A Season of Grace

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Miss Carlson! A moment of your time, please.” Here came Mr. Larsson hustling out the door.

  Nilda turned. “Good morning. I was just thinking about how beautiful our music is. Thank you for your gift to us, Mr. Larsson.”

  His whole face brightened. “Why, thank you, Miss Carlson. I’m flattered. As you know, music is my joy.” He stepped in closer. “I’m eager to hear how your first few days in my aunt’s house went. She has all sorts of wonderful things to say about it, but what do you say?”

  Thank heavens he was using Norwegian so she could understand him easily. “Wonderful things, I assure you. I don’t know the English word for opulent, but it pertains. Most of all, I love working for such a fine, considerate woman. I’ve had some very bad experiences with bad employers”—she did not mention Mrs. Nygaard out loud—“and this position is joy.”

  He smiled and switched to English, speaking slowly and carefully. “She says the same thing. And how is your English coming?”

  “Overwhelming.” She at least had learned that word! “I am learning so much so fast, my head might burst.”

  He laughed. “Good to hear. Not the bursting part. The learning part.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Good day, Miss Carlson.”

  “Good day, Mr. Larsson, and thank you for the music and the English lessons.”

  Once they were in the wagon going home, Signe told Mor, “Nilda saw Dreng in Blackduck. So he is still here.”

  “I wonder what kind of job he got in Blackduck.”

  Nilda added, “He dressed like he did in Norway, not like he lacked money.”

  “Anyone want to bet Mrs. Nygaard is sending him money somehow?” Gunlaug wagged her head. “He’s not worth discussing. Forget about Dreng and tell us what you did.”

  “I was in school every hour until I went to bed, and then I dreamed about lists of words and how to pronounce them. Speaking English all the time wears me out. I’d rather be scrubbing walls or something.”

  “You can do that with me at Mr. Kielund’s house,” Selma said. “I offered to clean his house.”

  “And he agreed? He wasn’t offended?”

  Selma clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t think of that. I had a hard enough time getting him to understand what I was saying.”

  “Maybe you should come with me to Mrs. Schoenleber’s. You learn quickly that way. I thought it was wonderful that he learned to greet you in Norwegian. In my mind that shows he is interested.” In living up to the bargain; after all, he paid for your ticket.

  “He is a very nice man.” Selma’s voice cracked. “But I still miss Nels so very much.”

  “Of course you do. Sometimes I turn around and think I will see Thor sitting at the table, waiting for a cup of coffee.” Gunlaug dabbed at the corner of her eye and sniffed. “Sometimes the missing hurts so bad.”

  Nilda took one of her hands and Selma the other. “Keep this up, and we’ll all be crying.”

  “I want Far to come back.” Eric looked up from playing with Kirstin. She made even him giggle.

  “We need to talk about something else,” Gunlaug said firmly.

  Nilda turned to Selma. “When are we going to clean? Mrs. Schoenleber asked if I would come a day earlier this week. What can I say, with all she is doing for me?”

  “You say, ‘Yes, thank you.’”

  “I know, but I hate missing out on what is happening at home.”

  “We could have used you out scraping those four hogs we butchered.” Ivar locked his arms around one knee and rocked with the wagon. He raised his voice. “We doing more this week, Rune?”

  “Ja, at least two. We can start the smokehouse today.”

  “And we have more lard to render.” Gerd turned to talk over her shoulder. “Today I am making corn bread with cracklings. I’ve been hungry for that for years. The last hog Einar butchered, I was too weak to even keep the stove going to render the lard. It made him so angry to not have plenty of lard, as if it were my fault.”

  “That’s why you ran out of soap too?” Signe asked.

  “Ja. I did not expect to live much longer, and then you came and bullied me into getting stronger again.” She reached down from the seat and patted Signe’s shoulder. “For which I am ever thankful.”

  Signe clasped her hand. “We all are. Did you invite Mr. Kielund for dinner?” she asked Selma.

  “I offered, but he said he had some things he had to get done.”

