“Ja, while I go skim the pans and bring the churn up to warm.”
Trundling the wagon behind her, Signe strolled to the well house. The fresh air made her stop to take a deep breath. The rain-soaked dirt squished up between her toes and stuck to her feet. Even that felt good. She’d need to wash them before going in the house, but who cared. A bird called from one of the blades on the windmill that creaked in the wind. Another answered. Barn swallows dipped and circled, catching bugs to feed their second clutch of babies. No wonder there were so many barn swallows around.
The chickens were back outside—they did not like rain—and scratching in their pen. Rain brought bugs and worms to the surface, and the chickens feasted. Pigs squealed in the pen. Others grunted. They were all most likely enjoying the mud puddles. Signe splashed her own feet clean in a puddle.
Water still dripped off the roof of the well house, forming miniature water lines in the ground from the runoff. She looked back at the house, where they had rain barrels at two corners. Someday they would plant shade trees around the houses, an orchard, more gardens, and perhaps even some flowers. What if Gunlaug came? She might bring some of the irises from her mor’s garden and even some seeds.
The sun peeked out, turning the drops to sparkles and drawing steam from the ground. The grass in the pastures would be green again in a short time. The cornfield glistened green. Hopefully the oats were not beaten down, as that field would soon turn gold for harvest. If they were indeed to build a dairy herd, they’d need a lot more grain and hay to feed the animals, and more housing for winter. Was that Rune’s dream now, or was that only Einar’s dream? Signe could not remember. If they had more cows, she could make cheese.
When she pushed open the door to the well house, a rush of escaping cold air caught her by surprise. Scrubbing her feet on the doorsill, she stepped down onto the stone floor, leaving the door open so she had enough light to see to skim the pans.
Setting the full churn in the wagon, she made sure the sun reached it and then set to skimming. After she skimmed the pans from the night before, the cream went into crocks to set in the tank of cold water. The skim milk went into milk cans to haul down to the barrel by the pig troughs to sour for both hogs and chickens. Right now, the growing hogs were keeping the barrel low. And it would get worse. Could they really raise that many pigs to butcher size? Plus the steer would be large enough to butcher this fall.
After washing the pans, she threw the soapy water on the floor and used the wide broom to sweep the water to the lower corner, where a short piece of pipe drained any spills out of the well house. Einar had done a good job building this necessary place, or perhaps Gerd had more to say about this than she let on.
Einar really had been good at most anything he undertook—cutting timber, building a house, and finishing the barn and the machine shed. He just didn’t finish beyond the absolutely necessary. Like the stairs to the cellar. She thought about this as she left the churn waiting in the sunshine and went to look at the sheep. Leaning her chin on crossed hands on the top rail of the corral, she watched them race to the far side, huddle, and turn to face her, ears forward and sniffing the air.
“I know, I know, I am a stranger to you, but no need to fear. I’m as glad to have you here as Leif is. I hope you enjoyed the corn suckers.”
The ram stamped his foot and, eyes on her, took a step forward.
“If you are this brave now, what will you be like when you are fully grown?”
He snorted and flicked his ears.
“Never mind, I’m leaving, but you better get used to me too. I’ll be back.”
The blue sky had returned, along with fluffy clouds fleeing before the wind. As had the heat. By the time she’d pulled the wagon to the house, the steam rising in the sun had made her forehead sweat. Such a different day.
She lifted the churn up onto the porch and climbed the steps.
“You hungry?” Nilda asked. “We missed dinner, you know.”
“Where’s Kirstin?”
“She and Gerd are napping on a pallet in the bedroom. I suggested the parlor, but she was concerned K would fall on the floor. We need to keep a pallet here for them. That way we could close the door. What took you so long?”
“Oh, I swept the floor and went down to introduce myself to the sheep. Mr. Ram seems to take his job seriously. He snorted and stamped at me. I was really scared.”
