“Could you please go out and bring in some eggs?” she asked Leif.
“Then can I go check on my babies?”
“Bjorn will come get you if there is a problem.”
“I know, but I like to see them born and learn to stand and find a teat to nurse.”
“Eggs first. Now hurry, the pan is almost ready.” Instead of waiting for him, she sliced the bread and laid ham on one side.
A couple minutes later, he set a basket of eggs on the counter. “Here. Ham and fried egg sandwiches? I’ll go get Bjorn.”
With the pan beginning to sizzle, she broke the eggs in and cooked them hard, then slid each on top of one of the ham sandwiches. They were definitely eating better here, even if Einar thought everyone should be finished when he was. She set the sandwiches on a platter, putting one aside for Tante Gerd, and met the boys at the door.
“We are eating outside. Leif, bring the glasses of milk. We’ll sit in the shade.”
When they were all seated, her on the chair off the back porch, she held out the platter. Bjorn fumbled, trying to pick up his sandwich, so when Leif handed it to him, he smiled and nodded. She smiled and nodded at Leif. “Takk.”
“Is there more?” Leif asked when he finished his.
“Do you want a slice of bread with butter and sugar?”
Leif leaped to his feet and disappeared around the corner and into the house. Bjorn looked his question at her, then, frustrated, jabbed a stick in the ground.
She nodded and mouthed, wait, then held up a hand. She must remember to carry a pencil and paper in her apron pocket. When Leif returned with two slices of bread folded over and handed one to Bjorn, his eyes lit up. The two boys headed for the barn, eating their sandwiches as they went.
A wave of weariness broke over Signe, nearly sending her to the ground. Instead, she got up and took the dishes back into the kitchen. Eating outside had been a good idea. She fed Gerd, told her what she was doing, and headed for the barn rather than filling the scrub bucket.
The boys were back in their places with the sow sleeping between them.
“Ten babies, Mor. Two born while we had dinner.” Leif pointed to the baby corner. “They come out when they’re hungry. Pigs learn fast, don’t they?”
“They’re smart, especially at finding ways to get out of their pens.”
“What are we having for supper?”
“Fried rabbit. I sure will be glad when we have potatoes out of the garden. How are the peas doing?”
“About ready to pick.”
“Maybe enough ready for supper?”
He shrugged.
Signe returned to the house by way of the garden. When she found several pods full enough, she brought out a basket and called for Leif to help her pick peas. There weren’t a lot, but they would each get some—if Einar didn’t eat them all first. When she caught Leif popping peas into his mouth rather than her basket, she shook it at him. “In here, so we can all have some.”
Sitting out on the back step, shelling peas, reminded her of home. All the children and younger women would shell peas, snap beans, or scrub cucumbers out on the porch, the children begging for stories of what life was like in the earlier years. Her children would never hear their grandparents’ stories. The thought sent an arrow through her heart.
“We have fresh peas from the garden,” she announced at suppertime when she set the bowl on the table. “Not very many yet, but enough for everyone to have a taste.” She stared at Einar, hoping he would get the hint.
“Creamed peas and new potatoes. That will be a fine meal.” Einar spooned peas onto his plate, started to take a second scoop, then stopped and passed the bowl to Rune instead.
Signe made sure her surprise and pleasure did not show on her face. “Along with biscuits and ham. I will dig under the potato plants and see if any are big enough.” As always, she had kept some back for Gerd. Maybe that was one reason Tante was getting stronger—she was eating better. Signe sat down at the table and helped herself.
“How many baby pigs so far?” Einar asked Leif.
“Ten. She’s still lying down.”
Einar nodded. “The more the better. I see you moved that hen and chicks to the other stall.”
Leif flashed his mor a questioning look.
Einar concluded, “Good.”
She could see Leif relax. She glanced over at Knute, who was almost asleep in his chair. “How are your hands, Knute?”
He startled and shook his head.
