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A Breath of Hope
A Breath of Hope
Bre ath
A
of Hope
LAURAINE
SNELLING
5
_Snelling_BreathofHope_JB_jck.indd 3 1/8/18 8:42 AM
on-
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tocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only
exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products
of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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bread back down. When you are a shopkeeper, your work just
disappears out the door. At least with baking bread, you have
something to show for it when you are finished.”
For a while, at least. She shook her head at the thought and
returned to the kitchen, the slam of the shuttle accompanying
her. The fragrance of yeast raising the bread dough permeated
the room. Both of these everyday tasks would be needed in
Amerika too. After setting the bowl of dough on the stove’s
warming shelf, she added more wood and fetched paper and
pencil. They were out of ink, and she did not want to spend
time making more.
By the time she finished the letter, the dough was crowning
the bowl again, ready to form into loaves. “Shall we have some
of this fried for dinner?” she asked her mor.
“Ja, that will be a nice treat. Make enough for Ivar for when
he comes home from school. He can mail the letter for you in
the morning.”
“I will take it in myself after the bread is finished. Do you
need anything from the store?”
“Need or want?”
Nilda nodded. How true. Every winter they ran up a bill at
the store and paid it off as soon as spring work brought in more
cash. Winters were always sparse.
coat, stopped beside her at the loom. “You’ll want some wood
in that stove. It’s cold in here.” She took the letters. “Takk. One
is from Onkel Einar.”
Ivar grinned. “I saw that. Wouldn’t it be funny if he is asking
for more helpers and Nilda just mailed him a letter? If Nilda
goes to Amerika, I will really miss her.”
“Ja, I will too.” Gunlaug blew out a deep sigh.
“I will take you there someday, Mor. I will. At least for a visit.”
“Takk, my son, but . . .”
“I will take Far too, if he will go.”
She patted his hand. “You keep dreaming that.” Nodding
and almost smiling, she threw the shuttle again and slammed
the batten with extra force. “I better hurry and finish this so I
can make one for Rune’s new house.”
“If Nilda goes, it would be good to send another loom along
with her. And a feather bed for Rune and Signe. At least they
are no longer sleeping on pallets on the floor.” He paused and
turned his head slightly to the side so he was not looking directly
at his mor. “Onkel Einar is not a very nice man, is he.” He was
not asking a question.
“I’m afraid not, but he has not struck anyone—at least as
far as we know.” Gunlaug stared out the frost-painted window.
The frond patterns near the top were winter’s curtains. The
intricate design feathered on the glass always made her wish
she could weave such a pattern into her rugs.
Ivar asked, “Did Nilda get the job at the Nygaards’?”
“Ja, I think so. She went there this morning and promised
to return if she did not get work. We were thinking to clean
the kitchen.”
Darkness fell, bringing all the family home but for Nilda.
Gunlaug set the table and stirred the beans and smoked mutton
she’d baked all day. Guilt at wasting wood moved her to use
the oven when the cookstove was helping to heat the house.
The round stove in the other room was only lit on the cold-
est days or when she was at the loom, which was most of the
time. Even so, she wore gloves with no fingers, a sweater, and a
shawl.
The letters in the center of the table were pleading to be read,
propped up against the sugar bowl.
“You could go ahead and read to us,” Thor said with a slight
raising of his eyebrows. “She might have had to spend the night
for some reason.”
“Nilda would find a way to let us know.” Ivar propped his
elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t she, Mor?”
The knock of skis sliding into the rack outside made him
jump to his feet and run to throw open the door.
“Hurry up, we have letters from Amerika, and Mor won’t
read them until you are here.”
Coming through the door, Nilda scowled at no one in par-
ticular and everything in general. She unwrapped her scarf.
“Your supper is in the warming oven.” Gunlaug could tell
something was bothering Nilda, but she wisely kept her own
counsel. “As soon as you are seated and eating, I will read.”
Nilda had been known to eat standing up by the fire when in
a hurry.
Gunlaug began:
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Signe patted the baby through the sling. “I think she forgets
she has already been fed once.” While the baby slept through the
night now, she was ready to eat long before dawn cracked the
horizon. Signe pulled the coffeepot to the hot part of the stove
again and settled into the chair. The gray-furred Gra wrapped
herself around Signe’s legs.
