by Adele Dueck
“Ohhh,” breathed Elsa.
By now they’d left the buildings behind and reached the site of the railway terminus. “My father is working here instead,” Colin said. “He doesn’t make as much money, but he knows it’s legal.”
Track was laid out in a huge triangle, with a length of straight track going beyond each point.
“This is the wye,” explained Colin. “Da showed me how it works. They aren’t going to build a bridge over the river for years, so the trains from Moose Jaw have to turn around here.
“The train drives onto that arm of the triangle.” Colin pointed to the wye as he spoke. “Then it backs down the second arm. When the engine reaches the join between the second and third arm, the train drives forward again, going back the way it came.”
“That’s amazing,” said Erik. He stepped onto the track, balancing on the rail. “One day we’ll ship grain on these tracks.”
He jumped down, following Colin and Elsa back into town. Colin taught Elsa some new words in English and Elsa repeated them, Irish accent and all. Erik barely listened. His mind was already back with Olaf, wondering about his friends.
A thick layer of frost covered the ground the next morning when Rolf and Erik walked back to the threshing crew. Erik pitched sheaves two more weeks, bringing six dollars home to his mother. The blisters on his hands healed, and after the first week his arms hardly ached and he could eat as much as most of the men. Often he had two pieces of pie. He liked them all, but pumpkin and lemon were his favourites.
When the threshers moved out of the area, instead of going with them, Rolf got work alongside Colin’s father building the train track going southeast. Eventually the crew from Green Valley would meet the tracks being built northwest from Moose Jaw, and Rolf would be out of another job.
Erik still hauled water for the house and the animals, breaking through ice at the spring. There was less water there each time, and he worried it would stop flowing altogether. Once it snowed, the animals could eat it and they’d melt some for the house.
Whenever he was in town, Erik stepped into the stable behind the lumberyard to see Tapper. Sometimes Olaf was there, talking to Tapper, pouring water over the deeper injuries that hadn’t yet healed. Tapper’s coat looked better and his eyes were bright when he turned to welcome Erik. Olaf looked different, too, dressed in cowboy clothes, a package of tobacco stuffed in his vest pocket.
Most of the time Olaf was away, so Erik carried water from the town well to pour over Tapper’s back. When the horse shivered, he spoke to him softly, promising he would be healed by spring.
Rolf finished working for the railroad one day in late November when the track his crew was building met the track from Moose Jaw. A couple of days later, Erik and Colin cheered with the rest of the town as the first train steamed into Green Valley. Erik waded through the newly fallen snow, loading wooden crates onto Lars’s wagon, wearing new boots bought with money from pitching sheaves.
Rolf found work building houses, so Erik still had to do the outside work at home. Inga rested more, leaving Elsa to cook and clean. Erik helped Elsa churn butter, too, which Rolf took to town to trade at the store for groceries.
One Monday at the beginning of December, Rolf joined two other men on the train to Moose Jaw, looking for a pastor for the Norwegian church. Tuesday, Erik thought his mother looked unwell, and on Wednesday she didn’t get out of bed. His heart plunged when he came in from feeding the livestock and saw her fevered face.
“The wind is blowing hard,” he said, shaking snow from his coat.
“Mama’s worse,” said Elsa. “She hasn’t woken since you went outside. I can barely hear her breathe.” She snuggled beside Inga, her own face flushed.
Erik crouched by the bed. He touched his mother’s forehead, feeling the heat against his cold hand. Her eyes fluttered open.
“What do you want us to do? How can we help you?”
“Rolf.” The word was a whisper.
“He’s not here,” Erik said. “He’s gone to Moose Jaw, remember? He’ll be back in a day or two.”
His mother didn’t answer. She hugged the blanket closer, her eyes drifting shut.
Erik took his own blanket out of the chest, spreading it over her.
Elsa looked up, her eyes pleading for him to do something. “She needs a doctor. I know she does.”
Erik looked out the window, seeing nothing but blackness, thinking of his mother and the unborn baby.
