From This Day Forward
Page 19
What did he owe Deborah? Something, surely. But then, she didn’t have to do any of this, so perhaps he owed her nothing; he’d not asked for anything. Toby, look what you’re doing. Looking a gift horse in the mouth, that’s what you’re doing. A really good-looking girl is providing you with food you don’t have to cook or even buy, and you’re trying to think it to death. Accept it, for pity’s sake. And make sure she knows you’re grateful.
He had to shake off thoughts of Deborah and get to work. He’d check with Mr. Belin later. Well, sometime. Thank God we don’t have any other jobs to keep going. Lord, I’m not swearing. I do thank you. He broke into a jog. Trotting to the site was a new habit for him. Walking was just too slow.
The sun burst over the horizon and leapt into the sky like a strong man running a race. Toby paused to suck in a breath and blow it out. It promised to be another hot one. And today they would have fewer workmen. At least today he’d had breakfast.
He joined the crew in the hole, and they set to erecting and nailing.
Some time later, a shout from above made him look up. Johnny was delivering the first load, with a helper. “Benny!”
“I can drive good, Mr. Valders. I’m getting better at climbing up too.” His grin made the sun look lazy. “All right?”
All the men in the hole grinned up at him.
Toby blinked. What if the kid got hurt? What if . . . “Who’s gonna help your ma make sodas and ice cream?”
“Joy’s helping her. Miriam’s little sis. So I can drive?”
“You can drive, and thank you.”
Trygve clapped him on the shoulder. “Good for you, boss.”
“Just pray he doesn’t get hurt.” How would I live with myself if he does?
Johnny yelled back, “Then can I come help down there?”
“You got another driver for me?”
“Working on it.”
Yes, Toby realized, he was working on it. Everyone was working on it. Toby was working too many hours, but so was everyone else.
“Get busy, I said, you worthless slug!”
Toby recognized the voice. It was that Josef Tannemeyer, one of the workmen who’d arrived recently.
Toby forgot where the man had come from, but he knew Tannemeyer was a hothead, often picking a fight. Not here, not now! Toby ran across to the far corner of the hole.
Tannemeyer was punching Chet Classen’s arm. “I said get back to work!”
“Leave me alone!” The fellow sounded weary, not angry. He was leaning a shoulder against the wall.
“So you need convincing, eh?” Tannemeyer drew a fist back to strike the man again.
Toby seized Tannemeyer’s arm, twisted it, and shoved him back three feet. Tannemeyer lost his balance and fell on his bottom. He gawked at Toby for a moment and fury flushed his face. He scrambled to his feet and waved a pointing arm at his adversary. “He’s loafing, just leaning there! Not pulling his weight! I want him fired!”
Toby raised one finger. “If you so much as threaten another workman, let alone punch him, you’re fired. Instantly. Understand?”
“If you’re not gonna make him work, I’m not working either! I’m not bustin’ my buns while the rest of the crew sloughs off!”
Toby pointed to Chet. “Go up to the office, that wagon.”
The man said nothing. He lurched erect from leaning against the wall and slogged toward the ramp.
Toby turned back to Tannemeyer. “Get back to work if you want to have a job yet when dinner arrives. I don’t have time to argue with you.” He turned his back on the sullen man and climbed the ramp.
He almost got to the wagon ahead of the fellow. It was hot and stuffy in the office, but out here, a welcome breeze made life bearable.
“What was going on down there, Mr. Classen?”
The man leaned heavily against the wagon. “Tannemeyer, he yells at everyone. No big thing.”
“I asked what was going on down there.”
“I feel tired, outta breath. Don’t know why. Rested a minute . . . caught my breath. Just a minute. He yelled.”
Toby studied Mr. Classen. He was pallid and listless. His lower lip trembled slightly. “Wait here.” Toby climbed into his office, got a piece of paper, and wrote a note to Astrid or whoever was on duty at the hospital. He folded the paper and took it back outside. “Mr. Classen, are you strong enough to walk to town, to the hospital?”