“Sorry, cat, you will have to wait until the baby is done.”
“Anytime there is a lap, she thinks she should curl up in it.”
Gerd paused to take a deep breath. And then another.
Setting the baby to nursing, Signe threw the shawl over her
shoulder and the baby. “My goodness, but you are a noisy one
this morning.” She watched Gerd for any other signs of recur-
ring weakness. “Did you not sleep well last night?”
Gerd stirred the oatmeal before slicing some bread to toast
on the stove top. “No worse than usual. Einar’s snoring must
keep all of you awake.”
“Nei. We don’t hear him upstairs.”
Signe refused to refer to the second story as the attic. After
all, her whole family slept up there. At least now they all had
beds, a very real improvement over sleeping on pallets on the
floor. If she allowed herself to dream, she pictured the house
they would build on their own land come summer. She and
Rune had to fight with Onkel Einar to force him to follow up
on his agreement with them, but it would be worth it. If she
furthered the dream, someone from home in Norway would
come to live with them or with Tante Gerd and Onkel Einar.
She knew for a fact that Einar had written to Rune’s mother
about bringing Nilda over; he had asked Rune about Nilda’s
work habits. There was certainly enough work around here
for another person. Of course, Einar would be overjoyed to
have another logger helping him fell the big trees. Not that one
would ever be able to tell if Einar was pleased with anything.
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“Ja, I waited for you.” Gerd pushed more wood into the
firebox. She glanced at the clock. “You hungry?”
He grinned at her. “I am always hungry. Can we cut the
cookies first?”
Gerd almost smiled again. Signe couldn’t stop smiling. She
patted the baby nestled on her shoulder and swayed her instinc-
tively from side to side. Thank you, Lord. I cannot say thank
you enough. Signe tucked Kirstin into the cradle so her hands
would be freer to help with the cookies and dinner. Thank you,
Lord, for such a contented baby. What if she was a fusser?
Another gift to be grateful for.
“Can I go out to the woods to drag branches after we eat?
I’ll come back early for chores.”
“I don’t see why not. Fill the woodbox first and take some
cookies with you for the men.”
That night, after all the others had gone to bed, Signe sat down
in the kitchen, where it was the warmest, to read her Bible, hope-
fully without falling asleep with her cheek on the table like she
had the night before. Rune had found her that way when he came
down to see why she had not come to bed. Perhaps she should
get up earlier and read in the morning. In her last letter, Mor had
asked if she was reading her Bible. Signe knew she felt better when
she did. But like last night, her body overruled her mind. Uff da.
This time Kirstin woke her, probably when Signe’s foot
stopped rocking the cradle. She nursed the baby, changed her,
and dragged herself and the baby upstairs to bed. Rune drew
her close to warm her up.
What would church be like in the morning?
“We’re on our way.” Signe felt like singing the words. It had
been a rush, getting the children ready and the baby tended to,
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but they made it. Now that they were out on the snowy track,
Rosie pulling the sledge, she felt almost like a new woman.
They were going to church like regular people, like they had in
Norway. Thank you, Lord, for this breath of normality.
Rune patted her knee through the robe that covered her and
baby Kirstin. “I’m sorry it has taken so long. We could ski faster
than the horse and sledge.”
“Hmm.” She looked at Rune. “Have you thought of mak-
ing skis?”
He shook his head. “Nei. I’m surprised Bjorn hasn’t sug-
gested it.”
Bjorn, their oldest son, popped his head up from the mound
of quilts and horse blankets in the wagon bed. “Hasn’t sug-
gested what?”
“Us making skis.”
Knute joined him. “For all of us?”
“Kirstin is a bit small to learn to ski,” Leif added.
“Mor could put her in a backpack.” Knute had either thought
of this before or was thinking fast now. “What kind of wood
do we need?”
Signe nearly laughed out loud. “Have you ever made skis?”
Rune smiled at her. “Nei, but then, I’ve learned to do any
number of new things since we came to Amerika.”
