Read Online RR05 - Tender Mercies by Lauraine Snelling - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauraine Snelling
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Romance, Historical, Man-Woman Relationships, Christian fiction, Religious, Christian, Red River of the North, Norwegian Americans, Dakota Territory
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eyes open, Astrid looked up at her grandmother. “Me help?”
“Yes, you can help. You can scrub the potatoes for Bestemor.”
“And pick feathers from the geese to stuff in a pillow just for you.” Ingeborg stroked the back of her daughter’s head. “Right now I think we will take a little girl up to her bed.”
Astrid shook her head, but everyone could tell the fight had gone out of her.
Ingeborg stood and lifted the child from Bridget’s lap. “Come, little one, we’ll wash your hands and face and go say your prayers.”
“Prayers.” Not fighting the idea of getting her face washed said more than the droopy eyes.
Laying her sleepy child in bed, dressed in a clean nightgown fresh-smelling from the clothesline, made Ingeborg smile. She folded Astrid’s hands and began, “Jesus loves me.”
Astrid repeated, “Jesus loves Ma.”
“No, Jesus loves me. Say me.”
“Me.” The eyelids ceased to flutter, and her breath came in a sigh. Just like that Astrid was asleep.
Ingeborg watched her daughter, gently stroking the fine hair back from her forehead and breathing in the peace of the room. Being out in the woods made her think of freedom, but here with her daughter, all she could think was Mange takk, heavenly Father. Forgive me, please, for always wanting more. You have given me so much, and I so often forget to say thank you. Please help me think to thank you before I want. She studied the sleeping face of her daughter. So perfect. The room around her with a window that showed the stars pinning up the cobalt sky at night and caught the first rays of the rising sun at dawn. Astrid would forget the darkness of the soddy and remember the sun. “Ah, my God, my God, I am in awe. Like the psalmist, I praise your holy name. You are my God, and I am your child. And that never changes, in spite of the foolish things I do.” She heard Thorliff bring in another armload of wood down in the kitchen below them. The horse trotting out of the yard meant Haakan had saddled and gone. She could hear the clank of the stove lid being set aside for more wood to be used in the firebox. Andrew laughed at something. It didn’t take much to make him laugh.
Ingeborg leaned forward and kissed Astrid’s wide brow. “God keep thee, little one, safe in the palm of His mighty hand.” She sniffed and drew a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “All of us.” She left the room as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the peace therein.
But it followed her downstairs, drifting around her shoulders as she sat mending in the lamplight while Bridget carded wool from the fleece stacked in the corner. The rasp and scrape of the carding paddles sounded loud in the stillness.
“If you do indeed build a boardinghouse, I will miss times like these.”
“Ja, me too. Makes me wonder if I am being a foolish old woman. So much here, and yet I want more.”
Ingeborg threaded her needle with dark thread and started on Thorliff ’s pants, letting out the last bit of hem. He needed new ones, and when she got them, she would put these away for Andrew. At the rate he was growing it wouldn’t be long. “Strange, upstairs I was just thinking the same thing.” She folded the last bit of fabric over and stitched it with nearly invisible stitches. “But I don’t think you are foolish at all.”
“No?” Bridget nodded, her hands continuing to straighten the strands of wool with the carders. “I am thinking I might take Hamre with me, if that is all right with you. He can be a big help, and maybe he will be happier there.”
“I don’t think that boy will be happy until he has the sea sighing around a boat under his feet. His grandfather poured the love of the ocean into him from the time he was born, maybe before.”
“I’m afraid you are right. But where is there an ocean around here?”
“There’s Lake Superior in northeastern Minnesota, but if he is like the other Bjorklund men, he will want to go west, clear to the
“Yes, you can help. You can scrub the potatoes for Bestemor.”
“And pick feathers from the geese to stuff in a pillow just for you.” Ingeborg stroked the back of her daughter’s head. “Right now I think we will take a little girl up to her bed.”
Astrid shook her head, but everyone could tell the fight had gone out of her.
Ingeborg stood and lifted the child from Bridget’s lap. “Come, little one, we’ll wash your hands and face and go say your prayers.”
“Prayers.” Not fighting the idea of getting her face washed said more than the droopy eyes.
Laying her sleepy child in bed, dressed in a clean nightgown fresh-smelling from the clothesline, made Ingeborg smile. She folded Astrid’s hands and began, “Jesus loves me.”
Astrid repeated, “Jesus loves Ma.”
“No, Jesus loves me. Say me.”
“Me.” The eyelids ceased to flutter, and her breath came in a sigh. Just like that Astrid was asleep.
Ingeborg watched her daughter, gently stroking the fine hair back from her forehead and breathing in the peace of the room. Being out in the woods made her think of freedom, but here with her daughter, all she could think was Mange takk, heavenly Father. Forgive me, please, for always wanting more. You have given me so much, and I so often forget to say thank you. Please help me think to thank you before I want. She studied the sleeping face of her daughter. So perfect. The room around her with a window that showed the stars pinning up the cobalt sky at night and caught the first rays of the rising sun at dawn. Astrid would forget the darkness of the soddy and remember the sun. “Ah, my God, my God, I am in awe. Like the psalmist, I praise your holy name. You are my God, and I am your child. And that never changes, in spite of the foolish things I do.” She heard Thorliff bring in another armload of wood down in the kitchen below them. The horse trotting out of the yard meant Haakan had saddled and gone. She could hear the clank of the stove lid being set aside for more wood to be used in the firebox. Andrew laughed at something. It didn’t take much to make him laugh.
Ingeborg leaned forward and kissed Astrid’s wide brow. “God keep thee, little one, safe in the palm of His mighty hand.” She sniffed and drew a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “All of us.” She left the room as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the peace therein.
But it followed her downstairs, drifting around her shoulders as she sat mending in the lamplight while Bridget carded wool from the fleece stacked in the corner. The rasp and scrape of the carding paddles sounded loud in the stillness.
“If you do indeed build a boardinghouse, I will miss times like these.”
“Ja, me too. Makes me wonder if I am being a foolish old woman. So much here, and yet I want more.”
Ingeborg threaded her needle with dark thread and started on Thorliff ’s pants, letting out the last bit of hem. He needed new ones, and when she got them, she would put these away for Andrew. At the rate he was growing it wouldn’t be long. “Strange, upstairs I was just thinking the same thing.” She folded the last bit of fabric over and stitched it with nearly invisible stitches. “But I don’t think you are foolish at all.”
“No?” Bridget nodded, her hands continuing to straighten the strands of wool with the carders. “I am thinking I might take Hamre with me, if that is all right with you. He can be a big help, and maybe he will be happier there.”
“I don’t think that boy will be happy until he has the sea sighing around a boat under his feet. His grandfather poured the love of the ocean into him from the time he was born, maybe before.”
“I’m afraid you are right. But where is there an ocean around here?”
“There’s Lake Superior in northeastern Minnesota, but if he is like the other Bjorklund men, he will want to go west, clear to the
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