“Hospital? I’m not sick, sir . . . just tired. Outta breath. Not sick.”
“Can you?”
“I guess so.”
Toby handed the note to him. “Hand this to the person who will greet you near the door. Do whatever the hospital staff tells you.”
“I’m not sick. Just—”
“That’s an order. You do follow orders, don’t you?”
Mr. Classen looked at him for a moment and then chuckled. “Spent half my life . . . following orders, aye, sir. Was a bosun in the Navy . . . for over twenty years.” He lurched erect. “Aye, sir, thank you, sir. . . . On my way.” He ambled off.
Toby watched him go. An amble was all the fellow could muster; it was obviously his fastest gait. Heat prostration? Heaven knew the day was hot enough. But there seemed to be something more.
Tannemeyer came up over the lip of the ramp. He looked at his former adversary’s back. “So you axed him. Good. Good.” He turned to Toby, fire still in his eyes. “But you don’t never cross me or lay a hand on me again, understand? Not like you did just then, or I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp. I don’t take that kinda thing!”
Toby stared at him for a long moment and the man met his gaze. “Do you know what a loose cannon is?”
“No.”
“It’s a fellow who is unpredictable; you can’t trust him or trust what he’ll do next. I cannot abide loose cannons, Mr. Tannemeyer. They’re too dangerous.”
“You mean that fellow?” Tannemeyer dipped his head toward the slogging Mr. Classen.
“No, Mr. Tannemeyer, you. You’re fired.”
Chapter 20
Manny shook his head. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.”
“I’ll be fine. You hitch up the other team and we’ll get out there.” Ingeborg eyed the height of the wagon. She used to do this all the time. Lord, help me. She grabbed hold of the hay frame at the front of the wagon and tried pulling herself up. “Go get that wooden box, Manny. You know, the one Haakan used.”
He scurried off, and Inga handed Ingeborg her wide-brimmed straw hat.
“Takk. Now you and Emmy take Jack over to Lars’ barn to lift the hay in the mow.”
“We did it last year, remember?”
“That’s right, so now you are old hands at this.”
Manny set the box down and stood next to it. “Grab my shoulder. That might help.”
She did and swung up on the wagon, tucking her skirts in to stand. I should have worn my britches. Even the thought made her smile. She’d hung them out in the woodshed, but they were probably rotten by now. She could’ve cut down a pair of Haakan’s if she hadn’t given them all away.
Within minutes they were driving down the lane and out to the field. Ingeborg pulled her leather gloves a bit tighter and lifted her face to the sun, high enough in the heavens to have dried the dew on the windrowed hay. The morning breeze hadn’t quite died yet. Yes, Thorliff and Andrew were going to be upset, which she knew was putting it lightly. But all the men were needed with pitchforks in the hay fields or hammers in the hole. She knew she wouldn’t last long with either of those tools, but driving horses she could do.
“O Lord, this is so wonderful. Thank you, and please make sure I can last the morning.” A chuckle slipped out.
Off in the field, she saw the men gathering around the new hay loader. If it worked the way Lars showed her, loading would go faster and not need as many men on the ends of the hay forks.
When the two wagons stopped, the look on Andrew’s face clearly said what he thought of this. He and Lars, who was shaking his head
but fighting a grin, stomped over and stopped beside the hayrack.
“You can’t mean to drive the wagon, Mor.”
“I do mean to. I used to do all of this, and I know I am older now but I can drive a team. I’ve known how since before you were born, so I suggest you hook up the hay loader and let’s get rolling.” She leveled her mor-has-spoken look at him. “You need hands, and I have two good ones.” She held up her gloved hands. One of the horses stamped a foot, setting the harness chains to singing.
“But . . . but . . .” Andrew glared at his mother. “If you start to feel one tiny bit faint, you quit!”
“It’ll be all right, Andrew. I will be careful.”
“Pull up ahead of the loader.”
