She sighed. Some women would call him too protective, but she looked on his way as cherishing her like the Bible said. It also said for women to obey their husbands, and that she was determined to do.
“Those dishes aren’t going to wash themselves,” she muttered, turning from the outside that called to her. The boys would be back before she knew it. Picking up her song from where she left off, Kaaren poured boiling water out of the kettle and into the dishpan. She shaved several thin curls of soap from one of the last bars she and Ingeborg had made the year before, and dropping the bits of soap in the hot water, she gave it a moment to soften before sudsing it up. Good thing it was nearly time to butcher the pigs they’d kept for their own use. After she rendered the lard, she could add some of that to the fat she’d saved, and they could make soap again. Getting all the fall chores done with a new baby in her arms would take some doing.
With the dishes dried and put back in her gingham-skirted cupboard, the boys set to their lessons, and one of the geese baking in the oven, Kaaren took advantage of the quiet to settle for the ordered nap in her rocker. She looked longingly at the bed. Perhaps later.
“Tante Kaaren, I’d best go check on the smokehouse.” Thorliff stood at her side, concern knitting his eyebrows. “Are you all right?”
“Of course, why?” She blinked to clear the fog from her vision. Hadn’t she just sat down?
“You were moaning.”
“I’m sorry. Sometimes the baby makes me do that.” She stretched and yawned. “You go. Baptiste, you come sit by me so I can help you with your words as you read.”
A groan from the boy huddled over his slate gave his opinion of her request.
The boys were nearly finished with their history lesson when Paws yipped outside the door. The screen door creaked its way open, and a wizened apple face preceded a body bent only slightly by the age evidenced in the old woman’s nearly white hair. The remaining black strands wouldn’t line a robin’s nest. Metiz nodded at the two boys grinning at the interruption and crossed the room to lay a hand on Kaaren’s bouncing abdomen.
“Baby, he busy.”
“Could be a she.” They’d had this discussion several times before.
“Come soon.” The woman’s gnarly fingers gently probed Kaaren’s belly.
“Metiz, I have more than a month left, remember?”
“He not think that.” She laid her head against the fluttering apron, holding her breath to listen. “Maybe two in there.”
“I know. I am so huge. Bigger than that barn Ingeborg and Haakan are talking of building.” She flinched at the impact of a particularly hefty kick from within. “He, she, they—whatever—sure are busy.”
Metiz reiterated her earlier statement. “Come soon.”
Kaaren bit her lip, studying the dark eyes that shone with knowledge. Metiz had yet to be wrong. “They, if there are two, would be so tiny. If they come now, they might die. . . .” The last word trailed off. Surely God wouldn’t allow her to lose a child again. God, please don’t ask that of me. I couldn’t bear to bury another. And Lars wants children so much. This is one gift I can give him. Please.
“Great Spirit not leave.” Metiz’ soft words fell like a soothing spring rain on parched soil.
“I know that.” Kaaren tried on a tremulous smile. It still fit. “Our God is mighty and always here.” She knew she was saying words meant for her own ears as well. “He’s here.” She crossed widespread fingers around her belly, as both brace and protection. “Don’t be in such a hurry, little one. Finish growing first, for out here you need to be strong.” So often she’d found herself talking to the babe, as if she already held him in her arms. She looked up to see Metiz nod.
“I go now.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee first? There is some egge kake left from dinner.”
Metiz shook her head. With a pat on Kaaren’s belly, the old woman turned and left, whistling for Baptiste as the screen door slammed behind her.
“I still wish we’d bought lumber for a house.” Haakan and Ingeborg stood in the moonlight by the piles of lumber that had taken five days and four wagons to bring from Grafton. Getting the order from Grand Forks to Grafton had been the easy part. All but Kaaren had taken their turns driving into the town. After Andrew got over screaming at the size and noise of the train, he’d had a good time too.
Ingeborg sighed. “I know, and I thank you for that. Windows surely would make the dark days more tolerable, but we can put windows in the barn.”
“Ja, and the animals will live better than we do.” He walked over to the plot he’d staked off for the barn. “Tomorrow I’ll cut this sod. We can use it for the lean-to on the house.”
“Three more days and our barn will begin to rise on the prairie.” Ingeborg couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of her voice. Just like over at the Bonanza farm, she would have a huge wooden barn with a place for the hay up above, stanchions for the milk cows, stalls for the horses, and a place to fence in the pigs at one end. The sheep could take over the sod barn they had put up before any other buildings.
“It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Haakan finished his pacing and rejoined her.
“Ja.”
She couldn’t begin to tell him how she’d dreamed of wooden barns and increased livestock the long months after Roald disappeared. The dreams had kept her going at times when her body screamed for rest and her mind couldn’t. Only half a year until the homestead was proved up, and the deed of ownership would be hers. She amended the thought—theirs. Belonging to all four of them, she would make sure hers and Kaaren’s names were on the deeds, too, even if that wasn’t the way most things were done out here.
Haakan took her elbow and steered her toward the house, where the children lay sound asleep. Paws greeted them, tail wagging, when they entered.
