ma. But our mother is inclined to spoil him.
Well, I hear Linnie waking from her nap, and I better get her quickly so Micah can sleep a bit longer.
Dan is seriously thinking about a move to North Dakota. I was so surprised when he showed interest. I thought he was
happy at the mill here. When I mentioned it to Mother, she nearly cried. On that cheery note, I’ll close, wishing you a happy new year and may this year be far better than the last.
Love from your sister Helga and your two sweet children.
Garth folded the paper and put it back into the envelope, thinking back to his visit while he did so. His first meeting with his daughter had not been pleasant. When he tried to hold her, she arched her back and nearly threw herself out of his arms, screaming all the while. But as Helga reminded him, to her he was a stranger. How tragic that he was a stranger to his own child, yet he knew it was his own fault. Somehow he would try to make up for this time apart.
By the time he was ready to leave, he could hold Linnie in one arm and Grant on his knee and thought perhaps they would make a family after all. He was glad he’d not given them to Helga and Dan permanently, as he’d contemplated. Grief can make people do strange things. He tucked the letter into the drawer next to the others he’d received from his mor and from Helga and brushed his hair before making his way downstairs. He was about due to visit Mr. Vell at the barbershop, but the hours he worked made it difficult for him to get there. Maddie used to cut his hair. So easy it was to find reminders of her even when he wasn’t living in their house.
His stomach rumbled and he headed for the kitchen.
‘‘Ah, there you are. I thought I heard someone come in.’’ Sophie turned from stirring something on the stove when she heard him come through the door.
‘‘Good evening, Mrs. Bjorklund. You are all right?’’
‘‘Of course.’’ Her smile banished any worries he’d had. ‘‘Why do you ask?’’
‘‘Well, you weren’t at your desk.’’
And I’m getting used to seeing your
smiling face when I come through that door
. He sniffed appreciatively. ‘‘What is it that smells so good?’’
‘‘I baked apple pies for tomorrow,’’ Lily Mae said as she lifted one out of the oven.
The aroma made him think of home. How Maddie had loved to bake. She’d always said she was one of his best customers, the amount of flour she went through. For a change a memory made him smile, inside and out. Far different than the crushing blows they had brought for so long.
‘‘I’ll cut you a piece soon as you finish your supper.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’ He studied Sophie as unobtrusively as possible. Her apron no longer hid the babe she was carrying. While they’d not discussed the baby, he had recognized the signs long before the mound pushed out her aprons. Now he realized what was different. She had a softness about her, a glow of . . . could it be happiness? Maddie had worn the same look. She’d said being with child made her happy beyond measure. And so it had done the same for him.
Sophie drew a plate from the warming oven and dipped gravy from a kettle keeping warm on the back of the stove to pour over the potatoes and meat. ‘‘Do you want both string beans and pickled beets?’’
‘‘Yes, please.’’ His stomach added a rumble for emphasis.
‘‘Shame you can’t get off in time to be here when supper is at its best.’’ She started toward the dining room and stopped, turning back to set the extras on the kitchen table. ‘‘Sorry.’’
‘‘I like eating in here. It’s warmer and easier for everyone. Then you can both sit down and have your coffee, and we can visit.’’ He glanced around. ‘‘Did anyone get the paper?’’
‘‘Of course. You can read it while you eat or take a copy to your room.’’ Sophie brought his plate to the table, and Lily Mae brought a napkin and silverware.
‘‘Thank you. Did you notice the headlines?’’
Sophie shook her head. ‘‘I’ve not taken time to look yet.’’
‘‘Ah, then I have a favor to ask.’’ At her nod, he continued, ‘‘Perhaps you would read to all of us while I eat.’’ His smile included Lemuel, who came in just then and dumped another load of wood in the woodbox.
‘‘I-I guess I can do that.’’ Sophie paused. ‘‘My mother used to read to us in the winter evenings. I didn’t realize how much I missed that until now. She has the loveliest reading voice. All the women ask her to read when they are quilting. She says it keeps the bickering down.’’
Garth smiled when she clapped a hand to her mouth, as if to grab the words back. ‘‘Surely, Mrs. Bjorklund, there is no bickering in Blessing.’’
