A Land to Call Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  Ingeborg fought back the swell that gathered at the back of her throat. Agnes loved babies. She took good care of her older children, but babies were so special to her. Called them “little angels.” Whenever someone gave birth, Agnes was the first on the scene with soup for the mother and a knitted bonnet or blanket for the infant. And if a baby was fussy, it quieted immediately once in Agnes’s arms. Agnes loved them, and they always sensed it.

  The thoughts made Ingeborg’s eyes blur. “Do you want to see her?”

  “Ja.”

  Penny brought the swaddled little body to the bed and folded back the blanket. She laid the baby in Agnes’s arms and stepped back. Suddenly she whirled and fled outside.

  Ingeborg continued with her massage, finally feeling the contractions beneath her palms. Thank you, Father. Please continue with your grace, for this family needs their mother. She thought of the little ones sleeping out at the barn with their father. Anji and Gus trying to care for Rebecca, and Joseph watching over them all. Had other babies died in those years between Swen and seven-year-old Anji? Did that make this any easier?

  Why had they never talked about these things? Ingeborg looked down at her friend, one of those who’d tried to drag her out of the black pit after Roald died. Losing those you loved never got easier. Agnes had never seen this baby, only felt it grow inside, yet she had longed for the day she would hold the sweet newborn in her arms.

  “She died some time ago.” Agnes had unwrapped the quilt and was stroking the tiny body, the curved cheek, the eyes that would never light with laughter.

  “Ja.”

  “Is Kaaren up to leading the service?”

  “I think so. She will not refuse to do this for you, no matter what.”

  “Joseph could, but he has such a hard time with the little ones.” Agnes folded the blanket back in place, covering first the feet, then one side and the other. She smoothed the soft flannel between each fold, adjusting the curve around the neck, tucking in the tiny fist. “I have a cap for her. It is on the top right side of the trunk.”

  Ingeborg fetched the finely knit bonnet. Agnes fit it in place and tied the strings beneath the dimpled chin. “Do you mind if we name her Elizabeth?”

  Ingeborg shook her head. “We would be honored.”

  “We would have called her Beth.” Agnes let her eyes drift shut.

  “You rest now.”

  The woman on the bed nodded, a small motion that tipped loose the shiny drop hovering on her eyelashes.

  The next afternoon they laid Elizabeth Baard in the square plot just east of the schoolhouse, next to the stakes that marked the foundation for the church. A rail fence surrounded the graves already dotting the mowed yard. For now, boards carved with the name and date marked those graves, with all hoping to one day set granite headstones. Too many of the graves were tiny.

  Kaaren held her Bible in her hands, the wind ruffling both the pages and the clothes of those gathered. “ ‘Suffer the little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ ” She turned the pages. “ ‘Nothing shall separate thee from the love of thy Father, neither life nor death . . .’ ” And again. “ ‘I will not leave thee nor forsake thee.’ ” The rich Norwegian words continued to roll over the assembled people, promises from the Father to the children. His children, no matter the age.

  Joseph, his nephew Petar, and two older sons set the small wooden box down in the hole dug for it. With tears streaming down his lined cheeks, Joseph shoveled dirt on the box lid. The thud rang in the stillness.

  “Let us sing.” Kaaren’s voice rose in the Doxology. The voices quavered, then climbed above and around the thudding dirt, gathering power as the people drew closer together, giving strength and promise for the days ahead.

  Kaaren looked over to the two small graves next to one long one. She, like Agnes, would see her babies again one day. God had promised.

  Since Agnes seemed to be on the mend, albeit slowly, Ingeborg left Penny in charge and returned home to find Solveig using one crutch so she could carry things with her other arm. Solveig and Kaaren cooked for both the families, took care of Andrew, and kept the twins fed and comfortable.

  The barn was shingled, both the high center roof and the side additions. Uncle Olaf was finishing the board-and-batten siding on the eastern section, while Lars and Haakan had the soddy addition ready to add the shed-style rafters. Thorliff and Baptiste, besides, splitting shingles, had taken over most of the chores so the men could keep building.