Nilda rolled her eyes. “Let’s eat out on the porch.” She handed Signe a plate with pieces of fried bread and butter. “Buttermilk or coffee?”
“Need you ask?”
“Take the big wagon and the old team to Benson’s Corner,” Rune said after dinner the next day. “We need feed for the pigs. Joe Benson said he would load it while you two are at class. I’ll need to make a run to the lumberyard soon too.”
“Have you thought of a corn crib?” Gerd asked. “With the added acreage, there will be too much to store in the barn. Einar kept saying each year he’d do that as we planted more corn.”
Rune blinked at her. “Are you serious?”
“I am.”
“I hate to say this, but we don’t have money for a corn crib.”
“I saw one in the Sears Roebuck catalog. I have enough cash in the box to pay for it.”
“But then what do we do for cash?”
“We sell some pigs. I figure five or so ought to do it.”
“But—”
“I know.” Gerd raised a hand. “But you see how much they are eating. Five less will eat a lot less and still give us plenty.” She turned to Signe. “Put up a sign on the bulletin board at Benson’s. We’ll see what happens. We need to develop a market for next year too, if young Leif is going to keep on with his hogs.”
Later that afternoon, Nilda flicked the reins and clucked the team into a slow trot. “There is more going on in that woman’s head than she is telling us. She said to remind you that school will be starting soon and both boys have outgrown or worn out their boots. Also, Einar used to have a cobbler’s bench for when he repaired his boots. Probably out in the machine shed.” Eyebrows arched, she shrugged. “I know, it caught me by surprise too. But I’ve been thinking—the way Rune is going, he’ll need to enclose that whole building for a shop. And build a new shed for the machinery.”
Signe shook her head. “You certainly have learned to dream big. Now all you need to do is figure out how and when to build and where the money will come from.”
At the store, they turned in their list and left the wagon to head to the church for their English lesson, taking their chairs just in time.
Mr. Larsson’s gentle face was smiling. “Welcome, everyone. Remember, tonight for the last half of the class, we will speak only English. I hope you’ve been practicing all week.”
The groans from the others told Signe they weren’t the only ones who’d not practiced a lot. They dutifully repeated what Mr. Larsson said, practiced their vocabulary words and phrases, and turned to each other to talk with words to be used daily. They greeted, introduced, asked questions, prepared answers, and found themselves laughing along with the others.
At the break, Signe muttered to Nilda, “He’s had his eye on you much of the class time.”
“He has not. He smiles at everyone and encourages everyone the same.”
Signe raised her eyebrows and slowly shook her head. “You are either blind or stubborn—or both.”
“Most likely both. Stop, you are embarrassing me.” Nilda stood up and stretched.
Conversation slowed considerably when they had to speak only English. Pauses lengthened as people searched their minds for the right words, then chuckled when someone else filled in for them.
“This is harder than haying,” one of the men said in Norwegian.
“But not as sweaty,” one of the women countered.
Larsson raised his hands. “English, folks, please.” He repeated what they had said in Norwegian and then stated the phrases in English. “Now repeat after me.�
�� They all did. “The more you repeat it, the more you will remember the words. Repetition. Repetition. You are all to be applauded. You are doing well.”
As they rose to leave, Mr. Larsson motioned to Signe. “Please wait a moment.” When he had answered one last question and the class members were moving toward the door, he picked up two flowerpots from the floor and handed one to Signe and one to Nilda.
He spoke slowly in English, enunciating each word. “My aunt Gertrude Schoenleber in Blackduck sent these rose starts home with me for you. This way there will be a rosebush at each house.” He smiled at Nilda. “She asks about you every time I see her.”
“Really? She was such a charming hostess. I’ll never forget her.”
“Well, she has not forgotten you either. She said these will bloom next year. You will need to cover them with straw or hay when the deep freezes start. She said even pine branches and needles could be used.”
Nilda asked, “They will really live through the winter here?”
He shrugged. “You see roses blooming in Blackduck, and the lilacs in June make the entire town smell sweet.”
