The Promise of Dawn

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Ja, Leif just isn’t strong enough to do much splitting.”

  “He can cut kindling when he gets done milking.” Rune stretched his shoulders and neck. “Shame we can’t get enough split ahead. What is Knute doing?”

  “The rest of the chores. There’s a bucket of skim milk to haul to the barn for the pigs. We’re having ham for supper. I cut into the last smoked haunch. Knute ran his snares, and there are two rabbits to dress out. He hung them in the well house.”

  Rune looked in the woodbox. “Enough to finish making supper?”

  “Maybe.”

  So what to do first? Dress the rabbits so the meat did not go bad. With one boy sleeping and one with blistered hands . . . He took the knives out of the drawer and ran his thumb across the blades. They needed sharpening.

  “Is there a whetstone here?”

  “Signe!” The screech came from the bedroom.

  He looked at his wife. “Does she always scream like that?”

  Signe nodded as she dug the whetstone out of a drawer and handed it to him, then headed for the bedroom.

  He would much rather work in the woods.

  The breeze in the shade out on the back porch lifted his spirits as he sat down. What a shame they could not bring Tante Gerd out here. He spit on the whetstone and began rubbing a knife edge against it in a circular motion.

  He studied the blade on the stone. What was he seeing, really? Not enough. He was sharpening this knife expertly because he had been doing it all his life. His hands knew exactly what to do. He could sharpen a blade with his eyes closed, literally. But if he had never done it before, could he see well enough to do so simple a task?

  Probably not.

  He looked up to see Leif carrying the milk bucket to the well house. Leif wasn’t tall enough to hoist the bucket up onto the bench and pour the milk in the flat pans. Rune laid the knife and stone down and hastened to catch up to his son.

  He stepped inside the well house. “You need some help?”

  Leif turned to grin at his far. “Takk, I just can’t reach.”

  “The counters are high. Nice and cool in here, isn’t it?” Rune set the bucket on the bench that lined one wall and held the flat pans, still full, and the strainer.

  “Can you carry that bucket of skim milk to the pigs?”

  “Who usually does that?” Rune asked.

  “Knute. I cleaned the manure out of Daisy’s pen. If you don’t fill the wheelbarrow so full, it doesn’t tip over.”

  “Good lesson, ja?”

  Rune poured the milk through the strainer and into the crock to set in the cold water. “Can you skim the cream?” He nodded toward the pans on the counter.

  “If you show me how.”

  Rune set the cream crock on the counter. “Run up to the house and get that bench I made for you to stand on. I’ll carry the skim milk to the barn.” Leif scampered off, and Rune picked up the bucket. At five gallons, it was indeed heavy.

  Knute came out of the chicken house with a basket of eggs as Rune exited the barn. “The chicks are so cute, but that mama. Good thing I had the bandage on. She would have got me good. I just wanted to see how many more she had.”

  “Perhaps when they’re all hatched we should move her into the other stall so the chicks don’t get trampled by the others.”

  Knute nodded. “Leif and me are going to sleep out here tonight. Daisy wasn’t interested in her supper.” He walked with Rune up to the well house. “Leif did good milking. If I keep helping in the woods, he’ll take good care of the cow. She needs a name.” He set the basket of eggs on the bench. “Feels good in here.”

  Leif set his step stool on the packed earth floor. “Ready, Far.”

  Rune took a shallow ladle and skimmed the thick cream, pouring it into a crock. He handed the ladle to Leif. “Now you do it.”

  Knute propped his elbows on the counter and his chin on his closed fists. “Can I go pull branches tomorrow?”

  “I think so, as long as you wear your leather gloves and don’t use the axe. A day or two, and you should be good. Go ask your mor if she wants anything from the well house for supper besides the milk.”

  “I got it all.” Leif pointed at the flat pans. “Now we wash them good, huh?”

  “Along with the milk pail. Take them up to the house. This job needs hot water and soap.”

  They picked up the rabbits and walked up to the house.