The jingling of the horse harness rang out across the glit-
ter-frosted snow. Laughter, delighted laughter came from their
boys—how long since she had heard that? Back home there used
to be laughter. Had they lost it on their journey, left laughter
behind in the horrible hold of that ship? Signe held her baby
closer. Lord, is it that house? Or is it Onkel Einar and Tante
Gerd? There will be laughter in our house, she promised her-
self. From the time we lay the foundation. She let the thought
keep going. Anger and meanness could permeate a house like
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it did a human soul. What would it take to open the door and
let laughter clean out Einar’s house? Gerd had almost smiled
a couple times yesterday.
“You are being mighty quiet,” Rune said.
“Just thinking. I guess the icy air is clearing my brain. I need
to be outside more. Can you make skis out of pine, or do you
need a hardwood?”
“We could use deer hide for boot straps.” Bjorn was obvi-
ously already planning on making skis.
Rune nodded. “Ash would be best, but I haven’t seen any ash
around here. I’ll ask Einar.”
A horse and sleigh caught up with them, and the occupants
waved as they passed. Just that bit of kindness made Signe feel
calmer. How would they be received at church? No, Mrs. Benson
would make them welcome, and the boys already knew other
children because of school. The breath she huffed out bloomed
in front of her. Rosie probably already had ice crystals about
her nose.
When they turned right onto the road to Blackduck, they
passed the school, and Rune turned the horse onto the church’s
property. Several houses fronted the road beyond that. Signe
realized that on her trips to Benson’s General Store, she’d never
taken the time to look at the rest of Benson’s Corner—not that
there was much to it. The railroad ran along the east side of
the town, if one could call it that. Rune pointed ahead to the
tracks and a station of sorts.
“That’s where we’ll bring the logs to ship. Einar said we
would load them on the sledge before the snow and ground
thaw out.” He stopped the horse next to another team tied to
the railing. “Bjorn, Knute, blanket the horse and tie on the feed
bag.” Behind the school was the shed where the horses spent
the school days sheltered from the weather.
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Rune came around the sledge to help Signe down, the baby
in her sling. “Careful now.”
Another team joined the lineup, the couple nodding and
smiling a welcome. Rune shepherded his family to the front of
the church, where three steps led up to the carved double doors.
He held the door for Signe, then followed her in.
“Mrs. Carlson, you came! Welcome to Our Savior’s Lutheran
Church.” With hands outstretched and a smile that warmed
Signe from the inside out, Mrs. Benson shook hands with both
of them. “And your boys?”
“Taking care of the horse.” Rune pulled off his ear-flapped
hat and clutched it to his chest. “I hope we are not late.”
“Right on time. Come inside where it is warmer.” Mrs. Ben-
son beamed. “I am so happy to see you here.” She leaned closer
and peeked inside the sling. “Oh my, she is growing so fast.
Look at her, still sound asleep. What a beautiful little daughter
you have. I know some of the others are anxious to meet you.”
Mrs. Benson led the way through the swinging doors to the
sanctuary, where the sun shone through the stained-glass win-
dow to jewel the white-painted altar. A man at the organ filled
the room with music, calling people to worship. Those already
seated in the pews kept their eyes forward, as was proper.
“I think we should sit in the back in case Kirstin gets fussy,”
Signe whispered.
“Of course.” Mrs. Benson ushered them into a pew and
smiled at the boys, who joined them. “Now, as soon as the
service is over, I will introduce you to our pastor, his wife, and
some of the others.”
Signe inhaled the fragrance of worship and exhaled the fear
of meeting the church people—who might hold a grudge against
her family because of Onkel Einar. The organ music swept over
her and carried her home to their church in Norway. Thank you,
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Lord God, she breathed. She could feel Rune studying her, so
she nodded, a simple message he would understand. He took
the hymnal from the rack on the back of the pew in front of
them and found the right place.
When the pastor stood before them and opened the service in
Norwegian before switching to English, she felt the tears burn
her throat. Had she always been this way back in Norway, or
was it because it was so long since they had been to church?
With a whole lifetime lived in between?
When the pastor read the gospel passage for the day from
Matthew, the words of blessed are they who poured over her.
When he reached, “blessed are the peacemakers,” she felt herself
flinch inside. Wasn’t that the way she’d been feeling? Living in a
house with so much anger? But how to be a peacemaker when
others did not want peace?