The wind whistled mournfully through the cracks around the windows and Erik nodded his head. He had to do something. There was no one else.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blizzard
Uncle Lars has a sleigh,” said Erik. “He can bring Aunt Kirsten.”
“A doctor,” said Elsa. “Mama needs the doctor.”
Erik layered on a second pair of trousers, then added his heavy sweater. His mother had knitted that sweater for him two years before, in her rocking chair beside Grandfather’s fireplace. It had been too big for him then, but now it fit just right.
He tugged on his coat and hat, wrapped a scarf around his head, and shoved his feet into his boots.
“Keep the fire going,” he said. “I’ll bring in more fuel. Don’t let it go out.”
Elsa nodded. The chips burned quickly, but kept the room warm. Erik went outside and quickly filled a sack. He dumped it into the box, then headed back outside.
Snow swirled around him as he hurried back to the house. He slammed the door shut, glancing at his mother. She hadn’t moved. Erik dropped the sack near the stove and pulled his skis out from behind the bed.
Elsa watched silently, her eyes wide. “Are you going to ski to town?”
“It’ll be faster than the oxen, even if I could find them in the dark.”
“I’m scared,” said Elsa, so quietly Erik could barely hear her. She crawled under the blankets with her mother.
“You’ll be fine. You don’t have to go outside for anything, but you must keep the fire burning.” Erik put on his mitts, grabbed the wooden ski poles and opened the door. “Latch the door behind me,” he said, and stepped out into the wind and the snow.
Erik knew he couldn’t set off across the prairie. He’d be lost in minutes. He had to follow the trail.
It felt good to have the skis on his feet again, to get into the rhythm. Left, right, left, right. He crossed their own land quickly, then turned right, skiing beside the trail where the snow was smoother. The trail had drifted in a bit, but he could still tell where it was.
The wind blew straight out of the west into Erik’s face. He stopped to rearrange his scarf, leaving only his eyes uncovered. His breath dampened the scarf immediately, then it froze against his face.
A dark shadow crossed the trail ahead. A coyote? A wolf? Erik’s heart thumped harder as the shadow became one with the darkness.
One, two, three, four. He found himself counting each time he shoved a pole into the snow and forced himself to think of something else. His mother, lying unaware on the bed. He hoped Elsa didn’t fall asleep and forget to feed the fire.
The wind cut through his clothes and froze his eyelashes. Trying not to think about the cold, he started counting his strides again.
He forced himself to think of Olaf. He hadn’t heard what Olaf was doing since the train started coming to Green Valley. Maybe he was building, like Rolf.
Erik stopped and rewound his scarf, putting the frozen part at the back. He tugged his cap down low over his forehead and set off again. He could still see the shadow of the trail on his left side, so he knew he was safe.
Left, right, left, right.
It was early evening, just past six o’clock, but dark as midnight. Not that he should complain about the dark. Winter days in Norway were even shorter than here, though these were short enough, compared with summer.
Summer in Norway, now. He had never wanted to go to bed; it had seemed wrong to sleep when it was still bright outside. His mother just darkened the room
and told him there would be more sunshine the next day.
Trying not to think about whether she would see more sunshine, Erik found himself counting again. He shook his head and thought about the turn ahead. If he missed it, he would bypass the town completely and hit the river hills. Then he’d have to turn around and head southeast.
Unless he lost the trail and changed direction without realizing it. He peered through the darkness at his side, straining to see the shadow of the wheel ruts.
The wind whipped the falling snow into a swirling darkness, hiding everything. Hiding the trail.
Fear clutched Erik’s heart. Turning slightly to the left, he moved slowly, with shorter strides. The trail had to be here. He’d been watching it all along.
His left ski hit a dip, then the right ski. He bent and touched the ground. Relief ran through him. “Thank you, God,” he whispered. He must be close to the turnoff. He stepped carefully across the trail, then, skiing parallel to the tracks, lengthened his stride.
Left, right, left, right.
