She had so many questions to ask, but since Kaaren would want to know the same answers, she would wait until after dinner. The waiting would not be easy, though.
She felt a giggle rising in her throat. What if she’d been wearing britches? He most likely would have taken one look and run clear back to the north woods. She jiggled Andrew on her hip, keeping one hand ready to protect her hair.
“Velkommen to our house,” Ingeborg said as she stepped into the dimness of the soddy. She paused a moment to let her eyes adjust. Thank the good Lord I did the dishes and straightened up before I went outside. On the way to the table, she pulled the coffeepot closer to the heat, then settled Andrew in a chair with a box on it. Taking the dish towel draped over the back of the chair, she smoothed it around his tummy and tied a knot behind the chair so he wouldn’t fall off. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning to Haakan with a sweep of her hand.
Haakan followed a pace behind so he could watch her. While she looked every inch a woman; from the crown on her head to the black wool skirt damp at the hemline from melting snow, he had the feeling it would take little encouragement for her to join the boys in a game of tag or a footrace. She didn’t act like any widows he knew.
Once seated at the square table, with benches on two sides and chairs with hand-turned spindles at the others, he could tell by the delicious smells rising from the oven and the kettle she stirred on the stove that she was no ordinary cook.
His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Ingeborg poured the now hot brew and set a cup of it on the table in front of him.
“Mange takk.” He watched her smooth grace as she turned the loaf pans out on a towel spread on the counter of a cabinet of sorts that was set against the sod wall by the stove. Shelves beneath and above gave her a workplace and storage for kitchen goods.
“That bread smells like a piece of home.” He took a sip of the scalding brew and looked around the sod house. A trunk decorated in the Valdrez style of rosemaling sat in a place of honor under the one window. Beautifully carved shelves lined both sides of the deep enclosure. Two rope beds were attached to the rear wall, sharing a post in the center. Colorful quilts and several elk hides covered the mattresses. An oak rocker, turned spindles for the back and topped with a carved header, showed the pride of the maker’s workmanship. Curved arms with a roll at the end told of the hours spent in making the chair a thing of beauty, not only a necessary furnishing. A picture flashed through his mind of the woman, so busy now with setting out the food, sitting in that rocker with a babe to her breast. He felt a flush start down at the base of his neck.
He forced his gaze to the sacks hanging from the rafters, the few remaining bundles of dried herbs, and the lengths of wood stored there to dry and season. Obviously Roald had held the same love of wood and creating beautiful and useful things from it as did Haakan himself. Shame there weren’t more windows so the dark walls didn’t crowd in on one. He shook his head. What must it have been like to be cooped up in here with a young boy, a baby, and the screeching wind day after day? How did she get out to care for the livestock in the winter months?
The question burst forth in spite of his personal admonitions not to be inquisitive. “How did you manage through the blizzards?”
Ingeborg turned from the stove where she’d been adding more wood to the firebox. “You mean with the cows and sheep?”
“Ja, and the boys. By yourself?”
Ingeborg wiped her hands on the underside of her apron. “We strung a rope from the house to the barn so we could follow it when the snow was so bad I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. You learn to do that early on, or you never make it through the winter. We melted snow for the animals to drink when they could not get out to the trough. It was much easier this year since we had the well. We used to take the animals down to drink in the river where we kept a hole chopped out for them.” She handed Thorliff the plate of sliced bread to place on the table. “One good thing about the snow, we never ran out of water, though keeping enough melted was a full-time job. Thorliff has done the work of a man since his father died. I couldn’t have managed without him.” She patted the boy on the shoulder. “Thanks to the good Lord, we made it.”
Haakan shook his head in amazement. Privately he doubted the good Lord had as much to do with it as did her sheer strength of will and Norwegian stubbornness. But then, he’d never been one to trouble the Lord with the events in his life. He’d decided early on that he’d rather take care of things himself than try to depend on one he couldn’t see and who caused such pious and sober faces of a Sunday morn. Contrary to the pastor’s and his mother’s preaching those years ago, he’d always felt the bird choirs and the wind anthem in the trees a better way to worship if there really was a God like they’d insisted.
