The Promise of Dawn

by Lauraine Snelling

  Gerd shook her head, as if even that took more energy than she could afford.

  We have to get her moving. If not, she’ll be stuck in that bed forever. But how to get Gerd to agree?

  “Ready.”

  They shifted her back to the bed, and Signe stacked the pillows and swung the wizened feet up under the covers. “I’ll bring your coffee.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No, I have pancakes to heat up for you, unless you want them cold.”

  A sigh and a shake of the head as Gerd’s eyes drifted closed, but no answer.

  Signe returned in a few minutes with cold pancakes, sour cream and jam, and the coffee. “Tante. Tante Gerd. You must eat now.”

  “Ja.”

  The growl made Signe’s teeth clench. She sucked in a calming breath and set the tray on the bed so she could get Gerd straightened up again. Probably she’d have slept another hour, but then would scream that Signe was not taking care of her.

  With Tante sipping her coffee and looking alert enough, Signe returned to the kitchen.

  “The rinse tub is full, but what about the machine?” Knute asked.

  “We’ll dump the boiler into it and fill the rest from the reservoir. You can dip that out into a bucket, and then into the tub.”

  In spite of the heat of the day, the washing machine steamed like a caldron. Signe dipped the sheets out and into another bucket, then hauled the boiler out and dumped it. Right now, boiling the wash over an outdoor fire sounded better and better. With the sheets in the washer too, she leaned over and grabbed the crank handle. When she turned that, the agitator in the tub of the washing machine started turning the sheets.

  “I can do that, Mor.” Knute waited beside her.

  “Ja, you can.” She stepped back, picked up the boiler, and returned to the kitchen to refill it at the pump in the sink. Next would be the unmentionables and long underwear used throughout the winter. No, next would be Gerd’s nightdresses so Signe could get both the bed and the woman cleaned up. The thunk-a-thunk of the churn said Leif was hard at work too.

  Keeping one ear out for Gerd, Signe went to the screen door. “Leif, I need you to pump water for me. Give you a break.”

  Leif grinned at her as he climbed up on the low bench stool and started pumping. “I think the cream is turning, the churn sounds different.”

  “Okay, you fill that, and we’ll check the churn. Today you get to learn to wash butter.”

  “Wash butter? With soap?” His eyes rounded.

  “No, clear water after we drain the whey off.” She could tell he wasn’t too sure of this by the questions all over his face.

  “Can we drink the buttermilk?”

  “Some.”

  “My chickens would like the buttermilk too.”

  “I know. So would the hogs.”

  Signe set the boiler back on the stove and added more wood to the voracious maw quickly emptying the woodbox. After shaving small bits of the quickly dwindling bar of soap into the heating water, she returned to the bedroom. Gerd jerked upright, tipping her coffee cup. At least it was on the tray and the tray had a towel on it.

  “See what you made me do?” Gerd brushed drops off her grimy nightdress that, so far, she’d worn ’round the clock. “What are you doing out there? Smells like soap.”

  “We’re doing the wash.”

  “You’ll use up all the soap.”

  “Someone is going to the store on Saturday.”

  “Who? He won’t quit work for a day to do that, and you can’t leave me alone. I need you.” Gerd’s voice rose to a screech.

  “We have some fat saved. Maybe I’ll make soap here too.” How would she ever get to the store if she couldn’t leave Gerd?

  “Soap has to season.”

  “We’ll see.” While they were talking, she’d gathered the pile of clothes from the corner of the room. “I’ll be right back for your tray.”

  Tante shook her head. “Too much.”

  Signe ignored her. Back in the kitchen, she sorted the clothes and poked what she could into the warming boiler.

  “Come see, Mor. I can hear the butter.”

  Knute straightened from cranking the washing machine. “You think this load is done?”

  “Ja. Bring in more wood while I show Leif how to wash butter.” Picking up the churn, she carried it inside and set it in the sink. Was there such a thing as a strainer here? “You look for a strainer.” She set the largest crockery bowl in the sink and gently poured the buttermilk into the bowl, using her hand to hold back the butter bits.