  “So, what do you think?” Thorliff asked when he took the mule’s reins to put him away.

  Ingeborg could tell he was dying to brag about all they had accomplished. “I think you have all been working night and day to get so much done. Let me see your hands.”

  He held them out with a questioning look.

  “Ah, as I suspected.” She turned them back and front, then smiled. “I thought so. Worked near to the bone. I think it is time two boys I know go fishing. How about if I ask your far if that would be all right? Maybe first thing tomorrow?”

  While his eyes lit up, his head shook no. “Far says we butcher tomorrow, whether you got home or not.”

  “Ah. Which would you rather do?”

  “Butcher the hogs. Me and Baptiste can make a ball out of the pig’s bladder. Far said so.” He cocked his head. “Did you ever do that?”

  “My brothers did, and they kicked it around the yard for days.”

  “We have two pigs, so Baptiste and I can each have one.” He paused for a moment. “Andrew is too little. He’d chew on it.” He looked up at her with a hopeful expression.

  “We’ll find him something else for a toy.”

  “Thank you, Mor.”

  The next day Haakan started the fires under the scalding trough before milking the cows so the water that Thorliff and Baptiste drew would be plenty hot. The two hogs to be killed had been penned away from the others and not fed for the last twenty-four hours so the intestines would be easier to clean out for sausage casings.

  Joseph Baard, his nephew, and two elder sons arrived before the sun.

  “How’s Agnes?” Ingeborg asked, handing them each a cup of coffee, the two boys’ well-doctored with milk and a bit of honey.

  “Somewhat better. I’ll be thanking the Lord to see her smile again. Don’t know what we’d do without Penny. And thanks to you, my Agnes will pull through.”

  “We’ll just thank the good Lord for sending us Metiz who has taught me—all of us—so much. If it weren’t for her, there’d be a lot less folks still alive around here. My mor knew much about herbs, but things are different here.” She turned at Andrew’s insistence, handing him another biscuit. “You want some breakfast? I got plenty.”

  “Thanks, but we already ate.” He stepped back outside where the cold turned his breath to a cloud of steam. “Good day for butchering.”

  Olaf had all the knives sharpened and lined up in a slot at the top of the cutting table. A tripod of poles held a chain to attach to the hocks. Ingeborg looked around a final time to make sure everything was in readiness.

  After one shot Haakan and Lars dragged the dead animal to the tripod, hung it, and began the butchering process. Once bled and gutted, the animal was lowered into scalding water just long enough to loosen the bristly hair, then hung again to be scraped.

  While this was going on, Ingeborg, Thorliff, and Baptiste ground potatoes and mixed them with flour and salt and pepper for the krub, or blood sausage. With one kettle simmering over a low fire, they mixed the blood and potato mixture, formed it into hand-sized balls, and stuffed a piece of salt pork or bacon from last year’s butchering in the middle. Then the balls were dropped into a net in the kettle to simmer for several hours.

  Once skinned, with the scraped hide wrapped for later tanning, the first pig was laid on the cutting table, and the process began again with the second. Everyone worked like a well-trained team, doing their assigned jobs with speed and skill.
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  Ingeborg set the heads to cooking in another kettle, to be turned into headcheese another day. A third fire held the rendering pot where all the fat was thrown. Joseph’s boys were in charge of maintaining the fires and keeping the lard from burning.

  “Do we have to wash the guts out?” Thorliff made a face when his mother began that smelly job.

  “You like smoked sausage, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “No sausage casing, no sausage.” She stripped the contents into a feed bucket by squeezing the long small intestine between two fingers and pulling it through. She plopped the flat white tube into a pan of clean water. “Here you go.”

  Over at the cutting table, Olaf wielded the largest knife and Joseph handled the saw. Together they turned the carcass into shoulder roasts, pork chops, salt pork, and cuts for hams and bacon. All the trimmings went into another bucket to be ground for sausage, both smoked links and patties.

  Krub became their dinner, along with potatoes roasted in the coals and squash baked the same way. Eating outside, the sun shining but giving little warmth, it seemed more like a party than work.