“Maybe tomorrow he can use the axe again,” Einar growled.
“We’ll see how his hands look in the morning.” Signe stared right back at Einar, refusing to give in.
He slapped his hands on the table, muttered something about coddling, and left the kitchen, the screen door slamming behind him. Leif flinched as they all paused in case Gerd yelled about the noise.
Bjorn picked up a pencil and scrawled, “I could drag branches with one hand.” Bjorn looked to his far.
Rune shook his head. “Not until you can hear again.” He grimaced and wrote it below Bjorn’s message.
Signe wrote, “Tomorrow you can weed the garden.” The look on his face told her what he thought of that idea.
The next morning, Leif brought a dead piglet into the house. “We had twelve, but now eleven.”
“I’m sorry,” Signe said, smoothing his hair. “You did your best.”
Einar waved a hand dismissively. “Throw it on the manure pile. Happens all the time.”
Leif nodded. On his way out the door, he dashed tears away with the back of his hand.
Did Einar have to be so cruel?
Chapter
16
Need anything else?” Rune asked.
Einar shook his head and climbed up on the wagon seat. He waited until Rune sat down, glanced over his shoulder to check on Knute, and clucked the horses forward. Always a taciturn man, today his jaw was set and he stared straight ahead.
Rune thought back to Signe confronting Einar. Even Einar had to realize that she was a mother bear protecting her cubs. And she made Rune realize that he must protect his cubs as well.
He looked at the stumps that dotted the field they crossed to get to the big trees. “Did you clear all the land you are farming?”
Einar glanced at him. “No, a homesteader cleared part of it but gave up, and I bought his half section. He lived in a tar-paper shack that burned down, so when we came, we had what logs I felled milled and built the barn and the house.” He added, “They had traveling lumber mills back then. Might still have them. I worked in a logging camp for our first two winters, and Gerd worked in the kitchen. In the summer we lived in a tent here, working on our place.”
“No wonder you know so much about logging. How will we get those stumps out?”
“I plan on dynamiting them this fall after the fire danger passes.”
Rune nodded. That made sense.
“We’ll cut hay in a couple days. Need to sharpen the blades on the mower. You ever done that?”
“Nei, we used a scythe at home.”
“Found a used mower cheap and bought it last year. Needs cleaning up.” He shook his head. “Too much to do. Was counting on your boys being bigger.”
“They work hard.”
Einar halted the team in their usual spot and climbed down. “We’ll start with those two trees I marked yesterday.” He grabbed the handle of the crosscut saw and pulled it out of the wagon.
Rune took the other end and looked at Knute. “You take care of the horses.”
“Ja, I know what to do. Then limb or drag branches?”
“See how your hands do with the axe. If they start to blister again, drag branches.”
“I will.”
He and Einar each took a side of the chosen tree and started chopping out the notch that would keep the saw from binding up and guide the tree which way to fall, the song of their axes in perfect rhythm. As he swung each beat, the shock of it reverberated up his arm
s and into his shoulders, which had grown far more than he dreamed possible. He didn’t need fine eyesight to dance the duet of axes. When they switched to the crosscut saw, the tone changed, but the beat remained the same: pull, release, pull. Sweat poured down his face and neck, soaking his shirt. When they stopped for a breather, he stripped his shirt off, mopped it over his face, and slung it over a nearby bush. Hats back on, they kept on sawing until the tree quivered.
“It’s going to fall, Knute. Get by the horses.” Rune made sure his son did what he was told, then looked upward. The giant pine trembled, and with a groan and a shudder, breaking the branches of a nearby tree, it crashed to the ground with a mighty roar. Other branches crashed down around it, and the forest fell silent, as if honoring the death of a patriarch. Each time a tree fell, Rune stood silent like the forest around him. Death was never easy.
Rune wiped his face with his shirt again. “I am going for a drink.” Both men walked over to the wagon bed, sat in the shade, and drank, water running down their chins. Cool water felt like the kiss of an angel.