Maybe three kilometres more, he told himself. And he could ski fast. All those times he and his friend Andreas had skied together, they’d never skied slowly. Always they’d competed to see who was faster. It was usually Andreas because he was taller and had longer skis. Erik had won sometimes, and would more easily now.
Andreas hadn’t built a sod house or pitched sheaves.
Erik had no trouble recognizing the turnoff when his skis hit the ruts. He stopped to rearrange his scarf once more, then stepped over the cross trail and turned south. Only a kilometre to go, he told himself, and slid into the rhythm again.
Left, right, left, right.
He was skiing sideways to the wind now, working hard to stay upright, straining to see in the darkness.
The snow fought against his skis. Every glide took so much effort, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep skiing. And cold, he’d never been so cold. Maybe if he stopped to rest…just for a minute.
He shouldn’t be out in this blizzard anyway. When the weather was better he’d go on again.
After his rest.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Warmth
An image of his mother filled Erik’s mind. In bed in the sod house, sick and needing help. He couldn’t rest now.
He leaned forward, reaching out with his poles.
Left, right, left, right.
He was watching for the trail into town. If he missed it, he would really be lost. He could ski all the way to – he stopped the thought. He didn’t know where, but he could go a long way.
He was counting his glides again. It irritated him, and he tried to think of something else. Rolf. His stepfather. The only father Elsa had known.
Erik pictured their real father coming home from the ocean, smelling of fish and the sea, swinging Erik into the air. Was it a memory, or had he made it up from stories his mother told? He didn’t know.
His skis hit a ridge. Erik jerked and started to fall. Jamming his poles into the snow, he righted himself. He’d found the trail into town.
Forgetting he was tired, he swung his skis around and pushed forward. Minutes later, he glimpsed lights flickering through the swirling snow. He had no idea which house held the doctor, but he could find the lumberyard.
He banged on Lars and Kirsten’s door, then knelt to unfasten his skis.
“Erik!” Lars opened the door wide. “How did you get here? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Ma.” Erik picked up his skis and stepped inside. “She’s sick. Elsa thinks she needs a doctor.”
“Is it the baby?” Kirsten whisked Erik to a chair by the stove, pulling off his frozen coat and scarf. In a moment he was wrapped in a blanket, a cup of milky tea warming his hands. He told them what he knew, only vaguely aware of activity around him.
He sipped half the tea, then set the cup on the floor. Leaning back in the chair, his eyes closed.
A hand on his shoulder wakened him.
“We’re going now,” Kirsten said. “You can sleep on Olaf’s bed.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Erik. He jumped to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the bare wooden floor.
“No, no.” Kirsten, picked up the blanket and draped it around his shoulders. “You’ve done enough. The doctor is out with Lars, harnessing the horses. I’ll stay with your mama, and Lars can bring you home tomorrow.” She put her hand on Erik’s back and gently turned him toward a narrow bed in the corner. “Go to sleep now.”
The next thing Erik knew, someone was stoking the fire. The room was dark, but he dimly saw Olaf when he lifted a lid on the stove.
He must have made a sound, for Olaf turned and looked at him.
“Erik,” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“My mother is sick,” said Erik. “Uncle Lars and Aunt Kirsten took the doctor to her.”
“My fa –” began Olaf. “Rolf, I mean, he isn’t there?”
“No, he’s gone to Moose Jaw.” When Olaf still looked at him, Erik added, “To look for a pastor.”
“Oh, I see.” In the faint light from the fire Olaf went to the table and lit the kerosene lamp. It took him several tries. His hands must be too cold to work properly, thought Erik, feeling more awake. He watched Olaf adjust the wick.
“Where were you tonight?” Erik pushed himself up on the bed. The wall was cold against his back, so he shoved a pillow behind him.
“With friends.”
Olaf picked up a round tin box from the table. He pulled out a cookie and took a bite, then brought the tin over to Erik. Erik took a ginger cookie, wishing it were something more filling. He remembered he and Elsa hadn’t had supper. He ate the cookie in three bites, and looked up to see Olaf holding the tin out again. Erik took several more.