Kirstin stirred in her arms, so Signe swayed gently, hoping
the movement would calm her infant daughter, but at the same
time, knowing that if this baby was hungry, she would want to
be fed—now. But the motion settled her down again, and Signe
glanced down at Leif by her side. He and Knute were quietly
entertaining themselves. Bjorn leaned against the corner of the
pew, looking like he was about to fall asleep—or was he day-
dreaming? How long since he had been forced to sit this still
and be silent? She knew he would rather be out in the woods,
but Sundays in church were more important for the rest of his
life than felling one more tree.
The singing just before the sermon woke Kirstin again, and
this time swaying did not help. Before Signe could gather herself
to rise and leave the sanctuary, the woman in front of them
turned enough to give her a nasty look. She nudged the man
beside her, and he glanced back too with a slight shake of his
head.
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the English, her baby, and checking on her boys made her weary.
“Did you emigrate too?”
“Nei, my parents did. They live in Blackduck. I took over the
family farm.” He beckoned to a woman talking with a couple
of others. “This is my wife. Come meet Mrs. Carlson. We are
near neighbors.”
“Do you live near that lake Onkel—er, I heard about?” Rune
asked, nodding toward Knute. “My son wants to go fishing.”
Knute nodded.
“We are ice fishing now. If you come over, I will take you
out to our camp.”
“Really?” Knute’s eyes widened and a grin took over his face.
“Ja. Of course.”
“Mr. Garborg loves to fish nearly as much as he loves to
farm.” His wife smiled at Knute too. “Perhaps you have met
our sons, Thomas and Soren, at school?”
“They are older, like my brother Bjorn.”
“Today is a good day if you want to come over after church
and go fishing,” Mr. Garborg said.
Knute looked to Rune. “Could I?” But his grin disappeared.
“I don’t have hooks or anything.”
“Oh, we have plenty.” Mr. Garborg turned as the robed pastor
approached them. “Reverend, have you met these people yet?”
“Nei. But I am glad to see you here.” He held out his hand
to Rune. “Reverend Nels Skarstead.”
Mr. Garborg completed the introduction, and Rune included
his three boys, laying a hand on each shoulder as he said, “Leif,
our youngest; Knute, middle; and Bjorn is our oldest.” He nod-
ded to Signe. “And this is my wife, Signe, with our baby, Kirstin.”
“Welcome to you all. I hope you will join us in the basement
for coffee before you bundle up to head home. I believe Mrs.
Benson said you came to Minnesota to help your relatives.”
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“Ja, in June.”
“I have heard glowing reports on how much help you have
been for both of them. Now, can you come to the basement for
coffee so you can meet more of our people?”
Rune looked to Signe and then shook his head. “I think we
must decline this time, but we will plan on that next week, if
all is well at—at home.”
Signe made sure the surprise of him saying “home” did not
show on her face. Had they really come to think of that house
and farm as home? Had she ever used that term? Home meant
so much more to her than the house they were living in. She
nodded and half smiled. What more would she need to do to
make that house feel like a real home?
Once they were all bundled up and heading back to the farm,
she thought on her question. They had good food to eat, the
house was clean again, the boys were in school, the men had
plenty of work in the woods, while the two younger boys pretty
much handled the farm chores. Gerd had gotten much stronger
and was able to help with the cooking and keeping the diapers
washed and folded. Signe needed to remember to thank Gerd
more often for taking charge of the diapers and baby things.
First she had sewed the diapers and knitted soakers, and since
Kirstin was growing fast and the box of baby things Mrs. Ben-
son had brought was dwindling, Gerd had sewed more gowns
and blankets too.
So what was missing? What made a home?
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“Too hard and brittle.” Einar shook his head. “Makes good
firewood.”
Would the lumberyard in Blackduck carry seasoned birch?
Perhaps they could recommend something better. Maybe they
even carried ash.
Einar drew the horses to a halt and climbed down onto the
crusted snow. “Time to move the logs to the railroad at Ben-
son’s Corner.”
“How?”
“Thinking Bjorn could skid them with the team. Never had
so many to move before.”