Signe smiled. “Please tell her thank you. Do you have an address for her?”
“Just address it to Mrs. Schoenleber, Blackduck. She will get it.”
Nilda smiled. “Thank you for being the messenger.”
“You are most welcome.” He licked his lips. “Uh, let me get this straight.”
“Straight?”
“In this sentence it means correct. Signe Carlson is your sister-in-law and her husband is your brother, is that right?”
“Ja. I mean, yes. Rune is my brother. So sister-in-law means the woman my brother married.” Nilda frowned. “The opposite: the man my sister marries—brother-in-law?”
Mr. Larsson broke into the broadest, sweetest smile. “Miss Carlson, you are so quick!”
Nilda frowned again. “Quick. Fast?”
“Oh dear. One of the problems with English is that one word may mean many different things. Quick means fast, you are correct, but it also means fast mentally. Fast thinking.” He tapped his head. “Oh, and it also means the core or deepest part of something, but not something material. When I say ‘you cut me to the quick,’ it means you hurt me deeply, but not bodily. Physically.” And now he was frowning. “Does that make sense?”
Signe almost giggled, but she kept her peace.
Nilda smiled. “No, it does not really make sense at all, but I understand what you are saying. Thank you.”
“Again, you are most welcome. I will see you next week?”
“Ja, and on Sunday too,” Signe put in for good measure, making sure her grin did not show.
Back at the store, Signe asked, “Could you please pin this to the bulletin board? It is for selling some of our young pigs.” She held up the sign Gerd had made.
“You go ahead. There are pins stuck in the corner. I hear you’re looking for another milk cow.” Mrs. Benson handed several packages to Signe. “A widow outside of town is leaving her farm to move in with her son in Duluth. She has to sell off all her animals quickly at half market price. If you’re willing to buy a cow sight unseen, Mr. Benson can bring it out to you.”
“Oh. That is quick!” Signe did not have to think for long. “Yes, we will buy the cow.”
“I’m glad. He’ll bring her out in the next few days. That sure was a marvelous party at your house. We need to do that more often.” Mrs. Benson leaned over the counter with a smaller bag. “This is for those boys of yours. When Leif asked me to dance . . .” She chuckled and shook her head at the same time. “He is one smart young man. You should have heard him bragging about his herd of pigs. And how he loves that puppy. Rufus is a perfect name for him.”
“Thanks to you and Mr. Benson. Oh, I forgot. Do you have brooms for sale? That Rufus chewed up our broom when we were in church last Sunday.”
“I do.” Mrs. Benson fetched one and handed it to Nilda. Then she walked out with them and untied the horses as they climbed into the wagon. She looped the lead rope over the hames and waved as they left.
The horses leaned into their collars and dug in to get the wagon moving through an especially soft spot before they reached the road.
“I’ll be glad when the Ladies Aid meetings start up again.” Signe sighed. “Even the few times I was able to go, I was starting to make friends. I never realized how much I took friends in Norway—well, family too—for granted.” She patted Nilda’s hand. “I guess we all do that.”
“Ja, me too. I don’t know how you stood it this last year, as bad as things were. And you never complained. We had no idea living with the Strands was such an awful thing. Not the work—hard work never hurt anybody—but the meanness.”
“It made me all the more glad when we learned you were coming sooner than we had ever dreamed.” Signe swatted at a mosquito buzzing around her face. “But thinking back makes me even more grateful for now. And tomorrow we get to plant rosebushes. Can you believe that? Mrs. Schoenleber must be a real special woman.”
“She is. I wish I could think of something to do in return for her kindness.”
“You never know. Something will come up.”
Chapter
6
How is it, milking the new cow?” Gerd asked Leif.
“All right. Tante Gerd, she wanted the far stanchion and wouldn’t go anywhere else. I’m going to name her Bossy.”
“Three cows in the barn now leaves only one more stanchion. I guess we won’t look for another for a while.” Gerd set a platter of pancakes on the table. “How are your new boots?”