  “Far, the Garborgs are waving at us.” Knute pointed toward their lane.

  Rune turned the team into their lane and brought them to a restless stop.

  Mr. Garborg walked up beside them. “Rune, I hear you’ve got hogs for sale.”

  Rune nodded. “We do, either on the hoof or slaughtered.”

  “How about I buy two? But I have a favor. Could we butcher them at your place, since I am not set up for it? I would come help, and if you have more to do, I’d stay or return to help with those.”

  Rune nodded. “That would be a good thing. I need to butcher two tomorrow. Shall we make it four? Do you have a place to hang ’em?”

  “Ja. I’ll bring some burlap to wrap them in.” He slapped the wheel. “See you in the morning.”

  Rune drove up to the house. “Can you beat that?”

  “Then maybe we can get out in the woods tomorrow.” Bjorn nudged Knute. “You want to put the team away?”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Nilda suggested, “Since Mr. Garborg is coming to help butcher, I think we should make soap. What’s one more fire?”

  “One more fire means some of us better split wood today, that’s what.” Ivar grinned at his sister. “It’ll be good for you after lazing around at Mrs. Schoenleber’s.”

  “I dare you to study as hard as I’ve been doing. At least I will be home for Kirstin’s first birthday.”

  Later, Nilda took a bucket of ashes waiting to be scattered on the garden and dumped them into a leaky wooden bucket. She poured water over the ashes and set the bucket over a larger pail to collect the lye that dripped out. By morning she would have plenty.

  Back in the house, she asked, “Gerd, what did you make soap in?”

  “There’s a big iron kettle that I used to use out in the machine shed. I think Einar kept nails and other metal in it.” Gerd set a plate of leftover corn bread with cracklings on the table. “I figured this would make a fine coffee time. You know that fire ring out by the clothesline? I used the kettle for laundry until Einar came home one day with the washing machine. You could have knocked me over with a puff of wind, I was so shocked. But I still made the soap out there. Until I was too weak that last year.”

  Nilda glanced at Signe, who nodded. What had this woman been put through?

  Knute and Leif each brought in an armload of wood and dumped it in the woodbox. “It smells good in here.” Leif looked over at the table.

  “Bring in one more load, and you’ll get some.” When they returned, Signe handed each of them a piece of corn bread with jam spread in the middle. “Eat outside, please.”

  “When you’re finished, would you dump the stuff out of that big iron kettle down in the machine shop and bring it up?” Gerd asked.

  “Sure. You want it scrubbed too?” Leif asked.

  Nilda nodded. “I’ll split wood while you do that.”

  But by the time she’d been splitting wood for an hour, her shoulders were complaining rather loudly. She planted the ax head in the chopping block and rotated her shoulders before taking an armload over to the fire pit. Now she needed kindling. She split some of the lumber pieces left over from building the new house and left that beside the pit also. Everything needed to be in order for when they started in the morning.

  The next morning she was just pouring buckets of water into the kettle, which was set on rocks with a fire snapping under it, when she heard two rifle shots. When the water was boiling, she added the blocks of lard and set to stirring. This was the hardest part, stirring the mix lon
g enough that the water and fat melded together. When she judged it was just right, she added the lye and made sure the bubbling didn’t splash on her bare skin before calling Signe to come help her.

  “There must have been some splashing. You’ve got holes in your apron,” Signe said, pointing at the apron Nilda had wrapped around her.

  “Uff da, and I was being so careful.”

  Together they tipped the kettle to pour the liquid soap into the molds Nilda had set up on the benches. The flat frames, once placed on the porch in the sun to cure, would hold the soap until it set hard enough to cut into squares.

  “Next year we’ll keep rose petals and mint leaves to add for fragrance,” Signe said.

  “Remember when we did this at home? It seems so very long ago.” Nilda used a rake to scatter the ashes in the fire pit.

  “That’s because it was.” Signe studied the molds. “You did a good job. And think, we didn’t have to wash the drippings from the can on the stove. When that steer is butchered, we could make more using the tallow.”