When she had all the food on the table, Ingeborg asked Thorliff to lead grace. Haakan joined in the old words he’d learned at his mother’s knee. “E Jesu naven, gor vi til brod . . . .” It had been a long time since he’d heard the verse. He knew if he’d taken time to say grace at the trestle tables in the cookshack at the logging camp—packed shoulder to shoulder they’d been—he’d have missed out on the bowls and platters of food being passed down the line. Too, he’d have been in for a healthy dose of ribbing. Haakan had earned his reputation for strength and fairness the hard way—by his hands.
They were halfway through the meal when he remembered. “Oh, I have something for you.” He pushed his chair back and retrieved his pack from by the door where he’d set it when he came in. Along with the packet of sugar and coffee, he held out the letter the man at The Mercantile had sent with him. “I’m sorry. I forgot to give you this sooner.”
Ingeborg clasped the letter to her bosom. “From home! A letter from home!” She raised shining eyes to thank him. “What a treat you have brought us. We’ll all have to take this over to Tante Kaaren’s to read after dinner.” She laid the precious envelope down beside her plate and fingered the tied brown packet. “And what is this?”
“Open it, Mor.” Thorliff leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“I wanted to bring you a gift but didn’t know you, so this was all I could think of.” Haakan took his place again and raised the cup to drink.
Ingeborg unwrapped her package. “Not more peppermint sticks, I take it?”
“No.” He looked at Thorliff. “Sorry.”
Ingeborg sniffed. “Coffee.” She opened the packet and brought the bag up to her nose. “It smells heavenly. I’ve been hoarding the few beans left, now we will have plenty.”
“Mor, what is in the other pack?” Thorliff asked, his eyes on the brown wrapped parcel.
“I don’t know. Do you want to open it?”
“Can I?” He looked from Mor to the visitor. Haakan nodded and Ingeborg beckoned for Thorliff to come stand beside her.
“Be careful,” Haakan cautioned.
Thorliff caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he cautiously pulled each fold of the parcel open. When the white granules lay before him, he raised questioning eyes to the man across the table.
“Wet your finger and dip a taste.”
The boy did as told. “Sugar! Real, white sugar.” He grinned up at his mother. “You do it.” She tasted the treat and rolled her eyes in delight.
“Ah, sugar and coffee. And we were all out of honey, too. You couldn’t have thought of anything better, Mr. Bjorklund. Out here we never take coffee or sugar for granted.”
Or anything else, Haakan felt like adding.
Andrew banged his spoon on the table. “Me, me.” Ingeborg dipped her finger in the treat again and put the tip of it in the baby’s mouth. Andrew grabbed her hand and sucked again on her finger when she tried to withdraw it.
“That is one smart little fellow. He knows a good thing when he gets it.”
“And he don’t let go.” Thorliff sneaked another quick taste and grinned at his mother when she frowned the teeniest bit and shook her head.
“We will put this away for a very special treat.” She rewrapped the packet. “What do you tell Mr. Bjorklund?”
“Mange takk,” Thorliff said, flashing a grin at the same time.
“I believe since we are related by marriage, no matter how distant, you could call me Haakan.” He looked across the table at her, willing her to agree. Why did it make any difference to him what she called him? After all, he would only be here until fall, and then he’d return to the north woods. He ignored the questioning of his mind and waited for her response.
Ingeborg nodded. “All right. And I am Ingeborg. Soon you will meet Kaaren—she was Carl’s wife—and her new husband, Lars Knutson. He ran the steam threshing machine and the crew that came through here in the fall.” She looked down at the packet in front of her. “Kaaren’s two little girls died in the same flu that took Carl.”
“And Roald?” He called himself all sorts of names for asking.
“Inadvertently. After Carl died and the blizzard let up, he went to check on some of our neighbors. The northern blizzard came back, and we think he was stranded in it and died. He might have fallen prey to the flu . . .” Her voice trailed off. She sighed, a sound that tore at his heart. “We’ll never know for sure what happened, just that he never came back.”