  “A mouse! It just ran out of the cupboard.” Leif pointed to the corner where the mouse hid behind the broom.

  Signe debated for only a moment, then set the churn down, wiped her hands on her apron, and grabbed for the broom. “Open the door in case I miss it.”

  The mouse scurried along the wall as soon as she jerked back the broom. Her first slam missed, and at the second slam of the broom, the mouse darted into the bedroom.

  “There he goes.”

  Signe muttered words she knew her mother would have scolded her for. “We are getting traps and a cat.”

  Knute appeared in the doorway, trying hard not to laugh. “You want me to chase it?”

  “Nei—ja! I want you to kill the filthy thing.” She slapped the broom back in the corner and set the strainer Leif had found over the bowl before pouring out the remainder of the butter and buttermilk. “And all the others.”

  She heard what sounded like choking behind her. The boys were trying not to laugh. The whole family thought her rage at mice was funny, and Rune even teased her about it. She set the churn back in the sink and propped her arms on the edge, reminding herself to calm down and breathe.

  She knew why she hated mice so severely, besides the fact that they left filth everywhere they went. When she was a girl, she tried to save a mouse trapped in the oats bin. She got it by the tail, but the stupid beast swung around and bit her on the little finger. When she screamed and shook her hand, that mouse didn’t even have the sense to run somewhere else. It fell back into the oats bin. She was so furious, she grabbed one of the barn cats, dumped it in the oats bin, and shut the lid.

  She listened to the scramble, and when it was quiet, peeked inside. The cat jumped out, mouse dangling from its mouth, and headed up the ladder to the haymow where it had a batch of kittens. Within days, Signe’s finger had been infected.

  She handed Knute the churn. “Pour some hot water in this and take it out on the porch. Leif can scrub it.” She stared at her youngest son. “And it has to be clean! So clean it cannot sour and spoil the next batch of butter! You hear me?”

  He nodded and glared at his brother, who was still fighting the snickers. The boys did as she said, leaving her shaking her head.

  She poured the buttermilk into a crock from the pantry and covered it with a dish towel. Then, with the butter back in the crockery bowl, she rinsed the golden mound in cold water, dumped that in a pail for the pigs, and repeated until the water stayed clear, no matter how much she worked it through the butter. She salted the golden ball, tasted it, and added more. Surely Tante had butter molds, but she’d not seen any in the pantry or cupboards when she scrubbed them down. Instead she patted the round into a couple of smaller bowls and set them in the icebox.

  At least they would have fresh butter for the biscuits or corn bread she made for supper. If only they had bread, they could have sliced bread with butter and sugar on it. What a treat that would be. Tomorrow they would have bread again. She checked the sourdough growing in the crock on the warming shelf and inhaled the yeasty fragrance.

  Out on the porch, she ran the sheets one by one into the rinse water. She should have set up two tubs for rinsing, but there had only been one.

  “You stir those around, shake them out, and rinse them well.” She lifted and dunked one to show him how. “I’ll get the next load out here.”

  After filling the firebox again, she pulled the next load
out of the boiler and carried the hot, dripping clothes out to the washing machine. “Keep rinsing.” With the next wash in the boiler, she took over rinsing and set Knute to cranking the wringer. She fed the sheets into the wringer and from that into a basket on the floor.

  Now for her favorite part of doing the wash. She carried the basket out into the yard along with a bag of clothespins and hung the sheets on the clothesline. She could hear her mor. “Peg the corners securely. Overlap the sheets to save on clothespins.” Between the sun and the wind, the sheets would be nearly dry before she brought out the next load. Clean—something in this house would be clean again.

  Oh, Mor, who ever thought I would be hanging wash in Minnesota in Amerika? She heaved a sigh. At least Mor had said goodbye and that she would write soon. Perhaps someday she would forgive Signe for leaving.

  “I’m hungry, Mor,” Leif said, rubbing his belly. “I scrubbed the churn with a brush even.”