  Ingeborg missed Agnes and her hearty laughter. She missed Kaaren’s gentle smile and teasing, too, though Kaaren and Solveig had come over for a short time to see how things were going.

  The boys carried the sausage bucket back for them to begin the first grinding. They would make patties from the seasoned meat and store them layered in crocks sealed by a covering of lard. Sausage stuffing would happen the next day.

  Come winter, all this work would be more than appreciated. As the fat melted to clear lard, Ingeborg dipped it out and filled the bread pans. Once set up solid, the lard would be stored in bricks or buckets in the well house until they had a spell cold enough to freeze it.

  Ingeborg set the haunches to cure in salt water in preparation for smoking. While much of the work would be done today, things like smoking, tanning, and making headcheese would wait until after they butchered at the Baards’ tomorrow.

  “Okay, boys,” Haakan said after they had sluiced down the cutting table and resharpened the knives. “I have here two clean bladders. Now we can blow them up if we have enough wind, or we can fill them with water. Either way, they need owners who will care for them and not treat them too rough, lest they break and Paws eats them.” The dog perked up one ear at the mention of his name.

  Thorliff stood before his father. “Me and Baptiste will do that.” He stopped and scrunched up his face. “But I think Knute and Swen should have one.”

  “Good thinking, son.” Haakan handed him the two skin sacs. “Now you tie off this end and blow through this one.” He showed the boys what he meant. “I remember playing ante-over the house, the barn, haystacks, whatever.”

  “You could maybe do that with us?” Thorliff looked up, his eyes begging more than his words.

  Haakan shook his head. “I don’t know. These things look pretty flat to me.”

  “We could take turns blowing.”

  Haakan ruffled the boy’s hair. “You blow first, each of you, and we’ll see if they need stronger air.” He winked at Olaf.

  Within minutes, the boys wore red faces but only slowly the bladders swelled. Knute blew till his eyes bulged.

  “Not full enough.” Haakan turned to Lars. “You next?”

  Each man took a turn, the bladders expanding. Haakan held one out to Ingeborg, who shook her head with a laugh.

  “I don’t have enough breath to laugh and blow too.” She giggled. “You should see your faces.”

  “Now, ma’am, we take our bladder blowing seriously.” Lars waved the swollen bladder in the air. It slipped from his fingers and shot across the yard, Paws right after it. The dog chased the shrilling bladder, the boys chased the dog, and Ingeborg wiped the tears of laughter from her cheeks with the heels of her hand.

  This time the blowing up didn’t take quite so long, Haakan refusing to let Lars help.

  “You can’t hold on to the thing.” He shook his head and glanced down at the boys. “Can he? We won’t even give him another chance.” They too shook their heads, giggles escaping from between clenched lips.

  It took a full-grown, well-muscled man to heave the bladder over the two-story barn roof, and boys swift of feet with lightning reflexes to catch it on the other side.

  “You can’t make it!”

  “Ante-over!”

  “That’s mine!”

  Shouts and laughter punctuated the teasing. Twelve milk cows and four oxen lined up along the fence, heads hanging over the bars to watch the crazy humans at play.

  Thorliff slid in a fresh cow pie, missed his catch, and skidded flat out on the ground. Paws ran over, jumping between the boy’s flailing arms to get in a nose and chin lick.

  “Pee-uw.” Swen held his nose with one hand and pulled Thorliff to his feet with the other. “How can we win if you just go lying on the ground?”

  Ingeborg went inside to put the coffeepot on and make sure the reservoir held plenty of water.

  That night they had fried pork chops with sliced potatoes and another fire-baked squash. Along with the pork chops, Kaaren served applesauce she’d cooked that afternoon.

  They repeated the entire process the next day for the Baards. Much against Ingeborg’s advice, Agnes sat on a stool, taking over the krub-making.

  “Don’t fret, Inge. If I don’t have something to do, I will pull the covers over my head and not come out until spring.”

  Ingeborg looked her friend in the eyes and was afraid she meant it.

  “Very well, but you will go rest in bed in a while.” She handed a freshly brewed cup of Metiz’ herbs to the woman whose skin still wore the pale drawn look of one who’d been through a terrible ordeal.

