The Promise of Dawn

by Lauraine Snelling

Leif stared down into the woodbox. “I thought we had plenty.”

  “Canning takes a lot of wood. Is there some split?”

  “I hope so.” He trudged out the door. The thud of axe on wood started up.

  Signe set the warmed rubber rings on each rim of the six quarts she had ready and fit the glass tops in place. Using a folded dishtowel to protect her hands, she carefully placed each jar in the steaming water. After pouring in enough hot water to cover the jars, she set the boiler lid in place.

  Leif dropped an armload of wood in the box. “More soon.”

  “Takk.” Signe blew out a breath. There was no feeling like that of putting up food to feed her family when the north wind was howling around the eaves and trying to blow the house down. Granted, they needed a whole lot more, but this was a start.

  With the boiler bubbling gently and Gerd assisted again, Signe glanced at the clock. Soon it would be time for chores. Bjorn should be back anytime.

  Leif charged in with another armload of wood. “Bjorn is almost here.”

  Please let there be a letter. She stepped out onto the front porch. When Bjorn saw her, he waved something above his head. A letter, surely it was a letter.

  “Two letters, Mor!” Bjorn shouted.

  Signe flew down the three steps, no longer able to wait. Surely, a letter from home.

  He handed them to her. “From Norway.”

  Signe clutched them to her breast. Both with Mor’s handwriting.

  He shouted, “I tried to hurry, but I tripped and almost fell so I walked slower. When I got there, there was a sign on the door that said, Back in two hours, so I sat down and waited. Mrs. Benson apologized. She said to greet you and after she read your note, she wrote you back. And guess what? She gave me three peppermint sticks, one for each of us.”

  Signe nodded vigorously, carefully mouthing, “She is a very nice lady.”

  Mrs. Benson’s note told Signe that school did not start until after mid-September because of harvest, and the schoolteacher would call on her.

  She tore one letter open with her thumb. Three whole pages of news from home! She opened the other one too and started to read the earliest.

  My dear daughter . . .

  Her eyes welled with tears until she could not see a word on the page.

  Chapter

  17

  Signe adjusted the wick in the oil lamp to burn a little brighter. The others had all gone to bed, and she and Rune were sitting at the kitchen table, something they tried to do once in a while. Most nights they were far too weary, but otherwise when could they talk?

  “Read the letters to me again, ja?” Rune asked.

  Signe nodded and took the letters from her apron pocket. Perhaps now she could read without dissolving into tears.

  “Dear Daughter Signe and all the family,

  “You have only been gone ten days, and yet it feels like months.”

  She paused. “This one was written not long after we left home.” And here I was afraid she had not forgiven me.

  “Ja. Did you read this to Gerd?”

  “She did not show any interest.” She looked at Rune. “You think I should?”

  He nodded again. “She is part of the family.”

  She studied the page without really seeing it. “Sometimes I wonder. . . .”

  He waited patiently for her answer. He was not one to jump right in; quiet did not unsettle him like it did some people. Like it used to bother her.

  Part of the family. Ja, Gerd was a relative, but part of the family? Was Einar part of the family? He at least ate meals with them, provided a house and work and food. But as hard as they all worked, they earned every bite. Signe huffed out a breath. She would think about that later.

  “You better read fast, or I will be sound asleep, right here at the table,” Rune said with a smile.

  “I trust you are all well and pray that the voyage was not hard on you. I am sure your pregnancy did not make it any easier. I look every day for a letter, knowing full well that you cannot write until you land in New York. But then you are boarding another ship, oh my. So I will give you the news from here.

  “Your far is recovering from his broken toes where he dropped a maul on his foot. He has been hobbling around, but it is no longer so black and blue, and the swelling is going down, so he can put his boot back on.

  “Gretta and the younger children are all up at the seder. They just went up so we have not heard from them yet. Elmer drove a wagon. You remember Elmer from around the hill. And your brother drove the other. Far and Onkel Rafe rode on ahead to make sure no animals larger than rats and mice inhabit the house. Remember the year a wolverine took up living in the house? What a stinking mess!

