“I see. So where is all the wash?”
Tante pointed to a stack of clothing, sheets, and towels in the corner. Probably all that had accumulated over the winter.
“I will do the wash tomorrow.”
“Be careful with the soap.”
“Ja, Einar already said that. If we have fat, I can make soap.” She left the room and, finding a wash boiler out on the back porch, set it on the stove and filled it with water. The water in the reservoir was hot enough to rinse dishes, so she set to doing that first while the scrub water heated.
“Take the plate!” The command came from the bedroom.
“Can I get you something else?”
“Take these pillows out.” Gerd made a grab for one. “I will sleep now.”
Good thing. Signe dumped the plate and cup in the dishwater. But when she started to put the clean dishes in the cupboard, she shuddered. Mouse droppings. Ach, the filth! If she had to use every bit of soap, she would get this place clean. And the people who lived here.
Chapter
6
Where to start? Signe stared around the kitchen. Inside the cupboards? The ceiling? Did they have a step stool somewhere?
The boys trailed in with armloads of wood.
“The chores are done, and this is the last of the split wood.” Knute looked to his mor. “Where next? Inside or the garden?”
“Help me empty the cupboards onto the table, then you both work in the garden for a while before it gets hot.”
“It’s already hot in here.” Knute threw open the windows and propped the back door open with a brick before heading through the house to do the same with the front door.
Signe handed the boys the dishes and cups out of the cupboards, then set a pan of hot, barely soapy water on the counter and started scrubbing. Surely there were mousetraps somewhere. If it was this bad in the house, what did the cellar look like? They needed a house cat. A hunter.
Leaving the doors open to air out the newly clean cupboards, she tossed the filthy water into a bucket so they could use it to water the garden, then attacked the second set of cupboards on the other side of the sink.
Had she known, she’d have brought bars of soap along. If they had to wait ’til butchering time in the fall to have fat for soap, she’d write it on the list. Had they butchered hogs last year? So many questions. Perhaps there was a crock in the basement with lard in it. Her thoughts kept time with her busy hands.
By the time the cupboards were washed and refilled, she gazed longingly at the coffeepot. At home, someone would have stopped by already, and they’d have coffee together. She should have made more pancake batter and fried the remainder to eat with jam and coffee. Thoughts of home made her sigh.
After shoving more wood in the firebox, she pumped water into a pail to refill the reservoir and dipped out hot water to scrub the outsides of the cupboards and the wall around them. The ceiling would have to wait.
“Signe!”
She dropped the cloth in the pan and headed into the dark bedroom. “Ja.”
“The pot!”
A repeat of the early morning, the stink of the room not abating. “Would you like me to help you to the chair by the window?”
“Nei! Why?”
“I thought some fresh air might feel good.”
“Coffee!”
Signe nodded. After settling Tante back in the bed, she pulled the coffeepot to the hot part of the stove, then changed her mind and took the pot outside to dump and scrub. The boys were chopping the weeds out of the rows, leaving the vegetables looking weak and forlorn. Some manure tea would give them a boost. One more thing to add to her mental list of tasks, all urgent. She paused and raised her face to the sun. A breeze stirred the hairs that escaped the bun at the back of her head. That same breeze wafted the stench of the outhouse her way.
Liming the outhouse moved to the top of her list. Would Tante know if they had lime and where?
“I want something to eat with my coffee,” Tante demanded when Signe handed her the cup and saucer.
“As far as I know, there is nothing until I bake, and there is no yeast for bread.”
“You made biscuits last night.”
“They are gone.”
Gerd’s glare would have dropped a horse.
Signe strode to the window and pulled back the curtains so she could open the window.
“Nei!” The shriek jerked her back from inhaling the fresh air. “That hurts my eyes.”
She closed the curtains.
“Shut the window. You want me to catch my death?”
Again Signe did as she was ordered.
“What are you doing out there?”
“Scrubbing the kitchen. The boys are weeding the garden.” Where I would far rather be than in here. Without waiting for an answer, she left the room. Did she dare close the door?
What could she make to take out to the loggers? If she didn’t get some sourdough started, she’d never make bread. Cringing at the filth in the pantry, she checked all the bins and tins. Cornmeal, flour, oatmeal, beans, rice. She should have started a pot of beans first thing this morning for supper. At home, they’d be eating porridge, if they were lucky. This looked like a wealth of stores compared with that.
If only she had some yeast.
After setting the pot of beans on to boil, she beat milk, water, and flour together and poured the mixture into a crock to set on the warming shelf as starter for sourdough. From the icebox she took the haunch of smoked meat to the now clean counter to cut the meat off the bone. Corn bread or biscuits to take to the men?
When she slid the corn bread pan into the oven, she drained the beans, keeping the hot water for the chickens or the pigs, and added the bone to the pot along with hot water from the reservoir. With that simmering on the back of the stove, she glanced in the bedroom. Snores told her Tante had gone back to sleep. How could she sleep so much?
The boys came inside. “Mor, can we have a drink?”
“Water or buttermilk?”
“Buttermilk. We really have buttermilk?” Knute grinned up at her. “You want we should throw the weeds in for the pigs?”