  Agnes made a face. “I know this works, but must it taste so terrible?” When she winked, Ingeborg knew her friend was on the mend. Thank you, Lord, for small favors that loom so large.

  After krub dinner, Agnes went back to bed without a word, only raising an eyebrow in Ingeborg’s direction.

  Snow fell that night and continued to blanket the world in fat flakes for the next two days. When the sun peeked out on the third day and set the world on diamond fire, Ingeborg took Andrew out to see the top hats on the fence posts, the sheep who wore new coats, and to hear the snow whoosh off the steep roof of the new barn. Icicles hung from the ends of the shingles. She picked several and together she and the fatly dressed little one sucked on their treats.

  “Good.” Andrew waved his in the air.

  “Ja, all is good.”

  “Make snow angels, Mor.” Thorliff came running around the corner of the sod barn.

  Baptiste joined them as they all lined up.

  “On three,” Ingeborg said after telling Andrew what to do next.

  “One,” Thorliff called.

  “Two,” Baptiste shouted.

  “Three!” Ingeborg let herself fall backward in the soft snow. With arms and legs fanning wide, she called encouragement to Andrew beside her.

  “All right now, everybody get up easy so we can see who did theirs the best.” She got to her feet, and after lifting Andrew up, they stood to admire the four angels carved in the fluffy snow.

  “Again.” Andrew patted her face with his mittened hands.

  And so they did. Three different sets of angels now decorated and guarded the Bjorklund farm. When Paws set out with his welcoming bark, Ingeborg shaded her eyes with her mittened hand, the better to see across the sparkling prairie. Now who was galloping through the snow in their direction?

  It’s Penny.” Thorliff ran to meet her.

  “Now what is happening?” A galloping horse usually meant disaster.

  Penny pulled her horse to a stop, her grin wide as the Dakota skies. “Good morning, good morning. Isn’t this a wonderful day?”

  “Is Agnes all right? Joseph? What is wrong?” Ingeborg tried to match the joy on the girl’s face with possible catastrophes.

  “Nothin
g is wrong. Why?”

  “You were galloping.”

  “Oh, I just couldn’t help it. Such a gorgeous day, and Tante Agnes wants to have a quilting bee—tomorrow, if enough people can come on such short notice. Kaaren can bring the twins if she thinks they are strong enough, Solveig, too, and you. Then I’m to ride on and invite the others.”

  “She is feeling that much better then?”

  “She says a party will help her feel even better. ‘A good visit is what the body needs.’ That’s what she said.”

  “Such good news.”

  Andrew attached himself to his mother’s skirt. “Penny, come play.” He pointed back to the designs in the snow. “Me angel.”

  “That’s for sure. Sorry, I have errands, Andrew. Maybe another time.”

  “You angel?”

  Penny laughed. “That’s not usually what they call me, but if you say so.”

  Andrew nodded, his cheeks red as his lips. “You angel.” He grinned up at her. “Ride horse?”

  “You little beggar. Sure, but only a short ride.”

  Ingeborg lifted Andrew and set him in front of Penny. “Have fun.”

  His deep belly laugh floated on the breeze when Penny trotted the horse back the way she’d come. “Faster! Faster!” His shriek of pure joy as the horse broke into a lope added music to an already wonderful morning.

  Ingeborg caught herself skipping back to the house. Hammers rang from inside the barn now as the men erected stalls for the horses and oxen and stanchions for the milk cows. They planned to wall off part of the lower section for a workshop, but the animals had to come first.

  She glanced toward the pasture when she heard a horse whinny. The four work horses and Jack the mule were racing around the fence line, bucking and kicking their heels in the air. Soon the cows put their tails in the air and raced after the cavorting horses. Even the oxen lumbered heavily behind.

  Thorliff and Baptiste came running out of the barn at her shout, and the men followed. Paws ran barking after the animals while Thorliff tried to whistle him back. That took some doing because it was hard to pucker and laugh at the same time. In fact, the pucker didn’t work at all, making Baptiste laugh so hard he rolled in the snow.