Read Online Believing the Dream by Lauraine Snelling - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauraine Snelling
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second sense about gifts.
“Bedtime.” She crossed to the arch that led into the other room. Andrew looked up from his papers.
“I’m almost done. Sure wish Thorliff was here to help me. He thinks writing stories is fun.” From the tone of his voice, obviously Andrew didn’t.
Astrid closed her book with a sigh. “That was such a good story. I bet Thorliff could write just as good though.”
“Someday he will. I’ll be up to hear your prayers in a minute.” Ingeborg returned to the kitchen to dump out the dishwater and pour the rinse water into a bucket to reheat in the morning. She folded the wet dish towel and hung it on the rod behind the stove.
“I’ll bank the stove.” Haakan closed his Bible and crossed his hands on top of it. At the quiet in the kitchen they could hear the wind prowling and whining about the eaves. The sound made her feel even more snug and safe within the walls of their home.
“You’ll be in to bed soon?”
Ingeborg felt the tingle raised by the special tone in his voice.
“Ja, soon.” Strange how after ten years of marriage she still felt like a young bride when he spoke like that. She climbed the dim stairway, light from the children’s lamps beckoning her upward.
She peeked in on Andrew first. He shut his book when he saw her in the doorway. “Just think, Thorliff will be here for almost a week.” He glanced at the side of the bed his older brother used to occupy. “You think he and Anji will make up?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“He could write to her and make things all better.”
“How do you know so much about this?” But she knew that was a rhetorical question. Andrew listened, plain and simple.
“Gus said she cries a lot. I don’t like that Thorliff makes her cry.” He shook his head.
Ingeborg sat down on his bed. “I think Anji has more to cry about than just Thorliff.” At the thought of Agnes that leaped into her mind, Ingeborg swallowed back the tears. And if she still struggled with the grief, so much more for Anji.
Andrew cocked his head. “You think Manda and Baptiste are okay?”
“Sure they are. Mrs. Solberg had a letter just last week.”
“Can Metiz read?”
Ingeborg studied her son’s face. “No, I don’t think so.” Always so concerned about others, what was he leading up to now?
“So does she know how Baptiste is?”
“Yes, Mrs. Solberg read her the letter, along with one written to her.”
“Good.” Andrew slid down and pulled his covers up around his shoulders. Not long and his feet would be hanging over the end of the bed like Thorliff’s had at the last. If Andrew had his way, aging Paws would be up here instead of curled in a box behind the stove.
She stood and bent down to kiss his cheek. “Good night, son of mine.
God keep you.”
“I prayed Thorliff would get here all right.”
“Me too.” She blew out the lamp. “Perhaps tomorrow.” She patted his shoulder, missing the hugs he used to give her. Bone crunchers some of them were before he realized how strong he was becoming.
Just this fall he had passed her in height, and last week she’d had to let down the hem in his pants, and they were still too short. Perhaps if Thorliff has grown, he has pants I can cut down for Andrew .
Astrid left the warmth of her covers to kneel at the side of her bed, resting her cheek on her mother’s knee when Ingeborg sat down. She murmured her prayer in Norwegian, then ran down the list of those she cared for, “Bless Mor, bless Far . . .” clear down to the cat now curled on the end of her bed.
“Mor?”
“Ja?”
“It’s only four days until Christmas.”
“I know.”
“And Thorliff isn’t home yet.”
Ingeborg nodded, meeting Astrid’s imploring gaze. “He better hurry or he’ll miss Christmas.” A frown dug in above her nearly white eyebrows.
“He better get here before the blizzard.”
Amen to that. “How do you know we are going to have a
“Bedtime.” She crossed to the arch that led into the other room. Andrew looked up from his papers.
“I’m almost done. Sure wish Thorliff was here to help me. He thinks writing stories is fun.” From the tone of his voice, obviously Andrew didn’t.
Astrid closed her book with a sigh. “That was such a good story. I bet Thorliff could write just as good though.”
“Someday he will. I’ll be up to hear your prayers in a minute.” Ingeborg returned to the kitchen to dump out the dishwater and pour the rinse water into a bucket to reheat in the morning. She folded the wet dish towel and hung it on the rod behind the stove.
“I’ll bank the stove.” Haakan closed his Bible and crossed his hands on top of it. At the quiet in the kitchen they could hear the wind prowling and whining about the eaves. The sound made her feel even more snug and safe within the walls of their home.
“You’ll be in to bed soon?”
Ingeborg felt the tingle raised by the special tone in his voice.
“Ja, soon.” Strange how after ten years of marriage she still felt like a young bride when he spoke like that. She climbed the dim stairway, light from the children’s lamps beckoning her upward.
She peeked in on Andrew first. He shut his book when he saw her in the doorway. “Just think, Thorliff will be here for almost a week.” He glanced at the side of the bed his older brother used to occupy. “You think he and Anji will make up?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“He could write to her and make things all better.”
“How do you know so much about this?” But she knew that was a rhetorical question. Andrew listened, plain and simple.
“Gus said she cries a lot. I don’t like that Thorliff makes her cry.” He shook his head.
Ingeborg sat down on his bed. “I think Anji has more to cry about than just Thorliff.” At the thought of Agnes that leaped into her mind, Ingeborg swallowed back the tears. And if she still struggled with the grief, so much more for Anji.
Andrew cocked his head. “You think Manda and Baptiste are okay?”
“Sure they are. Mrs. Solberg had a letter just last week.”
“Can Metiz read?”
Ingeborg studied her son’s face. “No, I don’t think so.” Always so concerned about others, what was he leading up to now?
“So does she know how Baptiste is?”
“Yes, Mrs. Solberg read her the letter, along with one written to her.”
“Good.” Andrew slid down and pulled his covers up around his shoulders. Not long and his feet would be hanging over the end of the bed like Thorliff’s had at the last. If Andrew had his way, aging Paws would be up here instead of curled in a box behind the stove.
She stood and bent down to kiss his cheek. “Good night, son of mine.
God keep you.”
“I prayed Thorliff would get here all right.”
“Me too.” She blew out the lamp. “Perhaps tomorrow.” She patted his shoulder, missing the hugs he used to give her. Bone crunchers some of them were before he realized how strong he was becoming.
Just this fall he had passed her in height, and last week she’d had to let down the hem in his pants, and they were still too short. Perhaps if Thorliff has grown, he has pants I can cut down for Andrew .
Astrid left the warmth of her covers to kneel at the side of her bed, resting her cheek on her mother’s knee when Ingeborg sat down. She murmured her prayer in Norwegian, then ran down the list of those she cared for, “Bless Mor, bless Far . . .” clear down to the cat now curled on the end of her bed.
“Mor?”
“Ja?”
“It’s only four days until Christmas.”
“I know.”
“And Thorliff isn’t home yet.”
Ingeborg nodded, meeting Astrid’s imploring gaze. “He better hurry or he’ll miss Christmas.” A frown dug in above her nearly white eyebrows.
“He better get here before the blizzard.”
Amen to that. “How do you know we are going to have a
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