Hjelmer blinked in astonishment. What had he done to make this woman resent him so? But the rebuke stung, getting under his skin like a bee stinger never removed. He recalled what had been bothering him the night before. He’d planned to ask Mrs. Holtensland for a recommendation on a place for him to rent. He hadn’t been planning to stay here indefinitely. He might be an immigrant, but he wasn’t dirty and ignorant. His mor would be wounded to her soul to hear one of her sons referred to as a filthy immigrant.
That night he scrubbed doubly long, but still he could see traces of grime under his fingernails. When he returned fully clothed to the kitchen, Cook bustled over and picked up his hands. “Uff da.” She shook her head. “There.” She pointed at a chair and Hjelmer sat. Cook didn’t say much, but when she did, everyone around her jumped to. She smoothed salve over the seeping flesh and applied another bandage, wrapping the strips of cloth around and around to cushion the palm and tying tight knots on the back of the hand. “Two, three more days and the calluses will form. Then you be good again.”
“Mange takk.” Hjelmer turned his hands both front and back. “You sure know how to bandage good. Never would have gotten through the day without them.” He thought to the filthy, bloody strips he had pulled off when he washed. “You want I should wash the used ones?”
“Nei.” She shook her head. “I do that. Leave them by the basin.”
Hjelmer turned in time to see the glare the maid daggered between his shoulder blades. He turned back to catch the look of disgust on the cook’s face.
“Pay no mind to her.” Cook levered herself to her feet with beefy arms pushing against her knees. The look she shot the maid could have fried eggs.
He left the room wondering at the attitudes of both the cook and the maid. Why was one so good to him, and the other would dump him in the mud without the slightest hesitation? He shook his head. Women!
“Mrs. Holtensland, please, I have something to ask you.” The two of them were again seated in the library after a supper that filled his belly and astounded his mind at the variety of it all. He had to speak before the warmth of the fire put him to sleep.
“What is it?” Mrs. Holtensland looked up from the needlepoint she worked each evening.
“I . . . I—please don’t misunderstand me. I appreciate all that you have done for me, far beyond any thing I can say. But I must—I mean, I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” She looked at him over the rim of her glasses.
“It . . . it is not seemly. I mean, you took me in, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“Please, I have nothing to pay you with. Surely there is some place I can go that won’t put you at a disadvantage.”
“Are you not comfortable here?”
He looked at her like she’d struck him. “Of course I am comfortable. I have never lived anywhere so fine.”
“I see.” She continued to peer at him over her spectacles.
“I . . . I cannot pay”
She nodded. “I see,” she said again.
Hjelmer was glad she did, for he certainly didn’t. He should have just picked up his things and gone—but to where?
“I have a proposition for you, young man.” She waited for him to nod. “Out in the carriage house is a phaeton that was my husband’s pride and joy. After he died, I sold the horses because I can go anywhere I want on the El or the streetcars. As you’ll see, the carriage has fallen into disrepair. Above the carriage house are the quarters where the groom lived. Now, if you will refurbish that carriage, you can live in those rooms. If you run out of work on the carriage, now that spring is coming, there is plenty of work in the yard. Cook likes her kitchen garden turned over, and the gardener I employ cannot find time for it all. Oh, and you will continue to take your meals with me. I enjoy your company. Is that too much to ask?”
Hjelmer closed his mouth with a snap. His sister would have been teasing him for letting the flies in. “No, not at all. I . . . I—mange takk. What more can I say?”
“Nothing more is needed. Good night, young man.”
By the time Saturday night rolled around, Hjelmer had made an acquaintance with another young man, Tor Heglund, who also had no family of his own. After they picked up their pay envelopes, they followed the stream of weary workers out the doors.
“You want to join us down the street?” Tor asked.
“Where?”
“Down at the tavern. We have a drink or two, play cards, have a good time. Come on, you will like it. You’ll find only Norwegian spoken there.”
