“Poor Tor, bad owie.” This time Andrew patted Thorliff’s head.
Ingeborg looked at Haakan, who winked back at her. Lars let out a snort. Only Hjelmer continued to eat, seeming to be off in a land of his own.
“Poor. . .”
Ingeborg bit her lip, but it didn’t do any good. She started to laugh. Thorliff looked at her and joined in. Kaaren hid her giggle behind her hands, but Lars and Haakan broke loose. Andrew looked at each laughing person as if trying to understand what the joke was. They laughed harder, so he joined in, his belly laugh making the others laugh still more. When Thorliff laughed, it hurt his lip, so he yipped an “ow.”
Andrew sobered instantly. “Poor Tor—” He began again but cut it off when the others burst into another round of laughter. Banging his spoon on the table, he waved his other hand in the air.
“What’s so funny?” asked Hjelmer, coming out of his daze.
Haakan shrugged. “Nothing I guess, if you didn’t see or hear it.” He lifted his cup. “Could I please have some more coffee.”
Ingeborg jumped up to get it. If anyone had walked in on them, they would certainly have thought the Bjorklunds on the verge of lunacy. That laugh of Andrew’s could make a stump smile.
“So what are we going to do about the bite on the boy’s leg?” Kaaren asked, sipping her coffee.
“It won’t be a problem after I talk with Oscar, I’m sure.” Haakan pushed his chair back. “Lars, I have that hunk of wood you requested. You can start working on your crutch after dinner.” He grabbed his hat off the peg on his way out. “Hjelmer, I’ll meet you at the corral. Ingeborg, why don’t you and Thorliff go work in the garden this afternoon. Better keep Paws with you. I don’t like the look of that black beast of theirs.”
The look he shot her kept Ingeborg in her seat. He was going to deal with the Strands. It really should be her place to speak to them, but instead she poured herself another cup of coffee. How come it felt so good and right to let him shoulder this responsibility? If she weren’t careful, all her hard earned decision-making power might fall by the wayside.
Thorliff drank the last of his milk and started to go after Haakan.
“Wait right there, young man. We have some talking to do.” Ingeborg pointed at his chair. The boy slid back in place. “Now, we’ve never had to talk about this because it’s never come up before, but there are better ways of dealing with problems than trying to beat someone up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When you get in an argument with one of the Baard boys, what do you do?”
“I don’t never get in an argument with them. They are my friends.”
“Well, why can’t Arnie and Bert be your friends?”
“ ’Cause they don’t like me, and they called Baptiste a bad name. The Bible says to stick up for your friends.”
Ingeborg shook her head. “Where?”
“In the David and Jonathan story. Saul was going to kill David, but David’s friend Jonathan stopped him. And Saul was the king, besides being Jonathan’s father.”
“Ah, yes.” Ingeborg paused, trying to think fast enough to get around this one. “But Jonathan didn’t start to hit Saul, did he?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Sometimes a well-delivered punch turns away wrath,” Lars offered. Thorliff shot him a hopeful look.
“And sometimes it gets the stuffing beat out of you.” Ingeborg glared at him. “Thorliff, you’re good enough with words that you should be able to talk your way out of problems. I want you to try that in the future. Remember the Bible also says, ‘A soft answer turneth away wrath.’ ”
It says, “Love thine enemies,” too, a little voice inside accused her. Ingeborg tousled Thorliff’s hair and stroked her hand down his cheek, feeling the swelling around his eye. Right now, love wasn’t what she felt for those Strand terrors or for their mother, either.
Later, while she and her boys were marking rows and dropping in the precious seeds, she looked up to see Mary Ruth waltzing across the field with the water jug to give Hjelmer his afternoon sustenance. To her mind, they spent a mighty long time over the water jug. Then, when Hjelmer finally did hup the oxen into motion again, Mary Ruth strolled along right beside him.
And he’s spending Sunday afternoons calling on Penny Sjornson. What’s with that boy, playing two girls along like that? He’s asking for trouble sure as shooting.
It took several more days before the Strands hitched up their wagon and were ready to head on west. The morning dawned with a cloud cover that looked like rain, but no one offered to let them stay longer.