Within minutes, the loader was clanking along behind her hayrack, and as soon as she guided the team to straddle a windrow, she clucked the horses, and the hay started up the track and dumped onto the empty wagon. She glanced over her shoulder. What an amazing invention! One man on the wagon spreading the hay around and one walking behind to make sure anything left was all picked up, and they moved steadily down the field. The horses’ heads bobbed, hayseed flew, and the sweet aroma of fresh hay filled the world around her. Ingeborg felt like dancing.
Near the end of the row, Andrew trotted up to remind her to turn wide so the loader wouldn’t bind up. She saluted him, did as he said, and they started down another windrow. She looked at the strip they had finished. Nothing left on it. They’d even managed to pick up the hay flattened by the rainstorm. Round by round, she kept on driving. The men spread the hay out evenly to make it easier to lift off back at the barn and not waste any time or space. When her load was full enough, they hooked the loader up to the other wagon, Lars and Samuel climbed up with Ingeborg, and she drove to Lars’ barn, stopping right under the pulley.
“Please get off here while we do the lifting,” Lars murmured.
“Oh, I was planning to. I see Ilse has water and something to eat there. Do you want me to bring some to you men? Oh, and do you mind if I slide off?” At the look on his face, she swung her leg over the front and climbed down the frame.
Having her feet on the ground felt mighty good. She pulled off her gloves, grabbed a glass of water, and headed for the outhouse. First things first. It sure was a shame they hadn’t bought two of those new loaders. Their ancient one had been repaired so many times that the wood was rotting.
“How are you doing?” Ilse asked when Ingeborg returned for more water.
“It’s getting hot out there, but I’m fine. Hoeing the garden is harder work than this.”
“Ja, but the hoe won’t spook and run off either.”
“Our teams are well trained. I think they could do the whole thing without a driver.” She watched the load lift from the flatbed wagon, held by the steel forks, and swing up in the air to swish into the open barn door. Ropes and pulleys were another invention that made farming like they were doing now possible. She remembered too well the early years, when even the pitchforks were two prongs of carved wood. Most of the hay was stored in stacks now rather than haymows, which made it weather a whole lot better. She joined Ilse at the table in the shade.
Inga slid her hand into Ingeborg’s. “Are you all right, Grandma?”
“Ja, I am good.” She tapped Inga on the nose. “How are you two doing?”
“Jack doesn’t need us. He knows more than we do.”
“I know, the team is like that too.”
“Emmy is helping Tante Kaaren.” Inga refilled Ingeborg’s glass and brought them cookies. “I gotta go.” Stuffing her cookie into her mouth, she ran for the back of the barn.
Ingeborg was on her way back with another load when they heard the church bells peal the song of noon. It was probably a good thing she’d not planned to keep on through the afternoon, but she wasn’t going to tell Andrew that. Sometimes it was hard to remember that she was getting up in years.
They unhitched the horses and tied them in the shade. Dinner was set out under the cottonwood tree that Kaaren had planted even before they built the house, like Ingeborg had done. On days like this, the shade was so welcome.
Manny filled his plate and sat down beside her. “Grandma, what do you think of Emmy driving the wagon?”
“I think that would be a very good idea. Have you mentioned it to Lars or Andrew?” Her stomach grumbled, so she fed it.
“I will. But I gotta eat first. How come driving a team makes me so hungry?”
“Good question. When you figure out the answer, let me know.”
He grinned back at her and leaned close. “You did good, Grandma.”
“Takk.”
Kaaren refilled her glass and held out the plate of gingerbread. “You were having the time of your life out there, weren’t you?”
“I was. Driving a hay wagon is not hard if you don’t have to help load or unload it. Manny and I think Emmy should drive this afternoon. I should have taken her on this last load so she’d know what to do.”
“We have a shortage of men, that’s for sure. One good thing about haying . . . rather two: You can’t start until the dew comes off in the morning, and you have to quit at dusk before the dew starts to fall.”
