A Dream to Follow (36 page)

Elizabeth set her foot atop the wooden ball and swung back her mallet.

“Stop. Stop. That’s not fair.” Thornton Wickersham strode toward her.

“Of course it is. House rules.” She swung her mallet again.

“Not by the book.” He withdrew a roll of paper from his back pocket and held it for her to see.

“And your point, Mr. Wickersham?” Elizabeth set her foot back on the ground and relaxed her grip on the mallet handle, setting the head on the ground and leaning lightly on the handle.

“But the book says . . .”

“Rule number four according to Phillip Rogers: One can use one’s foot to hold his or her own ball in place while he or she smacks his or her opponent’s ball into the lilacs. Personally, in this case I’d go for the pond, but”—she glanced at his white pants and shoes—“I’ll take pity on your spiffy attire and go for the lilacs. Hate to have you mess up your white shoes retrieving your ball from the pond. They do float however.” She indicated the two balls lying side by side on the closeclipped grass.

“I still say—”

“I know. It’s not fair. But, my dear sir, rule number six, according to . . .”

“According to Phillip Rogers.” He rolled his eyes, his grin spoiling any seriousness he tried to affect.

“Splendid. You’re catching on.” She assumed a schoolmarmish expression. “Rule number six: All is fair in war and croquet.”

“Sure hope I never have to go to war with your father. Hit the ball so we can finish this round.” His sigh lifted both shoulders and drooped his face.

With one tap she sent his ball rolling toward the lilacs, and then while he groaned, she knocked her ball through the last two wickets to hit the post. “That’s three to one. Care to go again?”

“No, thank you. I don’t think my male ego can handle another trouncing like this.” He gathered the balls and mallets, setting them into their places on the croquet cart. “I suppose you are equally adept at chess.” One eyebrow quirked at the question.

“I played on the St. Olaf chess team last year.”

Thornton groaned again. “I suppose our two colleges are arch rivals?”

“Something like that.” She tucked her hand into his arm. “Come, I see Cook is bringing out refreshments. She rather likes you, you know.”

“I imagine she would give me a drubbing in croquet too.” His mournful look sent her laughter pealing through the leaves of the sycamore that spread a bounty of shade over the white-painted iron chairs and table. A platter of cookies and iced glasses of lemonade awaited them.

He seated her first before taking his own chair and leaning back with a sigh. “What a pleasant afternoon. Thank you for taking time from your busy schedule to entertain me.”

“My pleasure.” She passed the plate of cookies and nodded for him to choose a glass. Did she dare tell him, or rather ask him, about the plan she’d been concocting? In the three times they’d seen each other since the first supper, she’d grown to enjoy him more and more. She hadn’t taken much time to keep friendships alive, so laughing and teasing with him was fun. In her mind one of the advantages was that she felt no romantic attraction to him at all, so they could be friends.

He’d inhaled three cookies before she got up the nerve to speak. “Thornton, I have a big favor to ask.”

He set his glass down. “Ask away. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“This is a really strange request.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

She took a deep breath and with a slight nod began. “Please don’t take this wrong.”

Both his eyebrows rose. “Just say what you mean. Life is much easier that way.”

“All right. My mother would much rather I lived an active social life, and that includes seeking a . . . a . . .”

“Mate?” His eyes danced.

She could feel the heat begin at her collarbone. “I wasn’t going to be quite so blunt, but . . .” She looked up from drawing rings on the tabletop with her glass to find him stifling laughter. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much. I like seeing the perfectly controlled Miss Rogers having trouble with her words. A bit of vindication for the sport?” He nodded toward the croquet cart.

Elizabeth shook her head.
Men!
She sighed again and dove in. “My mother is disappointed that I am choosing a single life with medicine as my goal. So in order to keep her happy, I wondered . . . ah . . .” This is where it got sticky. “I wondered if perhaps we . . . I could . . . ah . . .” Another sigh.

“Yes?” He glanced upward as if conversing with someone in the tree, or above it, with God perhaps. “She stutters and stammers. Am I so difficult to communicate with that she fears what I will say?”

“Mr. Wickersham, you are teasing again.”

“I know. You are such a delight to tease.” He leaned forward and tapped her hand, the hand that had gone back to moving the glass around. “Elizabeth, just say it.”

“Would you please pretend with me that we are interested in each other, even though we are not, so that my mother will give up all her matchmaking schemes and let me build the life I want and feel God wants me to have, and if this is all right with you I will be eternally grateful and never ask a favor again.” She drew in a deep breath, wishing she had a fan.

“Don’t go that far.”

“What far?” She glanced at him from under her lashes.

“That you will never ask a favor of me again.”

“Oh.”

He rolled his lips together, slightly nodding at the same time. “Let me understand this correctly.”

It was her turn to nod.

“You want to use me as an escort and possible marriage candidate, all as an act so that your mother will cease her motherly duties.”

She eyed him with questions burning on her tongue.
Will you?

Won’t you? Don’t torture me!
At that she chuckled. Of course, that was exactly what he was doing.

“If I take on this role, for which, by the way, I am eminently suited, as I have no interest in matrimony myself for some years, what will I receive in return?”

“Hmm.” Elizabeth rubbed the point of her chin with one finger. “This is only fair, I suppose.”

“Seems so to me.”

“Am I to understand that you are considering going along with my charade?”

“I am considering it.”

Elizabeth eyed the cookie platter, now empty, although she had only nibbled on one. “Would frequent gifts of cookies be a consideration?”