“The chickens too. Shame they can’t run free like chickens should.”
“Onkel said a hawk would get them.”
Knute set the jug of buttermilk on the counter and reached for glasses. “They need a dog here to protect the chickens.”
“Are there any cats down at the barn?”
“Ja.” Leif already wore a buttermilk mustache.
“Any tame enough to make a house cat, a mouser?”
Knute glanced toward the bedroom door. “Would she allow a cat in the house?”
“Better than fifty mice. Before you go back to the garden, go down in the cellar and see if there are any mousetraps there.” She glanced at the clock on the wall above the door. “I will have a basket ready to take to the men pretty soon. We’ll have dinner with them.”
The boys grinned at each other. “You haul the weeds down in the wheelbarrow, and I’ll split some more wood,” Knute said to Leif. “Mor is emptying the woodbox as fast as she can.”
They ran out the door, but it slammed behind them before Signe could catch it.
“How can I sleep with so much racket?”
How could Gerd shout so when she had a hard time breathing? Signe filled another pan with bits of soap and hot water and started on the pantry cupboards.
The clock had moved well past noon by the time the basket was filled with corn bread, sliced meat, boiled eggs, and pickles she had found in the cellar. “We are taking dinner to the men,” she announced from the bedroom door, and left the house before Tante could demand anything more. Wisely, Signe left a hard-boiled egg and a square of corn bread to feed Gerd when they returned.
Knute swung the basket, and she carried a jug of coffee. Surely the men had taken drinking water with them that morning. The boys chattered about all they saw, as ever, full of a million questions, most of which sh
e had no answers for. But her tiredness from the morning of scrubbing and fretting seeped away as the peace of the woods calmed her mind and spirit. They could hear axes ringing against wood, announcing where the work was happening.
“You stay by me,” she reminded the boys. “You could get lost here real easy.”
“I’d just follow the sound of the axes,” Knute said with a grin.
Leif returned to her side. “How come Tante is so mean?”
“She is sick.”
“I don’t think she likes us.”
I don’t think she likes anyone. But living in a dark and dirty hole like that room would make anyone mean, like an animal trapped in a cage. “Wait for us, Knute.”
“But they are right ahead. Hurry, Mor.”
“You wait! They might have a tree about to come down.”
His look argued with her, but he stopped at the edge of the trees.
Several big pines lay like fallen giants. Both men and Bjorn were chopping off branches but stopped when Knute yelled hello.
“Finally!” Onkel growled. “Over by the wagon.”
Rune lifted his head and dried the sweat on his forehead with the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. “I hope that is coffee in that jug.”
“It is. You did bring water out?”
“Ja.” He nodded toward the wagon. “Over there in the shade.”
“Did you cut these down today?”
“Two of them. Bjorn has been limbing all morning.” He smiled at his eldest son. “That’s chopping off the branches,” he explained before the question could be asked.
“What will you do with the branches?”
“Saw up the bigger ones for firewood.” Bjorn met them at the wagon. “You can do that back at the house with the crosscut.” He grinned at each of his brothers.
“We weeded part of the garden.” Knute shook his head. “The weeds were really bad, but we found some peas and lots of beans. Corn too.”
Leif joined the conversation. “The potatoes were up. I almost pulled out the squashes. I don’t like squash much.” He looked up and up. “These trees are huge.”
“It sounds like the world is falling apart when one them hits the ground.” Bjorn looked up at the trees as well. “Onkel said it is even worse when there is no open place for the trees to fall.” He pointed to the tree that had only half its branches left. “I had to sharpen my axe already this morning. We used the smaller saw, since it goes faster for me.”
“Let’s eat.” Signe motioned to the tailgate of the wagon, where she had laid out the meal. They all fell to as though they’d not had a big breakfast.
“We’ll work out here until dusk.” Onkel motioned with his corn bread, which held sliced meat in the middle. “There’s a hen due for the stewpot. You can butcher a chicken?”
Signe gave him a look. “Ja, since I was a child.” When she got no response, she continued. “You have lime for the outhouse?”
He shook his head. “Put it on the list.”
“When will you go to Blackduck?”
“You can go. Just follow the main road.” At the look she gave him, he shrugged. “I can draw you a map. Can’t lose another day out here.”
“You have another wagon and team?”
“I have an older mare and a cart. The boys can help you hook it up.” He looked to Knute. “You know how to harness a horse?”
“Ja. Where is it?”
“Out in the pasture. We got eggs and maybe butter. You can take them to the store in trade.”
Signe knew he meant if she got the butter churned. When she got back, she’d bring in the cream. She should have done that first thing so it would warm enough to churn more easily. She gathered the plates and forks back in the basket. “There’s another piece of corn bread.”
Onkel motioned to Rune. “You take it.”
Rune shook his head. “Nei, Bjorn is still growing. He needs it worse.”
By the time she and the two younger boys were back at the house, she’d given them their instructions for the afternoon. Setting the basket on the kitchen counter, she turned to the stove.
“Where have you been?” Gerd demanded from the bedroom. “I need the pot.”