Ingeborg was on her way out to the barn to check on the cow that was about to drop her calf when she heard two voices. She turned the sod corner in time to see Mary Ruth and Hjelmer in an embrace that brought the heat blazing up her throat. She ducked back before they saw her, but then, it would have taken a herd of buffalo to catch their attention, so engrossed were they in each other.
She had a string of names for the two of them that lasted about a mile long. Don’t matter to me what girl he marries or doesn’t as the case may be. She put her palms to her still sizzling cheeks. Why, no one had ever kissed her like that before the marriage bed, that was for certain. Her mor would have flayed the skin from her daughter’s bones had she ever caught her in such a compromising situation. Only girls of low morals acted like that.
And, here, that was Roald’s brother going right along with it. What was the matter with him? She felt the cow’s distended bag and patted her with soothing words, words hard come by when she really wanted to lay into those two young people. Far as she knew, they were still there. She left the cow and stormed back to the soddy. Did trouble naturally follow that young man, or did he invite it?
She wrapped a loaf of bread in a cloth and added a large hunk of cheese. If they weren’t so low on meat, she’d have included a venison haunch. All the while she wondered at what she was doing. Much as she disliked the woman, her daughter, and the two middle boys, it seemed to Ingeborg that Oscar Strand and the little ones shouldn’t suffer want because of the others. Unless they headed into St. Andrew for supplies, it was a long way west before they’d run into another town. Had Haakan told them about Grafton to the southwest?
When Ingeborg and Andrew arrived at the wagon, Mary Ruth was just climbing in the tailgate, and Hjelmer was no where in sight.
“Here, I brought this for your dinner. Hope you find some land you are happy with.” She handed the packet to Oscar, who smiled down at her.
“Mange takk for this and all you’ve done for us. You’re good folks.”
Mrs. Strand sniffed and turned to say something to her children. A smack, a cry, and with the reins slapping the horses’ backs, they left.
“Good riddance,” Kaaren said for Ingeborg’s ears alone.
“I have a feeling we’re going to see more of them, yet.” Ingeborg stood clutching her elbows. Andrew pulled up a dandelion and held it up to her.
“Mor, pretty fowler.”
“Yes, my son, it is, and so are you.” She picked him up and hugged him to her. Was he hot? She felt his forehead. Sure enough, and was that a mosquito bite on his face? By midafternoon he was covered with spots and fussing, wanting only to be held in his mother’s arms. Ingeborg remembered the spotty baby that had arrived when the Strands drove in. Mrs. Strand had said it was heat rash but Ingeborg now knew better. Was it measles or scarlet fever?
Bathing Andrew in cool water brought down his fever. Haakan stood beside her, his presence a comfort in her fear. All the while she bathed the little boy’s hot spotted body, she prayed for God to make him better and protect all the rest of them in case this was something dangerous.
“You know, Ingeborg, when Strand’s baby had it, the spots were gone in a couple of days.”
“You think I am overly concerned?” She wrung out the cloth and laid it on Andrew’s tummy.
“No, I am just trying to make you feel better.” He nudged her aside. “Yo
u go make supper, and I will do this.”
Ingeborg raised her gaze to his. “You would do that?”
“Of course. Once he falls asleep, I will go do the chores. Thorliff has already started them.” Haakan dipped the cloth in the basin. When he tickled Andrew’s tummy, the baby smiled, but his eyes drifted closed, only to open and whimper for his mother.
After Haakan and Hjelmer had gone to the barn for the night, Ingeborg sat in the rocking chair holding the sleeping Andrew. Too easily the memories returned of that terrible winter when cool cloths were not enough to save Kaaren’s two little girls nor Carl. A tear meandered down Ingeborg’s cheek, soon joined by another. Gunny would be four years old now and Lizzie two, like Andrew. What good friends these cousins would have been. What do parents do when they don’t believe in our Heavenly Father and a place where we will all be together again, she wondered. And the baby I lost, I will see him or her, too. God must have a special place for those unborn souls.
She tucked Andrew into her bed and leaned over to kiss Thorliff’s cheek.
