Signe looked up, then nodded and stepped down, careful to do one rung at a time. Leif scurried up the ladder. She hurried to the kitchen to get something to mop up the water.
She heard a window slam shut. Thunder crashed right on the heels of the flash that lit the room. Another slam, and Leif grinned down at her. Bjorn climbed the first three rungs and handed up the rag she had fetched.
While the boys attended to the blown-in rain, Signe returned to the kitchen, pausing to check on Gerd. Sound asleep with all this noise, how can that be? Head wagging, she pulled the copper boiler off the heat so she could put the chicken on to stew. Rain sluiced down the windows, and gusts of wind almost shook the house. Surely Einar and Rune would come home early with wind and rain like this.
But they did not.
The storm dragged dusk in behind it as it moved on.
Signe watched out the window. Shouldn’t the men be back by now? Not that supper was ready, but dumplings did not take long. Between the rising bread fragrance and that of chicken stew, the kitchen smelled so good she could not keep from smiling. The jars of peas bubbling on the stove added another ingredient to her feeling of satisfaction.
Her grinning sons came in with Leif carefully keeping the screen door from banging. “We strained the milk. There is enough cream for butter again. Far and Onkel Einar are back.”
“We need more wood,” she told them, and they headed back outside. The bread had risen enough, and she slid the pans into the oven.
Dumplings finally rising in the stew, she flew around the kitchen, setting the table. With the table ready, she went outside to bring in an armload of wood. The boys had gone to the barn to do their chores. She should have insisted on wood first.
“What are you doing out here?” Rune asked as he leaned over to load his arms too.
“The boys ran off to the barn when they heard you drive in.”
“That is one determined man, that Einar. He absolutely refused to quit, no matter the rain and wind.”
“He did not learn a lesson from the lightning strike before?”
“Does not seem that way. I felt sorry for Knute, but we felled another tree and got most of the limbing done. He plans to take down another one first thing in the morning.” They walked into the house and dumped their armloads into the box. “I’ll go split more.”
When the men came in, Einar announced, “The wind and rain flattened the hayfield. Cutting that with the mower is going to be impossible.”
“So we’ll have to scythe it then?” Rune asked.
“Give it a couple of days to see if some stands back up, then you’ll have to do that.” Einar looked at Knute. “You know how to use a scythe?”
“Some.”
“Thing is almost as big as you are.”
Einar stomped through the kitchen to the parlor and pulled down the attic ladder. Signe heard thumping and rustling in the half of the attic she had not swept or dusted.
She checked on the bread, tapping gently on the loaves. Almost.
“Can we have some for supper?” asked Knute.
“If it’s done in time. The dumplings are about cooked.”
Leif inhaled. “Smells so good.”
Einar came back into the kitchen with a large, heavy rifle and a handful of shells. “Bjorn!” he roared.
Bjorn went to him. Signe rejoiced—Bjorn had heard him! The rejoicing ground to a halt. Einar was handing Bjorn the rifle and shells.
“Careful where you shoot, understand?”
“Ja!” Bjorn glowed. Lovingly, he ran his hand along the barrel. Clouds of dust fell to the floor.
“Come to dinner,” Signe announced.
Bjorn laid the gun aside and sat down.
What did Rune think of this? Signe looked at him. He was his usual stoic self, with no particular expression on his face. She served up the chicken and dumplings and checked the bread once more, thumping the loaves to make sure they were done. After tipping each loaf out of the pan, she spread butter on the tops with her fingertips.
Her little boy with a deer rifle. Her heart pounded. Bjorn did a man’s work in the woods, and now he had a man’s weapon. But he was fifteen.
She sat down at her place and filled her bowl with the stew. “Onkel Einar, are you sure he’s old enough for that?”
Einar scowled at her. “Boys eight years old go hunting around here.”
No more was said.
Later, when the others were asleep, replete with fresh bread and jam, Signe stood at the window and looked out at the moon and stars flitting in and out of the racing clouds. What time was it in Norway? Another wave of homesickness threatened to drown her. At home they would have stayed around the table and talked over the day. Her younger sister, Gretta, might tell a funny story. She had such a gift for turning daily events into funny stories. Far would bring out his carving or something to repair.
“I miss you all so,” she whispered to the evening breeze. “How can I be so lonesome when the boys are around me all day and the others in the evening? I always have more work I can do.” She rubbed her rounded belly and tipped her head from side to side. The longing felt like a ten-pound weight sitting on her chest.
Soon school would start. Could Leif and Knute even wear their same boots from last year? Tomorrow she would make butter, and the next day she would take eggs and butter to trade at the store. She would not ask Onkel Einar for money to clothe her children, that was for sure. She lay down on her pallet.