Signe sucked in a calming breath and picked up the pot she’d left outside to air. “I took dinner out to the men.” Setting the pot beside the bed, she flipped back the covers, longing to open the windows. Hot and humid, along with stinking to high heaven—how could Tante stand this? “Are you hungry?”
“Ja, of course I am hungry.” Gerd slumped back on the bed. “You could have told me where you were going.”
“I did. I told you—”
“Nei! You left without a word. You can’t leave me alone. That’s why we brought you over, to take care of me and the house. I can’t do any of the cooking or housework anymore.” Her glare sizzled Signe’s eyebrows. “Can’t even use the pot by myself.”
“I’ll bring your food right in. The coffee should be hot again pretty soon.”
After shoving wood in the firebox, she gave the beans a stir and pulled the coffeepot to the hotter part of the stove. The water in the boiler sent up spirals of steam, heating the room even more. At least she had the windows and doors open for cross ventilation—nothing like that bedroom.
After serving Gerd corn bread and meat with pickles, she asked, “Would you like some buttermilk while the coffee is heating?”
“Ja. If we have any left. We’ve been out of butter for a week or more.”
What could they have for supper besides meat and beans? More biscuits? Signe stepped to the bedroom door. “I’m going down to the cellar. The boys are weeding.”
“Coffee!”
“Ja.”
After bringing up a jar of green beans and another one of pickles, she gave Gerd her coffee and returned to scrubbing the pantry. This time she used the wash water to scrub the floor and the back steps. At least she could be outside this way. How she would enjoy working in the garden. Pulling weeds sounded infinitely better than scrubbing walls and floors. In fact, while the floor was drying, she’d treat herself to some time in the garden.
When she went to fetch the dishes from the bedroom, Tante was asleep again, her mouth slack and her breathing somewhat labored. Surely the steam bath she lived in helped her breathing. How could she stand the covers over her?
Instead of having the boys bring in the cream, Signe crossed the yard to the well house and opened the heavy door to be kissed by the coolness inside. Several crocks and jugs nestled in the cemented rock trough of cold water. Water trickled in, thanks to the windmill, and flowed out to fill the stock tank. Pans of the morning milking waited on a wooden bench, with more crocks and jugs on the shelf underneath. After skimming the cream into a clean jug, she set that in the trough. She checked to see what was in each jug in the water, then carried the older cream to the house. Hot as the weather was, the cream should warm up quickly.
Back to scrubbing. It took two passes to get the painted floorboards clean. Leaving the floor to dry, she joined the boys in the garden.
“Almost milking time,” Knute said when the cow bellowed from the barn.
“You two have done a good job out here.” She leaned over to pull a handful of sow thistle and toss it on the closest pile.
“The pigs sure like us. The chickens too.” Knute stared at his hands. “I got a blister. One on each hand.”
“No leather gloves?”
He shook his head. “I saw Bjorn had some.”
All we need is for infection to set in. “I’ll scrub your hands and wrap them when we get done.” Signe heard a screech from the house. “Toss those weeds in for the hogs and start your chores. You can finish the weeding tomorrow.”
She too could bellow. “Coming!”
Chapter
7
So how are things going at the house?” Rune and Knute knelt on the edge of the garden after supper, setting snares for rabbits.
“Tante screams at Mor all the time.” Kn
ute dropped the cord and shook out his hands. “You make this look so easy.”
“It will be for you too. You just need to practice. You’ll need to check these morning and night, or something else will steal our supper.”
“There’s lots of animals here, aren’t there?”
“Onkel told me about seeing a weasel the other day. They can be really mean and would happily kill all the chickens. Foxes, wolverines, and coyotes, sometimes even wolves, but them mostly in the winter.” He patiently showed his son how to set the snare again. “Rabbit skins will make warm mittens for next winter, so we’ll skin them and nail the hides to the barn wall to cure.”
“There, I did it.” Knute grinned at his father. “Does Bjorn know how to do this?”
“I don’t think so. Set the other two, and we can get to bed.” Dusk was settling around them, releasing a mosquito horde. He slapped his arm and now wore a splat of blood. Always the debate—long sleeves to protect bare skin, or rolled sleeves to enjoy any bit of cool air drifting by?
He hefted himself to his feet and kneaded his lower back with his fists. Surely his body would adjust to swinging an axe all day. Unless they were using the long crosscut saw to fell the trees. Both tasks worked his shoulders—no wonder lumberjacks were such hefty men. At least they were in the pictures he’d seen. Never had he dreamed he’d be a logger one day. Farming had always been his dream. A herd of dairy cows, knee-deep in green grass, and Signe churning butter and making cheese. He stared across the field that had been wrenched one tree at a time from the giants awaiting his axe.
“With all your work, we can now see the garden,” he said, looking down at his middle son as they walked back to the house.
“We’ll finish it tomorrow, I hope. I’d rather weed the garden than help wash the walls. Although Mor said we’d help with the wash tomorrow. Leif is going to churn the butter.” He heaved a sigh. “Bjorn says we’re doing women’s work.”
“Perhaps I better have a talk with Bjorn. We all do whatever needs to be done. And there is plenty to be done here, that’s for sure.” Rune stopped walking. “Listen.”
The Promise of Dawn Page 6