“Paws, were you on the bed?” Ingeborg tried to sound gruff. The dog hung his head and, tail drooping, sank to his belly.
“Sure be that he cannot tell a lie.” Haakan dropped a kiss on Ingeborg’s cheek, then turned her face for another. “Let’s forget about the dog and the barn and everything for a while, what do you think?”
Ingeborg felt the quickening of her heart. She knew what he meant, for she’d thought much the same herself. She wrapped both arms around his neck. “Would you rather have a cup of coffee first?”
“No, thank you.” He nuzzled the side of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “Think I’ll just blow out the lamp.”
When Ingeborg woke in the morning, she felt a sense of peace. Peace that flooded her whole being, making her want to laugh and shout. God is so good. How can I ever thank and praise Him enough? She turned her head to see Haakan blowing on the banked coals so they would nibble at the kindling he’d shaved into the firebox and flare into heat that would warm both the house and their meals for the day. She should be doing that, but lying in bed and watching her husband work gave her a special thrill and deepened the immense feeling of being loved and cherished. She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to keep it all inside so she wouldn’t lose the precious moment.
“I’ll bet we have thundershowers before the day is over.” Haakan’s soft voice let her know that he knew she was awake. He came over and sat down on the pole side of the bed. “I’ll do the milking this morning and check the smokehouse on my way out. You lie there for a while longer.” He ran his fingers through her long hair, which for a change was not confined in braids. “Feels alive, like you, silky and soft.”
Ingeborg smiled up at him. She touched the cleft in his chin with one finger. “Mor said this was caused by the kiss of an angel.”
“Ja, well, my far got kissed, too, then, and his far before him.” He nibbled the end of her finger. “Mange takk, Mrs. Bjorklund.”
“Velbekomme, Mr. Bjorklund.”
He closed the door without a squeak that might wake the boys.
Ingeborg hummed as she went about preparations for breakfast. She took the potato wat
er she’d set on the warming shelf of the stove a couple of days earlier and inhaled the yeasty smell. Saving part of it to set again, she stirred in an egg, buttermilk, molasses, a scoop of butter, salt, and flour. With the wooden bowl nestled in her arms, she beat the mixture to work in as many air bubbles as she could. When it got too thick to beat, she flopped it out on a towel on the table and began kneading in the remainder of the flour needed. Now they’d have fresh bread for the barn raising on the morrow. She set dried beans to soaking, too, and once she had finished kneading the bread and set it to rise again on the warming shelf, she went about cutting up salt pork to add to the beans.
When the boys awoke, she sent Thorliff out to help Haakan. After dressing Andrew, who now thought he should do everything himself, making the process twice as long as usual, she tied a dish towel around his neck and set him on his box with some dried June-berries for a treat.
By the time Haakan brought in fresh milk for breakfast, she had the oven full of baking beans and a smoked venison haunch.
“Smells wonderful in here.” He set the strainer over the milk can and slowly poured the warm liquid through the cloth. “You set much to cheese lately?”
“Ja, as much as I have room for. We should use those sod bricks to enlarge the well house. If I had more shelves, I could cure more cheeses at the same time.” She pointed to the washbasin for Thorliff to wash his hands. “Think I’ll smoke some of those cheeses that are nearly ripe. It’ll give them a different flavor.”
“Ja, it will. We need to make a run to the Bonanza farm soon. Snow could come anytime now.” He finished his task and joined the boys at the table. After saying grace they fell to, the stack of pancakes disappearing as quickly as Ingeborg brought them to the table from the stove.
“Don’t take the sheep too far today,” Haakan said.
Thorliff nodded. “Grass is growing everywhere again after that last rain we had.”
Ingeborg watched her son trying to act like the man he was becoming.
“And remember, if you see lightning on the horizon, you make a beeline for home.”
Thorliff nodded.
Ingeborg watched them walk out to the barn, Haakan matching his steps to those of his son. Maybe for his birthday the end of October, they could buy Thorliff a wide-brimmed hat like Haakan wore. That would please him no end. She smiled at the thought of the joy on Thorliff’s face when he would open the box. Ja, that would be just the thing. She shook her head at the thought that her eldest would soon be nine years old. “Uff da, where has the time gone?”
The storm held off until after dinner. Haakan hurried back out to the field to take advantage of every moment to break new sod. He had yet to find time to break any on his own piece. It had taken all summer to repair the mess Polinski had left behind. He’d almost left his family behind, too, but something finally made him come back for them. Haakan had had to tear down the roof of the soddy and start with new rafters because the lazy man had burned some of them during the last winter.
“Uff da.” Ingeborg drove away the thoughts of Polinski and turned to kneading her bread again.
Thunder rolled in the distance. She finished forming the loaves and set them to rise for the last time. Honey on bread still warm from the oven would give the boys an afternoon treat when they brought the sheep in.
Thunder rumbled closer, but still no rain fell. Perhaps the storm would blow over them.
She lighted the lamp and sat down with her Bible to read for a few stolen moments before Andrew woke up. Turning to the Psalms, she read aloud to better appreciate the music that came with the words.