A gunshot! Signe sat straight up. Rune sat up beside her. Bjorn’s pallet was empty.
Another shot! The sky was gray in first light. Signe stumbled to her feet and ran into the kitchen barefoot.
Rune ran past her toward the barn. She wanted to go too, but she needed the outhouse first. She knew that was the way with pregnancy, but she regretted having to take the time.
Rune and Bjorn came toward the house. Einar stepped out on the porch. Rune and Bjorn were jubilant.
“He got it!” Rune exclaimed. “His first buck!”
“I didn’t quite kill it with the first shot,” Bjorn said, “so I had to shoot it again. And yes, I slit the throat to bleed it out.”
Einar jerked his head in what might have been a nod. He looked at Rune. “Get the wagon.”
Chapter
18
Signe was late getting up the morning after Bjorn shot his buck. Rune and Einar had gutted and hung the buck in the barn the day before, and the men and Knute went out as always to cut trees. At the end of the day, they had skinned the carcass and quartered it. It took a good while, and all were late going to bed.
Signe came out of the house with her trade goods, butter and eggs, and watched Knute finish hitching Rosie into the little coalbox cart. He had grown so much in the month since they arrived, in confidence as well as size.
She had pressed the butter into squares and wrapped them separately. Several dozen eggs, nestled into a large tin and padded with towels, would be her trade, hopefully for boots for Knute. Leif could wear Knute’s old ones.
Saying nothing, Einar handed her a list and walked off toward the barn.
“Bjorn,” she said, “take good care of Tante Gerd. You can hear her call, right?”
“The way she shrieks? It’s louder than the doors slamming.”
“I realize you think that, but you should not say it out loud.”
“Sorry, Mor.”
Einar returned with the buck hide rolled tightly under his arm. He stuffed it in the wagon box. “Get a good price for it, you hear?”
“I will try.” It was the most he’d said to her for a while. Signe felt like shaking him. How could he still be cross with her? She had heard about people holding a grudge, but this was going too far. What would he say when she insisted they build stairs up to the attic so she could take a baby up and down after it was born? If only they could have a home of their own. Someday, somehow. Surely they would not all live in this house forever. Not if more children were born to them.
She knew her smile had not left since they turned onto the lane. Perhaps Mrs. Benson might invite her to coffee again. She kept the horse to a trot so they would get home sooner.
Leif sat beside her, gripping the seat edge for dear life. “Just think, pretty soon Knute and me will be going to school every day.”
“You will have to read English, you know.”
He stared at her. “But I do not know how to read English.”
“You will learn quickly, I’m sure. You can talk English much better now, and you know the alphabet.”
“Mostly. I hope the teacher speaks Norwegian.” He slumped against the back of the seat. “Does Tante Gerd know how to read and write English?”
“I don’t know. We could ask her when she feels better.”
He sat up straight and pointed off to their left. “Look at the herd of cows over there.”
“A fine herd. I think Onkel Einar wants to have a herd of milk cows.”
“Why is he always so mean?”
Signe heaved a sigh. “I wish I knew. Perhaps he is happier out in the woods. I guess some people are just more pleasant than others.”
She stared longingly at the farm houses they passed. Why did no one ever come to welcome them? After all, neighbors in Norway did that. Perhaps she would ask Mrs. Benson. Perhaps if they joined the church, they would get to know some other people. Did the women get together for quilting? Mrs. Benson had given her the name of a midwife, but she had no idea how to find the woman or talk to her. She needed to learn how to sew on Gerd’s sewing machine to make diapers and clothes for the baby, as soon as the boys went to school and the canning was finished. Today she would buy some flannel for the diapers and begin to hem them by hand.
“There is someone else there.” Leif smiled up at her when they saw the store ahead. A wagon and team were waiting at the hitching rail along with a saddled horse.
Signe smiled back at him. “We will speak English.”
“Ja, I know.” Leif jumped to the ground as soon as she halted Rosie, and tied her to the rail, while Signe turned around and stepped down backwards. It might not look graceful this way, but it was safer. Leif opened the screen door to the store for her as a bell tinkled above them.
“Why, good morning, Mrs. Carlson, how wonderful to see you.” Mrs. Benson waved to her from behind the counter, where she was waiting on another woman. “Come and meet Mrs. Solum. She lives in the next lane beyond yours.”
Signe ignored the butterflies leaping in her middle and returned the smile. “Takk.”
Leif glanced up at her, eyebrows raised.
“Ja, thank you,” Signe corrected.
Mrs. Benson introduced them, then added, “Mrs. Carlson and her family came from Norway to help Mr. Strand.”
“I am glad to meet you,” Signe said carefully.