  Rune looked out over the hayfield, which seemed to be growing so fast you could see it. Even dusk seemed hesitant tonight, as the golden light bathed the land. In Norway, few people owned this much land, and the mature trees were only in the mountains. By now, the older girls and young women would be up at the seders, the mountain summer farms, with all the cattle, goats, and sheep. Signe had done that when she was younger, before she married. After her first husband died, she had been left to raise their son, Bjorn, alone.

  Here, they could have a whole new start. He sat down on the porch to finish sharpening the knives, dreaming of a place of their own. But first they had to work off their tickets from Norway that Einar had paid for.

  Knute hung the hind legs of the rabbits over the nails in the post on the porch. “I can do the rabbits.”

  Rune shook his head. “I’ll do it. Your mor will skin me if she has to rewrap your hands.”

  Leif pushed open the screen door. “Mor said to move the hen and her chicks to the stall in the barn, so we need to find a waterer and feeder. She said to ask Onkel Einar where they might be.”

  “Check down in the cellar first.”

  Both boys headed for the cellar door on the south side of the house. Rune could hear them laughing. What a good sound. He dressed out the rabbits, then got the cleaver out of the kitchen to cut them up. “You want me to put salt in the soaking water?” he asked Signe.

  “Ja. Supper is almost ready.”

  “I’ll tell the boys and Einar.”

  When all the tasks were complete, Rune ushered the boys inside to wash and joined Bjorn at the table.

  “You’re looking better,” Rune said, knowing Bjorn would not hear. “Sleepy, but better.”

  “Both tired and from the laudanum.” Signe set a platter of fried ham on the table. “Pain makes you tired.”

  Einar stopped at the sink to wash and took his place at the table. “Ham. Must be the last haunch.”

  She set beans and gravy on the table, along with a plate of corn bread. “You want milk or coffee?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Milk would be good.” Rune nodded. “Is there buttermilk?”

  “We’re out. Bjorn can churn tomorrow. It’s something he can do with one hand.” She watched Bjorn trying to cut his ham with a fork. When the ham almost slid off his plate, she looked at Rune and nodded toward Bjorn.

  “Here, let me help you with that.” Rune leaned closer and cut his son’s meat. “I should have thought about that.”

  “Takk.” Bjorn had yet to learn not to shout, since he could not hear his own voice.

  “I sure hope his hearing comes back soon.” Einar nodded toward Bjorn. “He can’t work out in the woods if he can’t hear.”

  Rune nodded. Ah, but Einar, what about someone whose vision seems to be failing?

  Chapter

  15

  Today you are moving to the window.” Signe spoke in her no-arguments voice.

  “Nei! I cannot walk that far.” Gerd scowled at her.

  “Ja, we will do it together.”

  “Then I must walk back.”

  “One thing at a time.” She needed to bathe Gerd again too. And do the wash. So much to do, but the only way to get it done was one step at a time. She would change the bed while Gerd was up. The breeze blowing in the window helped freshen the room.

  “Mor!” Leif yelled as he charged into the kitchen and on to the bedroom. “Daisy is having her babies!”

  “Where is Bjorn?” One more thing to add to the list.

  “Down at the barn, watching her
.”

  “Are the babies all right?”

  “She only had one so far. She doesn’t mind me coming into the stall. Far said sows are real protective of their babies and don’t want anyone near.”

  Gerd nodded. “But not for a couple of days.”

  Leif stared at Gerd, his mouth hanging open.

  Signe tipped her head to the side. “You used to take care of the pigs and chickens?”

  “Who else would have? Einar is always out in the woods or building.”

  Signe smiled at her son. “You go watch and come get me if she is straining and nothing is happening.” She turned back to the woman in the bed. “I’ll get your breakfast.”

  Wonder of wonders, Gerd had not screeched at Leif for being too noisy. Could she be getting better? She’d never strung this many words together.

  Signe dished up pancakes with sour cream and chokecherry jelly, poured the coffee, and taking the tray into the bedroom, set it on the boards she had laid across the arms of the chair.