  “Good. Set it out in the sun, and let’s go fix something to eat. Knute, keep that crank turning, and we’ll run that load into the rinse before we eat.” Inside, she set a skillet on the stove and poured the remainder of the beans into it. She should have made more pancakes. “Here, Leif, stir this while we get this load into the rinse water. Don’t let them burn.”

  “I won’t.”

  Before she stopped for dinner, they had a load in the rinse, one in the washer, and another in the boiler on the stove. “Let’s eat outside in the shade.”

  She dished up three bowls of beans, had Leif grab spoons, and out they went to sit on the cellar door. A breeze played with the wisps of hair that refused to stay tucked into her braids. She fluttered the front of her shift and apron so the coolness could touch her skin. The boys dug into the beans as if they’d not eaten for days rather than hours.

  “Did you check your snares?” she asked Knute.

  “Far said to do it tonight.”

  “It would be a shame for a dead rabbit to lay out there in this heat.”

  “I’ll go see. Do you know how to skin a rabbit?”

  “Ja, I will teach you.” She’d just finished her beans when the screech came. Pushing herself to her feet, she patted her sons’ shoulders and stepped back into the steam bath that was the house. “Coming.”

  With Gerd settled again and sipping her coffee, Signe asked if she wanted beans for dinner.

  “Is that all?” At Signe’s nod, she shook her head. “We have eggs, don’t we?”

  “Ja. I could fry or scramble you a couple.”

  A jerk of the head was her answer.

  “Would you like some buttermilk too?”

  Tante Gerd nodded. “You got the butter churned?”

  “Leif did.”

  Should I warn her I am going to change her bed or just do it? The thought nagged at Signe while she fixed the eggs and carried the tray back into the dim room. Setting the tray on Gerd’s legs, Signe crossed the room to throw open the windows and, ignoring the screeching, returned to her wash. There, I did that. Sometimes one just had to take charge.

  Once the second load hung on the clothesline, she checked the first sheets, gathering them to her face to inhale the clean scent of the sun and wind. Dry, as she had suspected. She folded the sheets as she took them off the line.

  Knute came running through the garden. “Mor, we got a rabbit! Can we have it for supper?”

  “We sure can.”

  After they had another load of wash in the boiler and the rinsed load hanging on the line, she had Knute tie the rabbit’s two back legs together with a piece of twine and hung it from a nail in the porch post.

  “First, you need a very sharp knife.” She found the whetstone in a drawer and handed it to him.

  After a few moments of concentration and careful wielding of the whetstone, Knute handed her the knife. “This sharp enough?”

  Checking the edge, she nodded. “Good job. Now, first you cut off the head, and just like skinning a deer, cut around the legs and peel the skin off. Then gut it.” With quick motions, she did as she instructed, then handed the hide to Knute. “You nail that on the barn wall to dry, and we’ll soak the carcass in salt water and fry it for supper.” Knute pumped water into a large bowl and watched Signe swish the meat around to rinse it.

  “One less rabbit to graze in the garden,” he said.

  “This is the last load of wood,” Leif announced as he dumped the split wood into the box.

  “We’ll get through another load of wash, and then Knute can split wood so we have enough to make supper.” She knew she was putting off the next big job. “You go turn the crank on the washer. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  She sucked in a deep breath, then took the stack of folded linens into the bedroom, set them on the chest of drawers, and pulled the chair over to the side of the bed.

  “Tante. Tante Gerd.” She gently shook the woman’s shoulder.

  “Wh-what? Is it suppertime?”

  “Nei, but once I get the bed changed, I will bring you a cup of coffee.”

  Gerd shook her head. “Nei!”

  “Ja, think how much you will enjoy clean sheets right off the line. I brought the chair over.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Ja, you can.” She kept her voice soft and firm. She pulled the covers right off the bed and started a pile by the wall. “I am going to hang your blanket over the line so the wind can freshen that too.”

  “No, I can’t!”

  When Signe took her hands and helped her sit up, Gerd stubbornly refused to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Sighing silently, Signe simply swept the woman’s legs to the floor.

  “Now, it will only take two steps. Stand, take two steps, turn, and we’ll sit you down.” She paused when she had pulled Gerd to her feet, pretending not to notice the fiery glare the other woman pinned her with. “Careful, so you don’t get dizzy.”