Haakan caught himself before asking the question that burned in his mind. You mean to say he left you and your children alone? To fend for yourselves in the storm? “I’m so sorry. You needn’t talk about it if—”
“No, I’m finding it easier now. Talking about it seems to help, somewhat.” She cut a piece of meat for Andrew and fed him a bite. “So, how was your journey from the logging camp? Did you walk all the way?”
“Ja. And while I saw rich and beautiful country, the next time I would like to take a train.” Haakan entertained them for the rest of the meal with tales of his travels and life in the logging camp. But when they began talking of relatives, Thorliff lost interest.
“Mor, can I go outside?” Shifting restlessly on his seat, Thorliff leaped in when there was a pause.
“Ja, that you can.” Ingeborg looked up from moving her fork around. She looked over to Andrew to find him with his cheek on the table, sound asleep. “Ah, what have I been thinking? You go draw water for the sheep, and after Andrew wakes from his nap, we will go to Tante Kaaren’s.”
On a “Ja, Mor,” Thorliff flew out the door, whistling for Paws as he went.
“Would you care for more coffee?” Ingeborg stood to pick up Andrew. His head lolled on her shoulder and one finger made its way to his mouth.
“I could go help Thorliff.”
“If you like. I’ll clean up the kitchen and then show you around the farm. The sheep are Thorliff’s special charge, so he will delight in introducing you to his friends.”
Haakan pushed his chair back. “Mange takk fer matten.”
“Velbekomme.” Ingeborg was already bending over to lay the sleeping child in one of the beds.
Haakan followed Thorliff outside. The haunting song of geese passing on their way north made him look up. Just to the east, silhouetted against the deep blue of the sky, the flock in V formation seemed to stretch from one horizon to the other. Never had he seen so many waterfowl flying north as he had since he entered the Red River Valley. His fingers itched to take one of the pieces of wood from the rafters and begin looking with his carving knife for the flying goose imprisoned in the wood.
Ingeborg kissed the baby’s soft cheek and laid him gently on the rustling corn-husk mattress. “Sleep well, den lille guten, sleep well.” She stood and kneaded the small of her back with her fists. Andrew was getting awfully heavy to carry like that. Most of the time he climbed up in bed by himself, but then usually he didn’t fall asleep at the dinner table with his face in his plate. She returned to the work counter and took a damp cloth back to wipe off his face.
“Uff da,” she muttered as she straightened again. “What kind of a mother are you?” She shook her head and stopped at the table to stack the dishes. Knowing the water was cold in the dishpan on the bench outside, she went to bring it in. Haakan was cranking the handle at the well to bring up the full bucket, with Thorliff setting the empty pail on the well’s rim.
The song of the wild geese attracted her attention, too, and she shaded her eyes with her hand to see better. She knew if they’d set down close enough, she could bring home fresh meat for supper. The thought of striding through the woods on a hunt set her heart to thrumming. Even though hunting wasn’t considered part of women’s work, she had become very good at bringing home game, thus leaving the men free to break the sod. While Roald had tolerated her hunting, Carl had been the one to teach her how to shoot the heavy gun and where to find the game trails. While it didn’t take a great hunter to find sufficient game in this region so rich with wild life, Ingeborg knew she was better than the average marksman. Wasting shells had earned her a stern reprimand from Roald, so she took careful aim before shooting.
Perhaps today was not a good day to hunt. If this man was really going to be here for the summer, she’d best not shock him too soon. It might keep him from staying, she thought. Now if I really want to drive him away, I’ll just don my britches, and he’ll head back for the north woods fast as his feet can carry him.
Back in the soddy with her hands in the sudsy water, she allowed her thoughts to turn back to Roald. He would have been more than pleased to have a cousin come and offer to help for the summer. He would try to talk the man into staying, unable to understand why anyone would not want to homestead in Dakota Territory. Of course, if Roald were here, Haakan would never have arrived. Had Roald known of this relative in the new world? Of course, the Bjorklund family tree had so many branches around Nordland, it would take a genius to keep track of them all.