“Not on the sledge?”
Einar shook his head. “Can’t load ’em. If Knute didn’t go
to school, he could skid them or keep limbing. Going to slow
me down.”
Rune didn’t even bother to shake his head. They were not
about to change their minds on the boys going to school.
Bjorn took care of the horses as usual, though he could not
take them to drink at the creek, since it was frozen solid. Near
dinnertime, he started a fire so they could have hot coffee.
“After we eat, you go chop a hole in the ice so the horses can
drink,” Einar said.
“What about bringing out the washtub and setting it beside
the fire, melting them water?” Bjorn asked.
“Won’t work,” Einar snapped.
Rune nodded to his son, but trust Onkel Einar to throw ice
water on any idea he did not come up with.
Today Signe had sent soup in a kettle, which they set into the
coals to heat. Hot food and drink, even though they ate stand-
ing, was a welcome respite. Rune reminded himself to thank her.
Bjorn wolfed his soup hungrily. “Far, you really think we
can make skis?”
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night. The warm kitchen, the boys studying at the table in the
lamplight, the baby gurgling and kicking in her makeshift bed,
the click of knitting needles—what more could one ask for?
The pleasure shattered when Einar kicked the snow off his
boots and came in to hang up his coat. How could it be that
his growling seemed to precede him and taint the whole house?
He rubbed his hands over the heat rising from the stove in
shimmery waves. “You need to use so much wood?”
Signe rolled her eyes. Would kindness ever get through to this
man? “I thought pudding might taste good when you all came
in.” She poured the rich mixture into the bowls she had lined
up on the table. “Are the others right behind you?”
He glared at her. “How should I know?”
She heard Gerd sigh. Kirstin’s gurgles and happy noises
turned to a whimper. Even she could tell the difference.
Signe shoved two more chunks of wood into the stove and
pulled the nearly hot coffeepot to the hottest place. After spoon-
ing a dab of jam into the center of each bowl, if for no other
reason than to irritate Einar, she picked up the baby and rocked
her in her arms. The sounds of Bjorn and Rune on the porch
gave her a sense of comfort in spite of Einar. They both entered
carrying an armload of wood and dumped them in the box.
Interesting, she noticed. Einar never brings in a load of wood
when he comes.
“Takk.” She settled Kirstin on her shoulder and patted her
back.
“Smells good in here.” Rune eyed the pudding dishes. “What
a fine thing for a night like this.”
Einar grunted as he lowered himself into his chair. While he
no longer favored the hand he had cut so severely, she saw him
limping sometimes by the end of the day. She was not surprised,
considering how hard he worked throughout the day. Rune had
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said more than once that keeping up with Einar took every
ounce of willpower he could dig up.
“Would you like your coffee now?” Signe asked, looking right
at Einar. He nodded without ever meeting her eyes. She poured
a cupful, set it on a saucer, and the others passed it around the
table to him. Rune raised one eyebrow at his wife.
While the others waited for everyone to be served, Einar was
scraping the sides of his pudding bowl before the others had
tasted their first spoonful. He drained his coffee, shoved back
his chair, and headed for his bedroom. “I’m going to Blackduck
day after tomorrow. Have the lists ready.”
“Takk. I will go with you then,” Rune said.
“You and Bjorn could fell another tree.”
“I need to go to the lumberyard.”
“Suit yourself.” As always, the door shut more firmly than
it needed to.
Leif let out a whoosh of air, as if he’d been holding his breath.
Knute snorted a laugh, then both looked at their mor.
Gerd shook her head. “Well, good riddance.”
Signe tried to keep a straight face, but when Rune and Bjorn
both wiggled their eyebrows, she gave up. She nearly choked
on the laugh she tried to swallow so Einar wouldn’t hear. The
boys stared from Gerd to their mor to Rune. They too tried to
laugh without making noise, which only made them stutter.
“Tante Gerd, is there anything special you would like from
Blackduck?” Rune asked.
“Just more yarn. Signe and I will make a list of things we
cannot get at Benson’s.”
“Do you ever go along to Blackduck?”
She shook her head. “I used to, but for the last year I never
left the place, got too weak.”
“Have you ever seen the doctor?”
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