  “The gardens are growing well, and the crops appear to be a good harvest. And we will have that, God willing. Will you be able to put up vegetables for the winter? Will Tante Gerd and you do that together? Or is she still too ill to help much? I pray for you every day, for your baby to be born healthy, and that God will keep you all safe.

  “Nilda Carlson says she is coming to help you as soon as she earns passage money. She is saving every penny. The boys want to come to Amerika to be lumberjacks. They are envying your boys.

  “Please write soon.

  “Your Mor”

  Signe folded the letter and put it back in its envelope to be read and reread later. She looked up, but Rune had fallen asleep, head back against the chair. She shook his shoulder and motioned toward the attic, where the boys had gone long before. “Come to bed. We will read the other tomorrow night.”

  Mor had said she would pray for them. One side of Signe’s mind said, Bosh, a waste of time. But the other side, the one that grew up praying and believing that God was indeed real and in His heaven, that He cared about His people here on earth and listened to their cries—that part fought to break free from the chest where she had banished it.

  Her mor still believed and prayed for her children. Would that Signe could sit at her mor’s knee and ask the questions that fought to regain a place in her mind and heart.

  Fighting to banish those thoughts, planted in her heart since she was at her mor’s breast, drained her strength. Just give up, whispered another, more tender voice. Let me help you. Signe dropped into the well of oblivion before she could answer.

  “Mor? Mor.”

  Someone poked her arm. She opened her eyes. Bjorn knelt beside her. “I went to the outhouse, and I could hear the outhouse door slam! I could hear it!”

  Signe sat bolt upright, and Rune turned toward them, sleepy.

  She gripped her son’s shoulders. “Can you hear my voice?”

  He frowned. “Almost.”

  She hugged him. He hopped up and returned to his pallet. Sleep returned and smothered her joy.

  Putting breakfast on the table, she sensed that Onkel Einar had not changed his mind or feelings about her. How an already silent man could be more so, she didn’t know, but this time his silence screamed his anger at her. When he finished, he pushed his chair back, barked, “You boys come,” and stomped out the door, letting the screen door bang behind him.

  Leif stared at her, his eyes round in horror.

  Sure enough, as if someone had flipped a switch, Gerd screamed, “Will you ever learn not to slam the screen door?”

  Knute stared at his far and started to push his chair back, stuffing the rest of his pancake in his mouth at the same time.

  “Sit and finish eating,” Rune said, looking at each of his sons.

  “Takk.” Signe’s one word referred to far more than the boys would understand. Rune was standing up for her. The song in her heart was enough to lighten the load of a morning that hung heavy with a portent of rain. They could use rain for the garden, but it would not be good for the hay.

  And Bjorn was recovering his hearing!

  “When will you start haying?” she asked Rune.

  “He said two more days, but we will see what today brings.”

  “Will
you go back in the woods if we have thunder and lightning?”

  “I am sure. That was a freak accident. Einar has cut and limbed many trees in spite of rainstorms. At least that is what he said.”

  Signe packed their dinner, wishing she had more to send out with them. She stopped Knute at the door. “Did you check your trapline?”

  He nodded. “Nothing. Tonight I will move it farther out.”

  Bjorn stood up. “A yearling buck comes in to graze east of the barn. Can we go hunting?”

  Signe jotted on the back of a torn envelope, “I will ask Tante,” and showed it to him.

  “Is our basket ready?” Knute asked. “Onkel has the team all hitched up.”

  Signe handed him the basket and the jug of water.

  “I wish Bjorn could go with the men,” he muttered.

  “I know you would rather stay here, but that is not possible right now. Just do your best. Does he yell at you?”

  Knute shrugged. “Nei, but I am not as good with an axe as Bjorn. I can drag branches just fine.” He leaned closer. “I miss Daisy and her babies, and I like to work in the garden.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I need you!” The call came from the bedroom, but at least it was one level down from a screech.