“ ’Night, Mor,” Thorliff whispered, not even opening his eyes.
“ ’Night, my son.” She stroked his hair back. The swelling had diminished somewhat in the bad eye and gone away in the other. His bruises showed black-and-purple, edged in green splotches. Would that all his bruises in life healed so easily.
Andrew twitched restlessly beside her, whimpering in his sleep. She laid a hand on his belly to feel him burning with fever. With all her strength, Ingeborg fought against the demons of the year before. She picked the child up and rocked him against her shoulder while she poured more water in a basin. Sitting in the rocking chair, she stripped off his nightclothes and dipped and wrung the cloth to spread on him till it, too, was hot.
Trying to keep Gunny, Kaaren, and Carl alive had taken the same motions, the only difference being that no blizzard howled about the house this time.
“Dear Lord, please.” She could barely mouth the words. They kept pace in the frantic corridors of her mind. Gunny, Lizzie, Kaaren, and Carl so sick. Dear Lord, deliver us.
With both hands she grabbed back her sanity from the marauding wolf of depression and whispered her verses over and over. “God is my strength and my fortress. I will rejoice in God my Savior.” And finally, as the little body on her lap cooled, and the child slept comfortably, she whispered the name above all names. “Jesus, thank you. Jesus. Jesus. Amen.”
Haakan found her and Andrew asleep in the chair. He took the baby from her arms.
“No!” Ingeborg clasped Andrew to her breast. But when she opened her eyes and saw it was Haakan, she blinked and stared around the room.
“I was just going to put him in the bed. Why didn’t you call me? I would have helped you.”
“I . . . I didn’t think of it.” She rubbed her gritty eyes with her fingertips. “Put him in my bed,” she whispered. “I don’t want Thorliff to catch whatever it is.”
The next day while Andrew alternately slept, whimpered, and scratched, Ingeborg resolutely kept her mind from the still little bodies she had laid to rest that dreadful winter and kept up her litany of prayer and praise. The time spent rocking Andrew gave her needed rest and time to pray for all the others of the family. “Thank you, Jesus” said over and over brought a song to her heart and music to her lips. “Thank you, Jesus” could be set to all kinds of melodies.
Within two days Andrew was back to full speed and calling her to come see. Everything was exciting for him, and he wanted to share his finds with both Mor and Tante Kaaren. Keeping track of Andrew was becoming more and more of a chore.
“It must have been a kind of measles,” Kaaren said. “Scarlet fever would have lasted longer.”
“I know. I am just so grateful that was all of it.”
On Sunday, Hjelmer again left to visit the Baards.
“Tell Agnes and Joseph hello for me,” Ingeborg called as the young man trotted Jack out of the yard.
“Ja, I will.”
“And Penny, too.” Ingeborg couldn’t resist the barb. To that she received no answer.
“I have an idea,” she said to Lars and Haakan later as they leaned back in their chairs, full from a meal of fried fish, thanks to the efforts of Thorliff and Baptiste the day before.
“What’s that?” Lars asked.
“What if we made a three-sided fence, kind of a cage or platform, and attached it to the frame of the disc. That way the person could ride, and the added weight would drive the disc deeper.”
Haakan looked at her through squinted eyes that showed he was giving her idea consideration. He leaned back in his chair. “It could be dangerous.”
“Not really. Falling backward in case of an accident or something wouldn’t be so bad, depending on how hard the ground was. With a waist-high or even higher railing, you could make it double-barred for more safety. Seems to me the chances of one getting flipped over the front would be pretty slim. If the team bolted for some reason, you’d fall out the back, wouldn’t you?”
“I can see you’ve given this some thought.”
“Ja, I thought about a seat like the one on our mower, but one could get dumped easily that way.”
“Speaking of which, we better get those teeth sharpened and the thing well oiled. The hay looks about ready to cut.”
“Ja, and if ours is about ready, Joseph’s must be ready now. His fields dry out faster.” Lars polished a bowl he’d been carving for Kaaren.