“True. See you tomorrow.” Ingeborg stood when the crew did and followed them down to the barn. Since her load was yet to be lifted into the haymow, she led the team back to hitch up again. “Lars, how about having Emmy drive this one this afternoon? She’s good with horses and has driven many times.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Inga can take care of Jack by herself, even though it gets boring.”
“I saw she had a book along.” She motioned toward the team. “I’ll take them home, then. Freda will help me unharness them.”
His eyes twinkled. “You going to ride?”
“Of course.” Riding one and leading three was easier than walking, not that she had that far to go. She tipped her hat back on the ribbon and leaned forward to pat her horse’s neck. “You are a good old girl.”
The mare’s ears twitched back and forth. Some things never changed.
That evening, Thorliff was talking with the crew in the hole when Emmy called them all for supper. Ladle in hand, Ingeborg stood at the end of the table, greeting the men when they picked up their plates. She ladled out the rabbit stew, Clara dished up squares of corn bread, Emmy added butter and jam, and Inga handed out glasses of either milk or swizzle, depending on which they asked for.
“We’ll bring around the chocolate cake before you finish and coffee if you want,” Ingeborg said.
“Mrs. Bjorklund, you sure know how to feed a group of hungry men,” one of the workers said. While his accent was heavy, his smile conveyed his feelings.
“Thank you. I hope you like rabbit stew.”
Thorliff waited at the end of the line, Toby right in front of him. Ingeborg glanced his way, but the two were talking. Perhaps she would not hear a repeat of Andrew this morning.
“Where’s Benny?” she asked the men.
“Ah, they hauled the last load out and unloaded, then returned to town. He said to tell you he’d see you tomorrow.”
“He did all right, then?”
One of the men nodded. “But we’ve got to fix that boy a better way to get up on a wagon.”
“It’s hard to believe he don’t have no legs below the knees. Why, if someone din’t tell me, I’d never have guessed,” one of the other men said. “That boy don’t let nothin’ stop him.”
“He makes the best sodas too.”
Ingeborg enjoyed the conversation. Wait until she told Astrid.
A man with a well-bandaged hand held out his plate. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome. How is your hand doing?”
“Doc wrapped it and said not to get it wet. Or dirty.” He shrugged. “Good so far.”
When the others returned to the hole, Thorliff refilled his glass and came to sit beside her. “I hear you were driving the hay wagon this morning.”
“You, uh . . .” Thorliff heaved a sigh that must have started in his toes. “You didn’t have to take that chance, you know.”
She could tell he was fighting to be tactful. She turned to him. “Thorliff, all of you are working so terribly hard to get the deaf school weathered in. I know what a job that is. I know how valuable every man is. Driving the hay wagon today was a delight for me. I just drove in the morning, and I felt like I was making a contribution.”
She raised her hand when he started to say something. “I know feeding hungry men is very important, crucial; with this, I get to do both. Just for a few days, let me have my fun without chiding me. I have promised Andrew that if I feel at all weak or . . . or anything, I will quit immediately. Today I got to see the new hay loader in action, I got to see Benny driving a wagon, and Johnny turning into a man before our eyes. I rode Bess home and let the teams out to pasture.” She almost said, And I remember being young and working nearly to death so we could have this land. Thank God I don’t have to do that anymore.
He raised a hand, slowly shaking his head. “I . . . We won’t say any more.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Where’s Inga?”
“Down at the barn feeding calves. She and Emmy took over that job so Manny could do more important things.”
“She could come home and help Thelma with Rolly.”
“I know and she knows but . . .” But she can’t bear to see your sad eyes all the time. “Why don’t you bring Rolly out here more often so he doesn’t feel left out? Between all of us, we could do it.”
“I’ll talk to Thelma.” He reached for his hat, which he’d laid on the table. “I’ll stop and see Inga on my way home. Her story about Manny and the catfish will be in the next edition.” He paused. “Wouldn’t it be something if she wants to be a newspaper person too?”