  If she moved Gerd to the window, she would not be able to leave her. Better wait and see how the sow’s birthing progressed. Bjorn had been more like himself this morning, even though he was living in his silent world. He had gone down to the barn with Leif. She would have to write to communicate with him if sign language did not work. Much could be said with pointing and hand motions.

  She set the boiler on the stove and filled it with water from the pump. Today was a good day to sweep and wash the attic floor.

  Laying a hand on her abdomen, she paused. “What, you do not like me raising the bucket?” Whatever caused it, the baby was moving more often. At first it had been tiny flutterings but now . . . She murmured, “Lord, takk” and caught herself. She used to pray but no more. No more.

  “I’m done,” Gerd called.

  That too was new. Signe returned to the bedroom. “Can I get you anything else?” She set the tray on the dresser.

  “The pot.”

  “All right.” She helped Gerd to her feet but made her do more to get herself up from the chair. Her steps were firmer, and by the time she was seated, Gerd was puffing some but not gasping for breath.

  “Next I will bathe you, then you can sleep.”

  “Nei, tired.”

  “I know, but tomorrow I’m doing the wash, and you need a clean nightdress.” Without waiting for an answer, she took the tray back to the kitchen and filled the dishpan with water from the reservoir. Armed with a bar of soap, washcloth, and towel, she returned to her charge. “How long since you washed your hair?”

  Gerd shrugged. “Too hard.”

  “I know. Not today but soon.” She studied Gerd on the pot stool and nodded. “I am going to wash you while you sit there.” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled the nightdress over Gerd’s head and threw it in the corner with the other dirty clothes. By the time Signe had washed her, Gerd could hardly hold her head up. Some lotion would be good. Signe thought of the soaps and lotions she had made from goat’s milk in Norway. Where might she find goat’s milk here? Perhaps she’d ask Mrs. Benson.

  Once she had dried Gerd’s feet, she fetched a clean gown from the dresser and pulled it over Gerd’s head. With Gerd back in bed, Signe took the pot out to dump and scrub. “I’m going down to the barn,” she said from the doorway, but Gerd was already sound asleep. On her way to the barn, Signe dumped the contents of the pot down the hole in the outhouse. That needed lime again too.

  Raising her face to the sun, she stopped for a moment to let the breeze kiss her skin and lift the tendrils of hair that escaped from her crown of braids. The chickens were scratching and pecking around the chicken house, and the rooster raised his head to watch her approach. She should have brought the scraps she’d saved for them. A crow scolded her from the top of the barn. The barn swallows dipped and dove, returning to their nests under the barn eaves to feed their young. She paused in the door of the barn, letting her eyes adjust from the bright sun.

  Neither of the boys could be seen, but then she heard Leif talking to the sow in a gentle voice. This youngest son had a way with animals. His far did too. Farming was indeed where Rune belonged. How long would it be before he could think of land of his own? Would they homestead, and if so, where?

  She crossed to the stall and leaned against the half wall. “How many?” she asked softly.

  Leif looked up from the corner, closest to the sow’s head, where he sat, stroking her ears. Bjorn sat cross-legged in another corner, leaning against the wall.

  “Three up and nursing. I helped one find a teat,” Leif said.

  Bjorn smiled up at her. The bruise over his right eye showed even in the dimness, but his egg-sized bump had gone down. The sling tied to his chest stood out with almost a white glow. She nodded and smiled at him.

  “I asked him not to talk ’cause he talks too loud and might shock her,” Leif explained.

  “I see.” Of the three piglets, one was nursing and two were sleeping. “She has not gotten up since they started coming?”

  “Nei.” He watched her carefully. “I think another is coming.”

  Signe watched the sow and sure enough, another piglet slid out onto the sawdust bedding the boys had spread for her. The baby wiggled out of the sack and another followed it. “Two in one sack. Sometimes I’ve seen four come right after each other.” Within minutes, the babies were trying to stand up, rocking back and forth and plowing into the sawdust again. Bjorn moved in reach of them, in case one needed help. His smile matched Leif’s. He looked up at his mor and nodded.