  “I can’t! I’ll fall,” Gerd repeated.

  Signe began to turn her. “Now take a small step. Lift your feet.”

  Grumbling, Gerd began to shuffle her feet. Without warning, her left foot caught on the rug, and she began to fall. Signe tried to catch her but only succeeded in being pulled down with her. Both women sat tangled in a heap for a moment before Gerd let out an ear-splitting screech.

  “I told you!”

  “Are you hurt?” Signe gasped, moving slowly to stand.

  “I fell!”

  “Ja, but are you hurt?”

  After a sullen moment, Gerd shook her head. “How will I get up? Einar is in the woods. You can’t pick me up.”

  “We’ll get you up together. Let me help you sit up. Good. Now push with your legs.” Moving behind her, Signe pulled with all her might and managed to get Gerd back on her feet. “Good, now turn just a little and sit.”

  It was more of a controlled fall, but she got Gerd into the chair.

  Muttering all kinds of imprecations, Gerd watched as Signe stripped the rest of the bed and tossed the sheets and pillowcases onto the pile. “We could bathe you before you get a fresh dress,” Signe suggested.

  “Too tired.”

  “Then we’ll just change your nightdress.” Which she did in spite of Gerd’s anger.

  Figuring she’d scored all the victory she could for the moment, Signe remade the bed and helped Gerd back onto it, which went far easier. With Tante settled, covered only by a sheet—but a clean sheet—Signe stepped back. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

  A glare was the only answer she received.

  “I’ll bring your coffee now.”

  Tante shook her head. “Too tired.”

  “All right, but I have good news.” She paused but got no response. “Knute caught a rabbit in his snare, so we’ll have fresh rabbit for supper.”

  She watched Gerd’s eyes drift shut. Surely her hand wasn’t stroking the clean sheet?

  Bundling up the dirty bedding, Signe took it all out to the porch, where she shook out the blanket and hung it over the line for t
he sun and wind to work their magic. It needed washing too, but there were only so many hours in the day, and this one was galloping by.

  For supper, besides fried rabbit, she would make fried cornmeal cakes. Plenty of them, so they’d have them for dinner tomorrow too. With Knute splitting wood and Leif cranking the washing machine, Signe paused at the clothesline to lift her face to the sun. Nothing smelled as fine as clothes off the line. She smiled at her fancy. Was it her mor who had coined that? She needed to write a letter home. Would she hear from someone from Norway soon?

  Chapter

  9

  JULY 1909

  The yeasty perfume of sourdough tickled her nose awake. The thought of fresh bread seemed a small miracle to her. Signe stretched as she started to rise. Three days later, and Signe could still feel the bruises from the fall she’d taken with Gerd.

  Rune stretched beside her and groaned.

  “I put liniment on the list for tomorrow.”

  “Good thing. Who would have thought to bring liniment from Norway?”

  “But you are getting stronger?”

  “I will by next week—perhaps.” He rolled to his knees and pushed himself upright, then extended a hand to help her up.

  “I should be helping you.” She leaned into his chest as his arms came around her. “I think we both need the liniment.” She stepped back. “I better hurry.”

  Rune nudged the three sleeping boys. “Come on, get up.” Ignoring their groans, he dressed in all but his boots, which he carried to the back porch. Like Signe, he enjoyed walking barefoot to the privy through the morning dew.

  On her way back to the house, Signe shuddered. “I sure will be glad to get the lime. Sometimes the wind blows the stench to the house.” As she set about starting the stove in the kitchen, she deliberately inhaled the yeasty fragrance, which her nose needed after the other. Sourdough was good for raising more than just dough.

  Bjorn grinned at his mor that evening. “Bread, real bread.”

  “I know.” Signe looked at the loaves cooling on the counter. She didn’t mention that she and the younger boys had fried bread that afternoon. Even Tante, while she’d not had something nice to say about the treat, had not found something to gripe about either. Signe had baked the two rabbits snared the night before, so supper smelled really good too.