A sharp crack brought her out of her chair, the thunder crashing before she could get to the door. Andrew let out a wail, his face screwed up in terror.
“Oh, son, easy now. It’s just thunder and lightning. Sounded right over our head. Let’s go look for Thorliff and Far. They should be coming in.” Carrying him on her hip, she stepped outside. The smell of cordite caught her by surprise. The lightning had struck somewhere, but a walk out by the barn revealed nothing until she rounded the corner and saw the haystack. Bright red flames already licked the hay, blackening the stack as it devoured the dry grass.
“Oh, dear God above, our hay.” She ran back to the house and beat the triangle with all her strength. Then rushing inside, she set Andrew on the bed with a warning to stay put and grabbed the rifle from its pegs by the door. Three times she shot into the air, sending the call for help the neighbors had used since they first arrived.
Lars came running back first. He needed no instructions. By now the black smoke was rising and beginning to billow. “You winch, and I’ll carry and toss. Fill all the buckets you have while I see if I can fork most of it off the stack.”
Ingeborg prayed her way through turning the handle at the well and dumping the water into buckets. Haakan arrived on the back of one of the team, dragging the other by a rein. With the sod on the roof of the barn, it was in no danger, but the hay . . . if they lost it . . . She refused to contemplate the enormity of that. They had to save the hay.
The flames flared high enough to see from the well now. Lars hadn’t been able to slow it, let alone put it out.
What can I do, Mor?” Thorliff asked as he pelted into the yard.
Ingeborg wiped away the sweat already streaming into her eyes. “Where are the sheep?”
“Baptiste stayed with them. I heard the shots and saw the smoke.” Thorliff dumped the bucket cranked up from the well.
“Take Andrew over to Tante Kaaren.” The crank spun around until the bucket hit water again. She could hear Haakan and Lars shouting at someone else arriving at breakneck speed.
Thorliff took off as though a wolf was hot on his heels. She could hear Andrew screaming.
Turn, dump, spin, and crank again. She kept up the pace, trying to keep ahead of the growing line of bucket passers. The Baard tribe arrived, and Penny took over the handle.
“Tante’s in the house making coffee. She brought some bread and such to feed everyone.” Penny cranked, and Ingeborg dumped the buckets.
A cry went up. “Save the other stack!”
“Oh, dear Lord, the lumber.” Haakan’s shout ripped up her spine.
“Douse it!” a voice yelled.
More teams with wagons and riders pounded into the yard.
The smoke burned eyes and throats.
Someone dropped a second bucket on a line into the well. Ingeborg looked up to see Metiz on the end of the rope. Tears, sweat—she wiped them away again and kept on dumping.
Her arms felt as if the sockets had loosened. Someone brushed at her hair.
“A spark. Can’t let you burn too.” Mrs. Johnson patted her shoulder. “Here, Penny, you join the line, and I will crank.”
Ingeborg only nodded. Bits of burning hay rode the breeze to breed new flames. When had the wind come up? She could hear shouting, the roar of the fire, and now the snapping of dry wood. Dear God, the lumber for the barn, our hay, how will we make it through the winter? If only . . . She stopped that thought aborning. If only would only slow her down, and she’d learned in the last few years what time and strength that useless game devoured.
Please, God, keep anyone from getting hurt. Please save the animals. Please, God kept time with the dumping of buckets. Her skirts, heavy with splashed water, dragged at her waist.
“Here.” Agnes handed her a cup of water and a soaked dish towel. “Drink the one and let me tie the other over your nose and mouth. You’ll breathe easier.”
Ingeborg kneaded her screaming back with one fist, drank, and then let Agnes tie the wet cloth behind her neck. While her throat still felt as if she’d been swallowing flames, she could breathe easier.
“Mange takk,” she whispered, but Agnes was on to doing the same for others.
Heat like that of the worst imaginable August afternoon burned her back and arms. Knowing how she felt, she took a bucketful and dumped it on the backs of those around her, then turned while Metiz di
d the same for her.
How long, oh, Lord? She glanced up at the smoke-filled sky. It should be dark by now. Had time stood still? Wasn’t this just a taste of what hell would be like?
“Enough. You stop.” Metiz laid her hand on Ingeborg’s shoulder. “Fire done.”
Ingeborg straightened to find others setting down their buckets. The smoke had indeed let up, the west wind blowing it away. She untied the still saturated cloth, thanks to the sweat and splashing water, and wiped strands of hair back from her forehead. She forced herself to turn and look toward the damage. Only a few humps of charred hay lay where a fine haystack had stood that morning, a mute testimony to the fierce heat. The next stack, half burned, still smoldered, with Lars and Haakan forking off any blackened or smoking remnants. The rest would be so water soaked no self-respecting animal would eat it. She couldn’t see around the corner of the barn and corral to where the lumber had been stacked.
She knew she didn’t want to see.
Thorliff came to stand beside her, so blackened by soot that if she didn’t recognize his eyes, she might not have been sure whose boy he was.
“We saved one stack.” He coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of a grimy hand.
“And the lumber?”
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