“Okay. They take some getting used to. My feet sure grew this summer.”
“All of you did. Pants too short, shirts too short, and Knute, you pretty much wore your clothes out. I have a lot of patching to do so Leif can wear them.”
Rune glanced around the table. “It looks to me like they all grew a lot. Bjorn, you’re nearly as tall as Ivar. The two of you could be twins.” He put two more pancakes on his plate. “It’s hard to believe how much that wood stack has grown.”
“It’s hard to keep ahead of the cookstove.” Knute reached for his milk glass. “Maybe we should miss school until we get those two dried trees hauled in and—”
“And maybe not. School starts tomorrow, and that is that.”
“But we really need more wood.”
“True. But you need school, so . . .” Rune spread butter on his pancakes and stared down his son. “So we will all go out to bring in those trees. We’ll use the teams to drag them out of that swampy area.”
“All of us?”
“All the men.” Nilda grinned at her nephews. “We women will stay here and burn as much wood as we can. After all, keeping that boiler going is what is filling the cellar with food for the winter.”
“Be careful,” Signe admonished as the men left the kitchen a short time later.
“Maybe we can have fried bread when we get back,” Knute called over his shoulder.
“Just because I had started bread.” Signe found herself shaking her head in amazement a lot lately. Things seemed to be moving much too smoothly. Other than the new cow kicking over the milk bucket the first time Knute sat down to milk her, but she didn’t mind Leif at all. But then, Leif got along with all animals better than any boy she had ever seen.
Nilda said wistfully, “I wish Far and Mor could see these boys now. They’d never say anything, but they would be so proud. I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. Mor would be shocked at how much we’ve canned and stored in the cellar. By the time we get the root vegetables dug and in the bins and the squash in . . .”
“And more pickles. We should finish the beets today.” Signe stretched her arms over her head. “I’ll slip the skins while you slice.”
“And Kirstin and I will finish that shirt for Knute. I’m glad we bought some clothes. That sewing machine and I spend a lot of time together.” Gerd had cut around the holes in one of Einar’s shirts to
make one for Knute, but Ivar and Bjorn just rolled up the sleeves on his others.
Like well-oiled machinery, the women set to their tasks for the day. With beet-stained hands, Signe dumped beet skins in the slop bucket, which was filling rapidly. Soon the boiler, full of jars of beets, bubbled on the stove, and Gerd and Kirstin had gone to the garden to dig up more. After they scrubbed what they had, the next biggest kettle held raw beets. The temperature in the kitchen rose, even with all the windows and doors open.
Nilda wagged her head. “To think I nearly froze my feet on the way to the outhouse this morning. We might have to start wearing shoes again. At least we haven’t outgrown ours.”
When they sat down at noon to a meal of fried egg sandwiches, Signe admired the rows of purplish red jars of beets. “I’d do all beets pickled if I had my way.”
“Buttered beets are hard to beat,” Nilda said.
“Good, ’cause we’re having them for supper—again.”
“Better than rutabagas,” Gerd said. “It’s a shame the turnips got wormy.”
The jingle of a harness announced a visitor. The two younger women smoothed back their hair and checked the cleanliness of their aprons while Gerd shook her head.
“Tsk. Such primping.”
Signe scowled. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a beet-decorated apron.”
“It just shows that you’ve been working hard.”
Signe waved from the door. “Mrs. Benson, what a nice surprise. Come in, come in.”
Mrs. Benson climbed out of her cart, basket on her arm, and climbed the steps. “Look at all those leather britches you got drying. Why, I’ve not seen a sight like that in a long time.” She motioned to the pairs of string beans drying over lines on the porch.
“We had so many beans, we decided to do some this way. All the rest on the vines we are letting dry.” Signe held open the screen door.
Mrs. Benson inhaled deeply. “Mmm, pickling beets?”
“And you’re just in time for fresh bread and butter.”
A Season of Grace Page 5