Olaf put the tin back on the table and dropped into a rocking chair.
Erik could smell horses on Olaf, but he could smell alcohol, too. “Where were you?” he blurted out, then realized he’d already asked that question.
“At Pete’s livery stable,” said Olaf, surprising Erik with a different answer.
Erik paused in mid-chew.
“This late at night?”
“Sure, why not?” Olaf settled back into the rocking chair. “Some of the men meet there to play cards and talk.”
“Isn’t it cold?”
“We’re not with the horses,” said Olaf, sounding disgusted. “We sit in the back room where Pete lives.”
Erik ate another cookie, remembering that Colin’s father had called Pete crooked. His thoughts were interrupted by a snore. Olaf had fallen asleep in the chair, a half-eaten cookie in his hand. Erik draped a blanket over Olaf, blew out the lamp, and crawled into the bed.
When he woke again it was daylight, and the room was icy cold. Erik made up the fire in the stove, trying not to disturb Olaf, who’d moved onto the bed in the other room.
Snow fell into the house when Erik opened the door. He couldn’t see any footprints, not even Olaf’s.
There was nothing he could do now, not till it stopped snowing or Lars came back. He looked around for something to eat, finding flatbread. After feeding the fire again, he wrapped himself in a blanket on the bed and dozed off.
The next time he woke, Erik scraped frost from a window and saw it had stopped blowing. He pulled on his warm clothes and walked down the street, amazed to see drifts a metre or more tall on the west sides of buildings, while in sheltered places the snow barely covered the ground. Back at the house, he looked for a shovel, finally taking one from the store. He was clearing in front of the building when he saw Lars’s sleigh.
“How’s my mother? What did the doctor say?”
Lars stopped the sleigh. “She has influenza. Kirsten stayed to nurse her, but we don’t think you should go back right now. The house is too small, and there’s no reason to risk your getting sick as well.”
“But Elsa –” began Erik.
“Elsa may already have the influenza,” said
Lars. “She had a fever when we arrived. The doctor left medicine for both of them and will check on them tomorrow.” Lars looked at Erik from under his thick eyebrows. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” said Erik impatiently.
“Good. The doctor thinks your mother should be fine, too, in a few days.”
Erik opened his mouth to speak, but Lars snapped the reins and the sleigh moved around the corner of the building.
Following the sleigh, Erik found it stopped by a drift blocking the stable door.
Lars left the horses standing, and went into the store, reappearing a moment later with another shovel.
“My shovel is locked in the stable behind that drift!” Lars plunged the shovel into the packed snow.
Erik tossed a scoopful of snow toward the piles of lumber. “I have to go home,” he said. “If I’m not there, who will milk the cow and bring in snow to melt for water?”
“Kirsten can do those things.”
“I’ll ski out,” said Erik.
“Last night it looked like skiing was too difficult for you.”
“Last night was dark and stormy,” said Erik. “Today is different.”
“They should be fine without you today.”
“There will be snow to shovel,” said Erik, tossing another heavy scoopful.
“Not so much as here. The shed door faces east so the snow didn’t block it. I had no trouble getting the horses out this morning.”
“I’ll go anyway,” said Erik. “When we finish digging out the stable.”
“When we’re done this,” said Lars. “We’ll have something to eat, then we’ll see.”
Once they’d cleared the door to the stable, Erik headed straight for Tapper’s stall. He stroked his neck, offering him a handful of oats before helping Lars feed and water all five horses.
In the house, Olaf fried bacon. Lars tried once more to persuade Erik to stay, then let him go with a warning not to get stuck in the snow.
Erik grinned. “That’s what skis are for,” he said. “To keep me on top of the snow.”
The ruts he’d followed the night before had turned into short, lumpy drifts. Beside the trail, the grass was filled with packed snow. Erik skied easily over the smooth places, only slowing down where a protrusion had attracted more snow.