  Signe got Gerd settled in her chair and brought in her tray. “Would you not rather come to the table to eat?”

  Shaking her head, Gerd reached for her coffee cup.

  “I have a question for you. Does Onkel Einar ever go deer hunting?”

  Gerd looked up. “He used to, but now all he thinks about is cutting trees. Why does Rune not go?”

  Because he couldn’t see. Did she dare admit this weakness so soon into their new life? “He cannot see distance so much.”

  Gerd stared at her. “Is this new?”

  “No, it’s been with him a long time. A young buck grazes near the hayfield every morning and evening.”

  “Tell Einar tonight.”

  “Ah, he is not happy with me right now.”

  Gerd stared at her, eyes narrowing.

  I should not have mentioned that, Signe scolded herself. We need the meat.

  “Can you shoot a rifle?” Gerd asked.

  Signe shook her head. “Bjorn can, once he’s healed, and Knute could learn if Rune had time to teach him.”

  “I will tell Einar he needs to go hunting. Do you know how to smoke meat?”

  Signe nodded.

  “We have another broody hen,” Leif announced when he returned from finishing the chores. “That one who is molting?”

  “If you and Bjorn can catch her, we will dress her out and have chicken and dumplings for supper,” Signe told him.

  “We’ll catch her.” Leif looked a bit sad. “Poor Bjorn. He can’t even chop her head off.”

  “Never mind, I’ll handle that part.”

  Leif brightened. “But he just figured out a way to chop wood. Slow, but he gets it done. Come watch.”

  Signe stepped out on the back porch as Bjorn set a small spool up on the block, picked up the axe with his left hand, and, grasping the handle halfway up, raised it and slammed it down into the chunk of wood. It did not even split halfway, so he wiggled the axe free and slammed it down again.

  Signe ached for her son. What if this slight return of his hearing was all there would be? “Are there any splitting wedges?”

  “Maybe around the grinding wheel somewhere. I’ll go look. Oh, and I think some of the beans are ready. Enough for supper.” Leif ran off to the shed.

  “Takk,” Signe called after him. She returned to the kitchen to find the sourdough starter bubbling over the edge of the bowl. “Uff da!” And the dishes were not washed yet either. She started stirring in the flour and kneading the dough. This should have been done an hour ago.

  How many batches of bread had she kneaded in her lifetime? As a young child, a young woman, a young wife, a young mother. How time flew. And how she wished her mor was standing beside her, kneading dough right along with her.

  “Mor, we caught the hen.” Leif bounded into the kitchen but spun and caught the door before it slammed. He grinned at her. “Close.”

  She nodded and smiled back at him. “What is Bjorn doing?”

  “Holding the chicken.”

  “Put her under the box on the porch and start picking peas.”

  “Canning peas today?”

  “Ja, they are ready again.”

  He sighed, nodded, and closed the screen door carefully behind him.

  She set the dough on the warming shelf to rise, not that it really needed that extra heat today, and pumped water into the boiler to boil the jars in preparation for the peas. With the water heating, she looked in the woodbox. Half full. Good for a while. With more water heating to dunk the chicken in prior to plucking its feathers, she fetched the hen from under the box.

  She lopped off the chicken’s head and looked over the garden toward the dark clouds moving in from the west while the blood drained. After dunking the hen in the pail of hot water a few times, she was easily able to pull out all the feathers.

  A few minutes later, after gutting the naked chicken, she singed the hairs off over the open firebox and set the bird in a pan of cold water in the sink to cool.

  Instead of asking one of the boys, she headed for the garden to dig a couple of onions. Thunderheads were building in the west, and while the air hung heavy, a breeze tickled the escaped hairs around her face.

  “When is dinner, Mor?” asked Leif. “We’re hungry.”

  “You have not been eating peas?” The onions came easily from the ground. She brushed off the dirt and looked at her sons.