  “I’m going back to the house to clean the attic, so if you need me, that is where I am. Do not holler and wake Tante Gerd.”

  Leif nodded. “How many more do you think she’ll have?”

  “Didn’t Einar say she usually has eight to ten? Her mor had more, but she lost a lot of them. Daisy is more careful.”

  “Good, I don’t want any to die.”

  Back at the house, Signe tied a bandana around her head and took her broom and dustpan along with some rags in a bucket to the parlor and pulled on the rope that brought the ladder down. Maybe this winter they could build real stairs to the attic. The larger she grew, the more difficult the climb up the ladder would be.

  Once in the attic, panting a bit from the climb and the heat, she shook her head. The dust seemed inches deep, and cobwebs draped from floor to ceiling—not that the ceiling was far above, other than in the middle of the room. Rune would have to be careful not to hit his head on the rafters. The windows were open and screened, one of the many right things Einar had done when he built this house. Screens on the windows to keep the army of mosquitoes at bay.

  First she swept down all the cobwebs, then the floor, dumping all the dust into the bucket. Back downstairs to dump the bucket and fill it with hot water from the boiler.

  “Signe!” A summons from the bedroom.

  Heaving a sigh, Signe paused at the sink and pumped water over her hands, filled a glass, drank it down, and filled one for Gerd. She found Gerd sitting up in bed and inching her heels to the edge of the mattress. Progress.

  “I’m cleaning the attic.”

  “Dirty?”

  “Ja, very dirty.” With Gerd on the pot, Signe handed her the glass of water. “You need to drink.”

  “Coffee.”

  “I will make a pot for dinner.”

  “How many babies?”

  “Five when I was out there.”

  “Takes a while.”

  They got her back to bed, and Signe hauled her bucket of soap and water up the ladder, one rung at a time. It almost tipped one time, but she caught it and then wrapped one arm around the side of the ladder, breathing hard. That was a close call. She could have fallen. She rested for a moment, then hoisted the bucket up a couple more rungs. With her head and shoulders above the attic floor, she lifted the bucket one more time. Water sloshed on the floor, but the bucket did not tip over. Crawling up into the attic, she sat down and dropped her chin on he
r chest. What if she had fallen? She wrapped her arms around her ever-extending belly and rocked back and forth on her haunches. “I could have lost my baby.”

  They had been so pleased when she became pregnant after so many barren years where she thought there would be no more children. She was hoping for a daughter. She heaved a sigh and rolled over on her knees so she could stand. No more just pushing herself upright with both legs at one time. Already it was the cumbersome way, but at least she could still do that.

  She carried the bucket and a large rag to one end of the room, and after folding a couple other rags together for a kneeler, set to washing and rinsing the floor. At this rate she’d need to go down for more water. And haul it up again. Just not as full a bucket. She wasn’t even half done.

  “Mor?”

  “Ja, I am just coming down.” Going down was easier than going up, and this time she clung to the ladder with her free hand. With her feet on solid floor again, she puffed out a breath and turned to her youngest son. “How are the babies?”

  “Eight of them. All alive. I showed the older ones how to find their little safe house. Daisy has not tried to get up yet, so there must be more.” Leif took the handle of the bucket with both hands. “I will dump this.” He grinned up at her. “While you make dinner?”

  She ruffled his hair. “Is it that time already?” Her stomach grumbled, making him laugh. Leif laughed easily, a gift for the whole sober family. “Dump it by the back porch.”

  “I will take it to the garden.”

  She watched him go, unconsciously kneading her back with her fists. He could slice the bread when he came back. Maybe she would add a fried egg to each of the ham sandwiches. And they could eat outside in the shade of the house. After working in the hot attic, a breeze sounded like the best part of dinner.

  How dark it would be upstairs come winter. And how cold. Although the stovepipe from the kitchen went up through the attic. If Einar would purchase a vent, the attic would be warmer.

  While she was thinking, she sliced the ham she’d brought in earlier from the well house, set a frying pan on the hottest part of the stove, and spooned in enough fat from the drippings crock to fry the eggs.