“That is a good place to start.”

She remembered the rapt enjoyment on his face when she played the piano. “How about dinner invitations that include personal concerts?”

“Ah yes. May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“When there is an event at Carleton at which I need a companion, you will fulfill that role so that I do not have to fend off the young ladies.”

“You are insufferable. Do they throw themselves at you with abandon?”

“Frequently. It keeps me from studying.” He assumed a pained look, as if living a life of travail or perhaps his shoes pinched.

Elizabeth threw back her head, the suppressed laughter no longer obeying her restrictions. “The stage is missing a great leading man. Have you thought of that as a career?”

“No. I fear I am destined for the ministry.”

She laughed harder. “I th-think not.” When their laughter subsided to intermittent chuckles, she leaned forward. “So we are in agreement?”

“That we are.” He held out his hand. “A gentleman and gentlewoman’s agreement?”

They shook hands and turned at the sound of her mother clearing her throat. “I thought to join you for refreshment, but if I am intruding . . . ?”

“Not at all, Mother. Sit down. I’ll ask Cook to bring out refills.”
Ah, she must surely have all manner of designs after catching that little scene.
It took all Elizabeth’s willpower not to rub her hands together in Machiavellian glee.

To find a man she could be so comfortable with, like a pair of well-worn shoes, and not have to worry about offending him with her forthright tongue and opinions, one who liked so many of the same things she did, yet had no more romantic interest in her than she in him—what a priceless gift.
Thank you, God
.

So what will school bring?
Elizabeth wondered later. After seeing Thornton off, she had gone down to the newspaper office to work on her father’s books. Still seated at the desk with a ledger open before her, she locked her hands and stretched them over her head. If nothing else, it should be interesting. And challenging. She sighed.
And Mother will be happy, so my life will be much easier
.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Northfield, Minnesot

Thorliff felt as if he’d been on the train forever and was being transported into a new life.

“You going to school in Northfield?” The conductor stopped beside his seat.

“Yes, sir.”

“Which one?” At Thorliff ’s confused look, the man added, “Carleton or St. Olaf?”

“St. Olaf.”

“Ah, good school. Of course they both are. Your first time away from home?”

“By myself, yes. I came from Norway when I was five.”

“Where’s home now?”

“Blessing, North Dakota. We farm there.” At the mention of home the ache that had been growing burst into bloom. Home. What had made him leave?

“What’s that near?”

“North of Grand Forks in the Red River Valley.”

“Good land there. I used to run from Minneapolis to Fargo. Now I do this route to Northfield.” He leaned down a bit to glance out the window. “Another fifteen minutes and we’ll be at the station. Lord bless your year.”

“Thank you.” As the man continued on, Thorliff half stood. “Ah, sir?”

The conductor turned and swayed back. “Yes?”

“Can you tell me how I get my trunk to the school?”

“There will be wagons at the station that say St. Olaf. Just load yours on one and climb on yourself, or you can walk up to the campus. Not far.”

Thorliff thanked him again and resumed his seat. The mention of home made him remember back to his getting on the train in Blessing. . . .

“Thorliff, wait!” The shout came from the western side of town.

Thorliff stepped back off the metal stool. Surely that was his father’s voice. Everyone turned at the sound of galloping horse’s hooves. He glanced over to see tears brightening his mother’s eyes and knew his must be the same. He cleared his throat and turned to look at Anji, who slipped her arm back in his.

Horse and rider galloped around the station and slid to a stop as the rider hauled on the reins. Andrew let out a holler, and others called greetings as Haakan swung off the horse and dogtrotted up to his son.

“I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye.”

Thorliff ’s heart felt near to jumping out of his chest, then it settled back to its normal thrumming. He tried to speak, but no words passed the lump in his throat.
He came. Far came!

Haakan clapped his hands on Thorliff ’s upper arms and looked into his eyes. “I’m proud of you, son. Go with God. We’re sure going to miss you.” He started to say something else but choked. He reached for Thorliff ’s hand to shake it, then pulled him into his chest and hugged him close. “You have my blessing, whatever it is good for.” These words were meant for Thorliff ’s ears alone and were branded on his heart.

“Mange takk.” Ingeborg put her arms around both her tall men.

“All aboard!”

“Remember we are praying for you.” Ingeborg patted his cheek. Haakan squeezed his son’s hand one more time.

The train huffed and whistled and with a squeal inched forward.

Thorliff waved at Anji, his smile wavering as much as hers. He waved at all the others and grabbed onto the bar by the door.

“Get on!” Andrew yelled, waving his hat.

“I will.” Thorliff jogged two steps and hopped up on the step where his satchel still sat waiting for him. He leaned out, waving his hat until Blessing station disappeared in the shimmering heat. . . .

“Northfield. Next stop, Northfield,” the conductor called from the end of the car, bringing Thorliff ’s thoughts back to the present.

Thorliff watched as the houses grew closer together. When he saw streetlights, he knew he was in town. Though he saw mostly the backs of brick buildings, he studied everything with curious eyes. While small compared to Minneapolis and St. Paul, Northfield made Blessing look like a dot on the prairie. He saw churches with spires, three-story buildings, a park, the river winding through the town, a creamery that looked to be exceedingly prosperous, schools, and shops of all kinds. Tall trees lined some of the streets, and there was green grass in many yards. Was the drought not so bad here? The farms along the way had looked about the same as those at home, dry and tired.