  “Well, some, but we’re still hungry.” Leif tossed another handful of pea pods in the basket. “We have one full basket and this one almost.”

  “Hurry to get done before it rains. I will pick the beans.”

  Signe clamped her jaw at the screech from the house. How to get that woman strong enough to help herself? Surely it was possible. Stomping did not help with Gerd, but it made Signe feel a bit better. She eased up her footfalls when she entered Gerd’s room. “I’m trying to get the beans picked before the rain comes.”

  “I fell asleep, and my coffee spilled. I need to use the pot.” Her eyes slitted. “Now.”

  New nightdress or let it dry? Signe picked up the empty coffee cup. “You can stand up.”

  Gerd sent her a look that shredded Signe’s determination. But instead of letting her feelings be known, she waited.

  “Help me up!” A queen could not be more imperious.

  Fight this out or get it over with so she could pick the beans? Thunder rumbled in the distance. It was coming closer. Expelling a sigh that said more than words, Signe took Gerd’s hands and pulled her upright with more force than necessary.

  Gerd swayed. “Careful!” She clamped her claw-like fingers around Signe’s hands.

  Turning her around, Signe set her on the pot and then fluffed the bed pillows. She stripped off Gerd’s nightdress and grabbed a clean one off the dresser.

  Gerd snarled, “Would not have happened if you had been here.”

  Signe slid the woman’s garment over her head and held the sleeves for her. “Help me here, please.”

  “Too tired.” She was white around the mouth. Signe helped her sit on the bed.

  “Do you want the sheet?”

  “Ja.” Gerd waited for her slave to flip the light covering into place. “Looks like rain, all right.”

  “Ja, it does.”

  Attacked by doubts and recriminations for her own behavior, Signe headed back to the garden. Yesterday she’d thought they were making progress, but today she wondered.

  “Get me another basket,” she told Leif as she made her way to the bean rows. She should have gotten one herself. So much for good intentions. The slow burn in her belly had flared into real flames that burned both her throat and her stomach. When she got back to the kitchen, she’d drink some buttermilk. That always he
lped.

  Getting Gerd to help herself might take a quart or two of buttermilk—daily.

  The rising breeze brought a chill with it. Once the rain hit, she would no longer be able to pick beans without causing the leaves to turn brown. But the black clouds held more than a sprinkle. Lightning forked to the west. The thunder answered, but slowly.

  “Mor, put the chickens in?”

  “Ja, we better.” She straightened. “Set your baskets on the porch first.” She broke off another handful of beans. Her bulging belly was beginning to make bending over more difficult, the baby pushing up into her rib cage and making her puff. She’d just have to make do with what she’d picked.

  Lightning and thunder, closer together. Would Einar stop or keep going? Was that thunder from the woods? No, a giant tree had just crashed to the ground. Einar would keep going. She watched her two boys shooing the chickens back to their house. The wind blew their feathers up along their backs. She’d better get the house windows closed, or she would be mopping floors. To the west, the falling rain made a silvery curtain from the clouds to the ground, drawing ever nearer.

  The curtains on the west side of the house were not fluttering but blowing straight out. She slammed the windows down. The attic. She hadn’t closed the two windows up there.

  In the parlor, she reached up to pull down the ladder to the attic. Once secure, she placed one foot on the bottom rung. The wind whistled through the attic. The house grew darker with every passing moment.

  Gripping the side rails, she heaved herself up to the second rung and planted both feet on it. The attic opening seemed farther away, not closer.

  “Mor!” Leif’s voice demanded her attention.

  “In the parlor.”

  Both boys stopped in the doorway. “What are you doing?” Leif asked.

  “Going up to close the windows.” She clung to the ladder and reminded herself to breathe.

  “We will do that.” Bjorn sounded just like his far. A boy stood on each side of the ladder, their eyes round. “Far said to watch out for you. Please come back down.”

  “I can go up faster,” Leif added, nodding as he talked. “Please, Mor.”

  The roar of the rain on the roof hit like a freight train.