  “I read you can make soap from cream, especially goat’s milk,” Nilda offered.

  “That will be the day, when I have goats to milk.” Signe made a face. “I didn’t care for goats at the seter, and I don’t now either.”

  “You have to admit they make good cheese.”

  “Next spring I’m going to start making cheese. With three cows, we should have enough cream. But we don’t have space in the well house to cure cheese.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Rune could add that to his building list.” Nilda rolled her eyes. “There goes Mr. Garborg, and here come the boys.”

  Later, the setting sun took all the warmth of the day with it as they carried the soap molds onto the porch.

  “Mor, look!” Leif called, coming from chores with Knute.

  “Your skis are finished!” Signe said, smiling.

  “I sure hope they work.” Knute showed her the bindings. “Far is working on the ski poles. He’s using deer hide leather for the hand straps.”

  “They look good.” Nilda ran a hand down the ski. “Good wax job.”

  “Takk, I did that.” Knute copied her motion. “I didn’t think I’d ever get enough on.”

  “Where you going to keep ’em?”

  “Here on the porch. Far said he’d put up racks or long pegs.” The boys leaned the skis against the wall.

  “Rosie is going to get fat this winter if we don’t ride her,” Leif said.

  “I’m glad she’s not going to be standing in that shed all day, even though you did blanket her. She’s getting kind of old for that.” Nilda led the way into the house.

  “We better take some of that soap with us,” Signe said the next morning as they prepared to head to the Kielund house. “And plenty of cleaning rags. You’re sure he said he would not be home today?”

  Selma nodded. “He’s taking the children to Blackduck with him. And yes, he knows we are coming, but he didn’t seem particularly pleased.”

  “Probably not. Pride sometimes gets in the way when we need help.” Gunlaug took Eric’s hand. “Today you get to stay here and help us take care of Kirstin.”

  “Can I play with the kittens?” he asked.

  “Ah, ja. We will bring one or two to the house.”

  “I’ll get them.” Nilda headed out the door.

  The team already waited at the hitching post, their breath blowing huge clouds of steam in the frigid air. One stamped a foot and shook her head. “I’ll hurry. Sorry.” As if they understood.

  Nilda trotted to the barn and scooped up two of the kittens playing in the square of sunlight at the open door. “It’s okay, mama, we’ll bring them back.”

  She paused for a moment and inhaled the crisp air. The glittering sun shot over the frosted world. Steam billowed from the trough of hot water for scraping the two butchered hogs. One of the men laughed at something. Mr. Garborg had returned like he said he would.

  With both kittens tucked under her chin, she kicked against the screen door, now covered with tar paper to help keep out the icy winter wind. Inside, she tucked the kittens into a covered basket by the door. “You ready?”

  “Ja.” Selma used potholders to lift the kettle of soup they had started the day before using bones from one of the butchered hogs. They tied a dish towel over the lid to keep it from spilling. “Catch the door for me.”

  At the Kielund house, the fire in the stove revived with open drafts and small wood pieces, and the water in the reservoir was still hot enough to use for scrubbing. They set the soup to continue cooking and, wielding broom, mop, brushes, and rags, attacked the kitchen first.

  “At least there are no mice,” Signe muttered as she wiped out cupboards. “He must have a good cat.”

  They finished the kitchen, paused for a bowl of soup, and then swept and dusted the rest of the house, mopping the other floors.

  “The windows need washing outside too, but that might have to wait until spring.” Nilda gave the last one an extra polish. “We could come another day to do the wash.”

  Selma brought in another armload of wood and dumped it in the woodbox. After banking the fire, they left the soup, now in one of Mr. Kielund’s kettles, to simmer on the back of the stove. “Well, we made a difference, that’s for sure.”

  Signe paused at the doorway. “This is a good house, and Oskar Kielund is a fine man. I believe you will be very happy here.”

  “I sometimes wonder if I will ever be happy again.” Selma sniffed and cleared her throat. “But if he asks me, I will say yes.”