Hjelmer thought of the four dollars in his pay envelope. He’d won many pots on the ship when he played cards with both immigrant and sailor alike. It seemed like months since he’d had a beer. But he needed to start work early in the morning on the carriage.
Surely one drink wouldn’t take too much of his money. And after all, he would make more next week. “Ja, I will come. For one drink only.”
His pay check was one dollar lighter when he left.
That night he called himself all kinds of fool after ignoring the sniffs of the maid, blushing at the raising of Cook’s right eyebrow, and having to apologize to Mrs. Holtensland for being late for supper. Worst of all, he’d wasted a dollar. He’d have to get that back. The card tables and players at the back of the room marched through his dreams.
Guilt gave him speed in the morning, in spite of feeling like a tree being attacked by a flock of woodpeckers. Or was he banging his head on the log without knowing it? He went over the carriage, checking to see what parts needed to be replaced and what could do with only a cleaning or minor repair. The leather was split in places, the wood spokes and wheel pulling away from the steel rim. Everything needed painting. He looked around the carriage house and found a small forge, along with cupboards and shelves containing tools still in the same place the former owner had left them. He reached out and lifted down a plane, now rusty and dirty with disuse.
He traced the wooden frame. All it needed was some sandpaper, a bit of oil, and sharpening of the blade. Files of all shapes and sizes, hammers, screw drivers, all lined up waiting for him to come along and bring them back to life. What his far wouldn’t give for such a wealth of tools. He was deep into cleaning and refurbishing the work area when Fulla appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Holtensland wants to know if you are attending church with us this morning?”
“Ah.” Hjelmer thought fast. He had nothing to wear but the clothes on his back, since his others were soaking prior to a hard scrubbing. “Tell her no thank you. Perhaps another time.”
The woman sniffed and spun on her heel. Hjelmer thought he heard, “Well, I’m not surprised. Filthy heathen,” but he wasn’t sure. He stared after the steel-spined retreating body. Whatever was the matter with her?
By dinnertime, which was served later on Sunday, the workroom looked more like it must have in its former glory days. But Hjelmer looked as though he’d been rolling in the dirt he’d swept up. A cobweb stretched across his hat.
“I can’t be fetching you,” Fulla said when she came to announce dinner. “You aren’t in the kitchen when it is time to eat, you can go without.” She shook her head at his dishevelment. “And if you think we are going to wash your clothes, you can think again.”
The bee stinger returned. Hjelmer itched to tell her what he thought of her bitter tirades and he could feel his cheeks flaming at the effort to keep his mouth closed. It wasn’t his place to tell her what to do, after all.
Besides that, his clothes were already hanging on the line to dry.
“Mange takk.” He’d be polite if it killed him. The old bag. Some trolls were more friendly than she.
The week passed swiftly with the twelve-hour workdays at the foundry and his trying to manage some time on restoring the carriage. Hjelmer fell into bed each night with no energy left to think of either home or his destination. Friday night he told Cook he woul
dn’t be there for supper on Saturday. He not only needed to win back what he’d lost the week before, he planned to add to his small store of cash.
Torlakson stopped by Hjelmer’s forge late in the afternoon and asked him how he liked working there.
“Ja, this is a good place to work.” Hjelmer delivered a ringing blow to the piece forming beneath his hammer and stuck it back in the forge to heat again. He nodded to the boy on the bellows. The extra whoosh of air made the forge glow hotter instantly.
“Keep on like you are, and you will prove your father right.”
Hjelmer stared at the man, barely able to keep his jaw from smacking his chest. “Mange takk, sir. He would be pleased to hear that.”
“See you stay out of trouble, then.”
“Ja, I am.” The thought of the coming card games rolled through his mind. Hjelmer watched the man as he continued down the row of forges, stopping to speak for a moment with each man. He’d overheard men saying what a fair man was Mr. Torlakson, and now he’d heard it for his own ears. Of course, he’d also heard two men cussing and grumbling what a slave driver the man was. But then one of them reeked of booze and the other came late. Said he’d been caught in a traffic jam.
Torlakson said, “Next time don’t come back.”