“We’ll eat now before we start the next one.” Einar turned to Knute, who had joined them. “Did you water the horses?”
“Ja. That creek is a pretty place.”
“Give ’em some grain after a while.”
“How are your hands?” Rune asked.
“I cut a lot of limbs.”
“I see that. And hauled some too.”
“You want me to fill the jug at the creek?”
Einar jerked a nod.
They felled another tree after dinner and started limbing them both. Rune stopped to wipe his face and looked around. These trees were far too big for building a log house, but what would it be like to live in a clearing in the middle of this?
Signe wished she could walk to Benson’s Corner and see if there was any mail. But she needed to remain here and get the jars ready for canning the peas the boys were picking. Perhaps Leif could go on the horse. Or Bjorn could walk there and back before dark. At least they’d finally been able to move their pallets up into the attic and had their own space.
After kneading more flour into the leftover pancake batter to make sourdough rolls for supper, she joined the boys out in the garden. They already had nearly half a basket of peas and had more than two rows to go.
“Mor, you need to see the baby pigs. They’re running all over and so funny.” Leif dropped a handful of pea pods into the basket.
“I will after we finish picking.” She watched Bjorn, who was keeping up easily, getting very adept at picking with one hand.
Leif stopped picking to split a pod open and pop the peas into his mouth. “These are the best before they’re canned.”
“I agree.” Signe copied her son. It was a shame the pea season was so short. But considering how late the garden was planted and then finally weeded, having a crop like this was almost a miracle. She watched Bjorn try to split a pod open with one hand. Frustrated, he bit the end and pulled the string down. He squeezed the pod, and the peas popped out. Two fell on the ground, and he bent over to pick them up and wipe them on his pants. Clearly it had to be Bjorn who went to the store. The need to mail her newly written letter and read one from home was like an animal gnawing on her insides. If there was one from home. What if her Mor stayed so angry that she did not write? It wasn’t Signe’s fault her husband chose to emigrate.
“You two try to finish these rows before dinner.”
She walked back into the house, sat down, and wrote a note to Mrs. Benson. Could she sell any eggs or butter? When did school start, and must she register her boys? Might Mrs. Benson also have any mail for the Strands? She added, “Bjorn cannot hear.” She put the note with her letter for home.
After scrubbing the jars she’d found in the cellar, she set them boiling on the stove and helped Gerd again. While waiting for Gerd, she moved the chair to the window.
“Nei!”
“Ja, you have to walk some every day, and one of these days you will be able to walk to the table to eat.”
Gerd shuffled more than walked, but she made it to the window and sank down in the chair. “Coffee.”
“I will bring it.” Signe stopped at the door. “Did you used to knit or crochet?”
Gerd nodded. “Long time ago.”
“I would knit in the winter. Do we buy yarn in Blackduck?”
“I have a sewing machine.”
“Ja. I have nothing for the baby, so I need to sew come fall.” She had not given that much thought, but she had better start soon. First all the canning and drying food for the winter. “Do you like fresh raw peas?”
Gerd nodded. “And coffee.”
When Signe returned to the kitchen, she heaved a deep breath. They had almost had a real conversation. And no shrieking.
“We finished, Mor,” Leif called from the porch.
Three full baskets waited beside the door.
Leif’s eyes shone. “Daisy will like the pea pods. Will the chickens too?”
“Ja. How are our hen and babies?”
“All fine. When will we put her back with the others?”
“When they’re ready. Wash your hands. Dinner is ready.”
She ladled ham and bean soup into bowls and set sliced bread on the table. Tomorrow she would have to bake bread again. “Has anyone checked Knute’s snares?”
“He did this morning. No rabbits. He says he better move them to a different spot.”
When they finished eating, she wrote her instructions to Bjorn and sent him on his way.