Ingeborg started to interrupt but thought the better of it. She’d given them her idea, and now she would wait to see if something came of it. If she had her way, she’d be outside with the disc right now figuring how to make it work. But today was supposed to be a day of rest.
Later in the garden when she stooped to pull a handful of weeds, she could hear her mor’s voice. “All the weeds you pull on Sunday will be double there on Monday.” Ingeborg had never checked it out, but to be sure there were always more weeds every day. Her fingers itched to get the hoe and go at them.
Would hunting be considered work? No more than fishing, she decided. If Thorliff kept an eye on Andrew when he woke up from his nap, she could be at the game trail at dusk when the deer were going down for a drink.
She told Thorliff what she planned, and with Haakan still at Kaaren’s talking to Lars, she slipped into her britches and left at a trot. One of these days, she would have to teach Thorliff to shoot the gun. While he kept them in rabbits with his snares and fish from the river, he had pleaded more than once to learn to shoot. So far, they hadn’t dried any fish, just eaten all he caught.
Entering the woods that bordered the river was like stepping into another world. The leafy green bower shaded her from the hot sun now sinking toward its rest. Birds stopped their tweeping and twittering at her arrival but resumed as she walked on. Much of the underbrush had been cleared in their quest for firewood, so now slipping through the woods was much easier. The river sang its own song, more restful since the spring runoff was past. She watched the paddlewheel boat slosh its way downstream without hallooing it. The short stacks of wood Lars and Haakan cut had been purchased on one of the first runs. In other years the wood had gone a long way to paying for their supplies. Perhaps this winter Lars and Hjelmer would be able to cut enough again to make a difference.
Lars and Hjelmer. As she leaned against a rough-barked tree, she thought of the man who wielded an ax with such dexterity. If he were here to help through the winter, there’d be no end to the amount of wood to sell. She sighed. But he wouldn’t be here, and there was no use wasting time dreaming about it. She pushed herself away from the comforting tree and made her way to the game trail, where she hunkered down in the brush behind a fallen tree they’d left there for this very purpose. Resting the rifle at the perfect angle, she settled down to wait.
Soon the birds began their music again, and the rustlings resumed in the underbrush. Ingeborg sat so still that a rabbit stopped not three feet away, and raising on its haunch
es, nose twitching, it inspected her carefully before hopping on about its business.
With the setting sun, the woods deepened to purple, and the whine of the mosquitoes about drowned out the evening calls of the other flying creatures. A bat darted about, scooping up the flying bugs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the buck stop and test the breeze. Two does followed him with their fawns—still wearing the spots of babyhood—at their sides.
Ingeborg gripped the butt of the rifle, snugging it into her shoulder and lining the sights on the head of the buck. She used to go for heart or neck shots because they were more sure, but no longer. None of the meat or hide was destroyed with a head shot. Lars would be pleased with the antlers, too.
He took another step and paused. One more step and she had him lined up perfectly. She squeezed the trigger. The woods exploded with crows screeching, the roar of the gun, and the does bounding away. The buck lay where he’d stood. She quickly leaped over the log, and with knife in one hand and rifle in the other, she crept up on the prostrate animal. When she nudged him with the toe of her boot, he didn’t move, but she wasn’t surprised. He’d been dead before he hit the ground. She cut the jugular so he could bleed out and looked around for some saplings to cut for poles to drag him on a travois. Metiz had shown her how to create such a handy cart without wheels.
“That was some shot.” Haakan stepped from behind a giant oak.
“Oh!” Ingeborg put her hand over her heart. “You near frightened me to death. Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”
“I’d have scared the deer away.” He crouched beside her and shook his head in amazement. “You are an incredible shot. No wander they let you do the hunting.”
“Mange takk.” Ingeborg slit the belly and carefully cut out the musk glands before gutting the animal. She tossed the intestines into the woods. “To feed the other creatures,” she explained, keeping the heart and liver for their own meals.
“You want me to cut a pole? We can carry it together.”
“If you’d like. I was about to make a travois.” She wiped her knife blade off on some leaves and stuck it back in its sheath. She’d noticed he had his ax. He wore it like another arm and just as naturally.
Lauraine Snelling - [Red River of the North 02] Page 23