Hjelmer left the card game only one dollar down at ten o’clock. He’d planned to leave by eight, but at that time he only had two bits left in his pocket. He’d looked around the table to see delight glinting from the players’ eyes at the immigrant sucker.
It was time to turn the tables.
He won the next three hands. Tor clapped him on the shoulder. “Your luck turned, man. Congratulations.”
Hjelmer only nodded. Luck had nothing to do with it. He’d finally learned to read the other players, and like back on the ship, he’d set them up to believe the dumb kid didn’t know much about playing cards.
Sunday he again declined the invitation to church. Who had time for that? He had one wheel that needed new spokes and the metal rim shrunk to fit the felloe again. When the others left, he laid the wheel flat on the ground and stacked dry wood mixed with coal around and over the rim. He set the finished spokes into the hub and pegged the wooden rim into place again. When the gardener returned from church, he joined Hjelmer in setting fire to the circle of stacked wood. When lit, the fire burned hot, setting the entire metal rim aglow. When it was hot enough, the two men lifted the rim out with tongs, set it over the wooden wheel, and sprinkled water on it to cool. Then, again with the tongs, they lifted the newly rimmed wheel and put it upright in a tub of water, turning it to cool the entire rim. The now shrunken metal fit like a new skin.
“You sure do know what you are doing,” the gardener said, admiration coloring both his words and face.
Hjelmer nodded, running the circular traveler around the rim to make sure it was now the proper size. “My far set many a wheel. He always said his sons would never want for bread if they could set a wheel, shoe a horse, or carve a kitchen tool.”
“Your far is a wise man.”
Hjelmer nodded. More and more he was beginning to appreciate that.
The thought of his far brought a stinger of guilt. What would he say about his son’s gambling? Plenty, no doubt, and none of it would be good.
Hjelmer set the wheel back on the axle and stood back to admire his handiwork. The frame was ready for paint. Someday, he promised himself, someday I will have a carriage like this and a pair of fine bay trotters to drive. No more dumb and filthy immigrant me. I’ll have my free Dakota land and maybe a wife to boot. He’d always thought Kaaren a comely woman, and now she needed a husband. She wasn’t that much older than he. This way they could keep the homestead within the family.
Saturday night he doubled his money.
“You lucky dog,” Tor said, clapping him on the shoulder again.
“A fair man would let us try for our money back,” one player grumbled.
“Next week.” A man, huge by even Norwegian standards, tented sausage fingers and stared at Hjelmer out of ice blue eyes. “He can’t win ’em all.”
Hjelmer stared back. “It’s just a game, Swen. See you next Saturday?”
“Ja, next Saturday. Unless you vant to come before then.”
“Not me. I’ll wait till payday.” The two young men finished their beer and headed out to the rain-slicked street.
“I wouldn’t want that giant looking at me like that.” Tor shuddered. “He’s a mean one, he is.”
When Hjelmer declined the church invitation again, Mrs. Holtensland looked at him over her spectacles. “I am certain your mor made sure you were sitting in the pew every Sunday. You have been confirmed, have you not?”
“Ja, I have, and ja, Mor would be very unhappy with me. But you asked me to refurbish the carriage, and this is the only day I have any length of time.” His smile could have melted a heart of cast iron. “As soon as I’m finished, I’ll go to church with you.”
The maid sniffed and glowered at him from behind Mrs. Holtensland’s back. He tipped his hat to her as they walked out the hall.
Cook chuckled behind him. “That Fulla, she sure got it in for you.”
“Why? I never did her no harm.”
“I ain’t be one to carry tales, but let’s just say that apple-cheeked young men with angel eyes and a devil’s smile remind her of something she’d rather be forgetting.” Cook lumbered back to her kitchen and the dough she had rising for dinner rolls.
Hjelmer shook his head. A few more weeks of doubling his money, and he would be heading west anyway. In fact, one big pot could set him on easy street. He spent the morning painting the carriage. The main body gleamed in new black paint, and the red wheels gave a look of class with just a bit of daring. He’d already patched the upholstery and worked enough saddle soap into the leather to make it smooth and supple again. If only there were a team to hitch, he’d drive the ladies to church next Sunday.