She and Leif sat down to shell peas. At home, all the women would be sitting outside in the shade, shelling peas, talking, laughing, almost like a party. A longing for home made her sniff and blink. She’d never known being homesick could hurt so bad, like a band tightening around her heart. It seemed to be getting worse, not easier.
“Mor, are you all right?”
“Ja, just missing home.”
“Me too. We would be up at the seder with Tante Gretta now. We had to shear the sheep and milk both the goats and the cows. Are they haying yet, do you think? Remember when the lynx attacked the sheep and our big old cattle dog chased after it, and we all ran out and chased it away? It was not my turn that day to be herding the sheep. I had the cows, so I missed it all.”
“That was a frightening time.”
“Knute was so mad they didn’t kill it. This year I might have been big enough to shear a sheep. Bjorn was good at that. He never missed when he grabbed a sheep and flipped it over to shear. I carded a lot of wool. Do you miss the mountains?”
Signe sighed again. “Ja, I do, but mostly I miss Mor and all our families there.” Maybe someday we will be able to bring some family over. There was no sense dreaming of returning to Norway. It would never happen—she knew that when they left.
“Are you going to make cheese here?”
“We will see.”
When Gerd called, Signe went in to see to her and help her back to bed. “See, you are stronger today.”
Gerd sank back against her pillows, breathing hard. “Tired.”
In the kitchen, Signe punched down the dough and rolled it out to cut into squares for supper. Creamed ham and peas over raised rolls this time. On a whim, she cut part of the dough into small pieces, let them rise, and fried them. When they were finished, she set them on a plate with a bowl of syrup and called Leif inside. His eyes lit up and a grin nearly split his face.
“Takk, Mor. Oh, yummy.” He dipped one of the pieces of fried dough in the syrup and ate it in one bite. “We haven’t had this since Grandma made them.”
Signe ate one, then poured a cup of coffee and dipped several in syrup to take to Gerd. “Coffee and sweets.” She waited for Gerd to get herself sat up and set the tray in her lap.
Gerd ate one and almost smiled. At least Signe chose to believe that was what the change in her face meant. Back in the kitchen, she sat down and ate a couple more pieces with Leif. “We need to put the rest aw
ay for Bjorn. He should be back soon. Time to get back to the peas.”
“Can we take the pods to Daisy? You can see the babies.”
The need to work argued with her love for her son, but for a change the love won out. “We must hurry. Did you feed her the butter washings yet?”
“Part of them.” He picked up the baskets of pods, and together they walked to the barn. He let himself into the stall, and Daisy scrambled to her feet to join him at the trough, grabbing for the pods before they hit the wood.
“Throw some in her water. She’ll like that.”
“Look.” Leif pointed down. One of the piglets had picked up a pod and was trying to chew it. The others all gathered around the sow and started nursing, tails wagging in delight.
“You need to watch her. Soon she might turn on you if you pick up one of her babies. Sows are like that.”
“Far warned me too. I wish she could go out in the mud with the others. I pour water over her sometimes when it’s hot. I wet the sawdust too. She likes that.”
“Good.” Signe crossed the aisle to where the hen and her six chicks were busily scratching away. “They need to go outside to scratch for their food.”
“I throw it on the floor for them.” He tossed some pea pods in their pen too. The hen clucked to her brood and started pecking at the pods, so they did too. “I bring weeds from the garden sometimes. She likes green stuff.”
“You’re doing good. You are a farmer like your far.”
Leif turned and looked at her, his eyes shining. “And you are too.”
Back at the house, they settled in to finish shelling the peas. When only a few were left, she went inside to where the jars waited for her. She glared at the woodbox—they would need more wood before she put the jars in the hot water. She pushed in what chunks she had. Hopefully there was more already split. After filling the jars with peas, she added a teaspoon of salt to each jar and poured boiling water up to the lower edge of the neck.
Leif brought in the last of the peas.
“We’re having those for supper. I need wood right away.”
The Promise of Dawn Page 15