  “No if. He is a man of his word, like you are a woman of yours. Just when. When you are both ready to take the next step.” Signe gave Selma a hug as she passed her on the way to the wagon. “Let’s go home.”

  That night, when they were still seated at the table after supper, Gerd set a cake on the table in front of Kirstin, who sat on her mor’s lap. She immediately reached for it, but paused when Gerd spoke. “You are now one year old, little one.”

  Kirstin reached for the plate with both hands, then looked to Gerd, who nodded. One baby finger touched the white frosting on top, then immediately popped into her mouth. Leif and Eric giggled from across the table, catching her attention. She grinned at them, then focused on the cake. This time she used a finger from each hand to scoop off some frosting. When the boys laughed, she grinned back and smacked the table, then sucked the remaining frosting from her fingers.

  That night when Nilda finally made her way upstairs and collapsed in her bed, she was almost asleep when the vision of Dreng came again. Both the memory from Norway when he was attacking her and the most recent one in Blackduck. How do I drive that—that filth out of my mind? She managed during the day, but this was the fragile time. She flopped over on her other side, setting the ropes in her bed to creaking.

  “What is it?” Gunlaug spoke softly so as not to wake the others.

  “Dreng!” Nilda spit out the word, wishing she could do the same with the memories.

  “Only prayer and Bible verses work, as far as I know.”

  “I wish.” Oh, how I wish.

  Chapter

  18

  Whatever is true, whatever is honest, whatever is just, whatever is pure . . . The words she’d gone to sleep remembering still floated in her mind. Thank you, Mor.

  Nilda lay without moving, knowing that her squeaky bed would rouse the others. She smiled at the faint sound of cat feet coming up the stairs, barely disturbing the hush of the early morning. The cat jumped up on Nilda’s side of the bed and walked up the length of her body to sniff her hair and curl up around the back of her head. It was a shame Mrs. Schoenleber did not have a cat or two. They were such a comfort.

  “Are you going to start the fire, or am I?” Gunlaug asked.

  “I was trying not to wake you.” Their whispers sounded loud in the stillness. “You stay here and sleep a few more minutes.”

  “Nei, I am awake, so I get up.”

  Nilda ign
ored the squeaking of the ropes and heaved herself out of bed. She grabbed her robe from the post and, shoving her feet into slippers her mor had knit—wonderful slippers with soft leather soles stitched on—made her way down the stairs, the cat padding beside her.

  The flare of the match when she lit the lamp made her blink. The cat chirped her request for a dish of milk. “You must wait until I get the fire started.”

  Nilda lifted the stove lids as quietly as possible. The stove was still warm but nowhere near hot. Stirring the ashes set bits to glowing red, plenty to start a fire. Sprinkling curls of wood from the workshop on the coals and blowing a couple of puffs started the smoke tendrils that, with another puff, burst into flame. She added kindling and a couple small chunks, then set the draft in the chimney and the lids back in place. There was something about lighting the fire in the morning that welcomed the new day. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she shrugged and shivered.

  Getting the coffee going was always the next step in the morning routine.

  “All right,” she answered the cat who wound herself around Nilda’s feet, her request moving into demand. “I hear you.” She was pouring milk into the cat dish by the side of the stove when Gunlaug and Ivar yawned their way into the kitchen.

  “What time did you say George would be here?” Gunlaug asked.

  “He said early, but he wouldn’t start out before daylight. Are you butchering again today?” Nilda fetched the cups from the cupboard and added larger pieces of wood to the now blazing fire.

  Ivar nodded. “Need anything from the well house?”

  “Eggs and buttermilk. I’ll make pancakes.” Nilda paused. “When I am there . . .” She shook her head. “It’s such a different life with all the staff doing the cooking, cleaning, serving, whatever needs to be done. I asked Cook one day if I could help her, and she looked at me like I’d insulted her. But then she laughed, and I felt better. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”

  “Don’t worry, you can cook here anytime.” Ivar sat down and pulled his boots on.

  Gunlaug glanced at the calendar on the wall, then crossed over to flip to the new month. “I wonder if they’ve had snow yet at home.”