“I hear you are close to finished with the carriage,” Mrs. Holtensland said one evening at the supper table.
“Ja, you will be pleased, I am sure.” Hjelmer laid his fork down. “Shame you don’t have horses for it.”
“If I bought horses, would you stay?”
Hjelmer blinked and felt his face go slack. “Bought horses? I thought you planned to sell the carriage.”
“I did . . . I do . . . Don’t fret, it was just a thought. Sometimes I remember my husband’s pride in the carriage and pair, and . . .” She fluttered her hand at him. “No, just forget what I said. I must be rambling tonight, getting to be an old woman.”
“You’re not old.”
“Let’s just say, my better years are behind me.” She straightened her back. “Now, let’s talk about something else. It is so rare you don’t run right out to work on the carriage. I have missed our evening visits. Tell me, how is it going with your English classes?”
“I haven’t begun them yet. Maybe after I finish the carriage.” Hjelmer wanted to add, And besides, I am getting along just fine without taking language classes, but he didn’t.
Mrs. Holtensland looked at him over the rim of her spectacles. “All the rest of the country isn’t as benevolent to Norwegian immigrants as here in Brooklyn. You must keep that in mind.”
“Ja, I will, and I thank you for your concern.” He waited for her to lay her napkin down and begin to push her chair back. That was the signal that he could rise. When she did so, he pulled her chair back, and they walked from the room. “I have a few things left to do on the carriage. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
That night, just before he fell asleep, he thought again to what his benefactress had said. If he wanted, he could probably stay in Brooklyn. He had a good job that paid more money than he had ever dreamed possible, a fine place to live, and a way to make extra money to spend as he wished. With a little encouragement, Mrs. Holtensland would buy a team, and he could drive around the city. Perhaps even out into the country for a Sunday outing. Could life ge
t much better than this?
He deliberately lost the first hand on Saturday night. And the second.
“Things not going so good tonight, eh, kid?” one of the men asked.
Swen only quirked one black eyebrow. He wore the dark look of the Norwegians of the far north known as the Sami.
Hjelmer only shrugged. “Deal.”
He won the hand, raking in the pot with a nonchalant motion. “Mange takk. That helps make up for the earlier.”
He won the next. The stash of coins grew in front of him.
Swen dealt the next hand calling for Five Card Stud. He dealt one card face down to each of the players. Hjelmer checked his card, a three. The next round dealt face up only gave him an eight. He glanced across the table at Swen’s hand. Ace up.
“I’m out,” he said, pushing his cards toward the center of the table.
Swen nodded, dealt three more times around and raked in the pot. He stared at Hjelmer, his dark eyes never blinking, then passed the deck across.
“Five Card Stud again.” Hjelmer split the deck and spliced the cards at the corners, the whir of the shuffle sounding loud in the silence. He dealt one card face down to each player. By the second round he had two Jacks, one up and one down. Swen showed a King and bet four bits. One player folded, leaving four.
Hjelmer dealt a face up round again, giving himself only a queen and the others no better.
Swen raised the bet to six bits.
“Too rich for my blood,” said one of the others.
“Mine too,” Tor agreed.
On the next flop, Swen paired his King and Hjelmer his Jack. Knowing he needn’t, Hjelmer checked his hole card. He knew that third Jack, the Jack of Clubs hadn’t gone anywhere. But he could feel the tension tighten.
“Dollar.”
“I call it.” Slowly, deliberately, Hjelmer peeled the remaining cards off the deck. A five of Spades slipped in front of Swen and the last Jack showed in front of Hjelmer. Four Jacks!
One side of Swen’s narrow lipped mouth lifted in what might have passed for a smile. “I see three Jacks with a Queen kicker, an impressive hand. Your bet!”
Lauraine Snelling - [Red River of the North 02] Page 14