She finished drying the dishes and put them away. After a glance at Andrew to make sure he slept on, she went outside, grateful for the warm sun that nearly blinded her in its intensity. She raised her face to the heat of it. Why did the sun of spring feel so much more friendly than the sun of winter?
She brought the last of the kerosene lamps inside to fill and trim the wicks later. The chimneys now gleamed like they hadn’t all winter. Polishing them in the sunlight revealed streaks to buff away not visible in winter’s dimness.
On her way back and forth with the small chores, she smiled and waved, letting Thorliff show the guest around the farm and introduce him to the livestock. The sod barn was bursting at the corners with all the animals that now shared its protection and the corrals at either end. Ewes with their lambs—Thorliff had already docked all the tails—and now the grown sheep were due for a shearing. The lamb crop had been good this year, reminding Ingeborg of the time she finally turned back to the Lord to beg forgiveness and accept His gift of love and healing. Her winter had indeed been a long and dark time of the soul. She still missed Roald, of course, sometimes deeply; but the pain of it had lessened, and the bitterness she’d harbored those many months was gone. Praise be to God!
Finished inside, she joined Thorliff as he took Haakan outside to meet the oxen, the horses, and the lone mule—the other had died with Roald in the blizzard. The three milk cows—two heavy with calf while the third was still producing—and the six-month-old calf came to have their heads scratched and stretched their necks for the stroking they so loved. This year they would have two sows, since they’d kept one of the gilts to breed come spring. They shared a boar with the Baards, as they did a bull and machinery. One neighbor to the north had a heavy stallion, so Ingeborg’s dream of providing stock for the families heading west was becoming close to a reality.
“We have seventy acres ready to plant,” Thorliff said proudly. “Mor can bust sod good as any man.”
Ingeborg gave a wry smile at the raised eyebrow from their guest. “You do what you have to in this country”
“And we ain’t going to lose our homestead, are we, Mor?” Thorliff puffed his chest. “Since we now got a ride-on plow,
soon as my legs are long enough to reach the pedals, I can plow, too. I already know how to drive the team.”
They leaned on the slender tree trunks, stripped down for poles, that comprised the corral for the cows and horses. Out across the prairie they could see more rich brown dirt appearing through the snow.
“You have a good start here.” Haakan rested his chin on his hands, his hat tipped back, and a curl of blond hair caught on his forehead. He nodded and put one foot up on the lower of the four rails.
Thorliff nodded in return, as if talking man to man like this was an everyday occurrence.
Ingeborg felt her heart bursting with pride in this son of hers who worked so hard and had assumed a man’s responsibilities long before his time. She knew he seemed so much older than eight, with a seriousness that left little room for the boy to come out and play. He needed someone his own age, like the Baard boys when they all met for schooling.
She heard a lusty wail from the house. “Andrew is awake. Why don’t we go over to Tante Kaaren’s now and share our letter and our new relative.”
“Tante Kaaren bakes the best cookies in Dakota Territory,” Thorliff added. “You’ll like her and Lars.”
Andrew sat howling in the middle of the bed, but the minute he saw his mother, he clamped off the tears and waved his arms, ready to be picked up. While he could walk well enough, Ingeborg was grateful he hadn’t taken to climbing out of the bed and coming to find her. She even thought about creating a gate to put in the doorway, so if she didn’t hear him right away, he couldn’t get out and get lost on the prairie.
“Den lille guten,” she said with a smile, always telling him what a good boy he was. She had come too close in the winter of her rebellion to giving both boys away to Kaaren’s care. “Come, let us go visit Tante Kaaren.” She scooped him up in her arms, took the letter off the table to put in her apron pocket, and headed out the door. Each time she went out again, she marveled at the warmth that hadn’t yet penetrated the soddy. The thick dirt walls kept the house cooler in the summer and warm in the winter but didn’t change temperature easily. Perhaps by the fly and mosquito season, they could put a screen door in place and another screen over the window. Such a treat that would be.
Lauraine Snelling - [Red River of the North 02] Page 5