‘‘I really wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to the quilting meetings.’’
She sat so prim and proper that it made him smile again. ‘‘I suspect that wherever people are gathered, there is some bickering and dissension. People just seem to be that way.’’
‘‘I’m sure you aren’t referring to only women with that remark.’’
‘‘No, of course not, although I wouldn’t say that men bicker. They argue, true, but . . .’’ He nearly laughed as Sophie’s eyebrows disappeared under her fringe but realized a slight smile might be the better part of valor.
My word, surely there isn’t a women’s suffrage advocate right
here in front of me
.
‘‘Let me get this straight.’’ Sophie put a fingertip to her chin. ‘‘Women bicker, and that is a bad thing, but men argue, and that is a good thing?’’ She tipped her head slightly to the side. ‘‘Do I have that right?’’
‘‘I . . . ah . . . perhaps you would be so kind as to read—the headlines at least?’’
‘‘Are you insinuating that I cannot read beyond the headlines?’’ Sophie unfolded the newspaper.
Lily Mae never raised her gaze from the rim of her coffee cup, but Garth could tell she knew exactly what was going on.
‘‘No, not at all. Ah, could I please have my coffee heated up?’’ He raised the cup and smiled at Lily Mae. How strange it was to have more than Sophie with him in the kitchen. Usually the others had gone home long before now. They must be missing Mrs. Sam.
‘‘Yes, sir. Would you care for more meat or anything?’’
‘‘No thank you. There is pie for dessert?’’
‘‘Yes, sir.’’
‘‘We were going to save that for tomorrow, but . . .’’ Sophie looked at him over the top of the
Blessing Gazette
. ‘‘Would you like to hear about President Roosevelt’s latest speech or about the current outrage against the increased railroad rates?’’
He ignored the barb about the content of the newspapers. ‘‘I plead for the pie. The fragrance greeted me at the door. Coming in from that awful cold, I smelled the apples and cinnamon, and I knew I was home.’’
‘‘Sweet words will get you nowhere.’’
He could tell she was fighting to keep a straight face. ‘‘Thank you.’’ He smiled up at Lily Mae as she refilled his coffee cup and then turned his attention back to Sophie. ‘‘Must I get on my knees and plead for a piece of pie?’’
Sophie slapped the paper down. ‘‘Do you want me to read or not?’’
She has a dimple in her right cheek
. He’d not seen that before. ‘‘Can’t you read while she brings me the pie?’’ He tried to look forlorn, but he was enjoying himself too much.
‘‘Do you know that you have flour in your eyebrows?’’ Sophie ducked her head and peered at the paper. ‘‘There’s also a story on the weather.’’
Lily Mae set the plate of pie on the table. ‘‘Can I get you anything else?’’
‘‘Aren’t you having any?’’
Lily Mae glanced at Sophie, who nodded.
‘‘Of course we are. Cut one for Lemuel too.’’ Sophie motioned toward the young black man, who was now carving a new rung for one of the chairs.
Sophie studied the paper. ‘‘I wish Thorliff would write another story and run it in the paper in installments like he did last year.’’
‘‘I read the one he wrote several years ago. The
Minneapolis Tribune
carried it. Of course, I didn’t know Thorliff at the time, but we all enjoyed his stories.’’
‘‘I didn’t know other papers beside the Northfield paper carried it.’’
Sophie looked over the top of the paper again. ‘‘Dr. Elizabeth’s father owns that paper. Did you know that?’’
‘‘No, I didn’t.’’
She began reading about Roosevelt’s speech as Lemuel joined them at the table. Garth took a bite of the pie and let it melt on his tongue, savoring every crumb. He enjoyed listening to her read, mostly because then he could watch the expressions flit across her face. Though he was tired enough to fall asleep in his chair, he hated to leave the warmth of the kitchen and the time he spent with her. He needed a friend so badly and was still surprised to find her as one. Her eyebrows drew together when she wasn’t sure of a word or disagreed with something written. She had a mind of her own, that was for certain. One of these days when he was feeling mighty brave, he’d like to ask her about living in Seattle and the man she’d been married to so briefly. Talking with Bridget one night he’d learned a little about her. He scraped the last of the apple filling from his plate.