“Welcome to America. I hope you like living here.” Mrs. Solum turned back to Mrs. Benson. “Thank you. I hope you will have the corduroy in soon. I need to get to sewing for the girls. My land, they have outgrown nearly everything this summer.” She turned back to Signe. “Nice to meet you.”
She gathered up her parcels and headed out the door, leaving Signe wishing she had been friendlier and stayed a bit longer.
Mrs. Benson shifted into her funny-sounding Norwegian. “Now, Mrs. Carlson, how can I help you today?”
“I have a list. I brought butter and eggs to trade, if we can. I need to buy boots for one of my boys.” She pulled the paper from her bag. “Here is the size and the list.” She laid the other paper on the counter. “And I need to know what we do about school.”
“Let’s see. The boots are over there.” She leaned over the counter to address Leif. “You want to go tell the men in back what feeds you need?”
He grinned. “Ja. Can I pet the cat?”
“Of course, and her kittens are out and about now too.” She looked at Signe. “Might you be interested in a kitten? You can have your pick.”
“We have barn cats but no house cat. The mice seem to know this. Is the mother a good hunter?”
“She keeps the mice out of the store and the feedstore too, and that is a big job.”
Leif looked absolutely piteous, his eyes riveting hers. “Please, Mor, can we have one?”
“Are they old enough to leave the mother?”
“They are, but if you leave it here for a few weeks, she will have taught them how to hunt. The boys could bring it home with them after they start school.”
The thought of having a growing cat in the house made Signe smile. But what about Einar and Gerd? After all, it was their house.
Leif could hardly stand still. “You would not have mice in the house again, like we did.” He looked at Mrs. Benson. “You should have seen the mouse nest we found in the kitchen. Mor didn’t think we would ever get them all.”
Signe laid a hand on his shoulder. “You go see about the feed.”
“But can I choose one?”
“Usually a female is a better mouser, isn’t it?”
“We have found that to be true. The yellow tabby and the gray one are both girls. You go through this way.” She pointed to a doorway closed off by a curtain.
Flashing her a grin, Leif skipped out the door.
Mrs. Benson smiled at Signe. “He is a fine young man.”
“Takk. Tusen takk. I have some questions. How do I find the midwife? I’ve not talked to her yet.”
“Ah. She lives . . .” Mrs. Benson jotted a note to herself on a small pad by the register. “I will have her come out and talk to you next time she comes in. Easier to find the Strand farm than for you to find her little house. I know she will want to meet with you in those final months.”
Signe smiled her gratitude. One concern off her mind. “I need flannel for diapers and other baby things, and yarn for soakers.”
Mrs. Benson walked to the dry goods in the corner. “I just got a shipment in. Some of this print flannel for gowns might be nice, and this heavier outing flannel for blankets.”
Signe nodded and decided to be honest. “Ja, but I cannot afford all that right now.”
“Surely you can put these on Mr. Strand’s account.”
Signe shook her head. “I would much rather not.”
Mrs. Benson paused and said softly, “I understand. In that case, we will start an account for you, and you send me butter and eggs when you can. We’ll let the boys do the carrying on their way to school.”
“Mrs. Benson, could you please answer a question for me?”
“I’ll try.”
“Why has no one come by to welcome us? In Norway, we always did that.”
Mrs. Benson smoothed her hand down the bolt of flannel. After a sigh, she looked at Signe. “I’m not sure how to . . . Uh, no one goes there because the Strands do not like visitors. At all. They ordered several neighbors off their land, drove them off, and said they were not to come back.” She flinched as she spoke. “I’m sorry. They have a very bad reputation here.”
Signe sucked in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. No wonder no one came to help Gerd when she fell sick. Surely there must be something she could do—but what?
Chapter
19
Signe was sweeping off the back steps as Einar and Bjorn dragged two great limbs into the yard. She announced, “Supper is ready.”
Bjorn jogged right into the house. “Those hickory limbs are to smoke the venison. Onkel Einar knew exactly where a hickory tree was.”
“That is going to be mighty tasty.” Signe followed Einar into the house.
Once they were seated at the table and the food was dished up,
Leif asked, “Mor, what grade will I be in?”
Signe smiled at her youngest. “I’m not sure. I was not able to talk with your teacher. Mrs. Benson said—”
“There will be no school. You have work to do here.” Einar continued shoveling in his food.
Eyes wide, Leif looked from the stern man to Signe. “But—”
“No buts. You heard me.”
Signe looked at Rune, who shrugged and kept eating.
She felt anger boiling up, but she kept her voice even. “Our agreement was that the boys would go to school. Knute and Leif are too young to quit school. Bjorn is old enough to stay here and work.”
“If he ever gets that cast off. Can’t even wield an axe yet.”
“True, but he still managed to bring down a deer so we have meat to eat.” Rune spoke as if there were no tension at the table.
Signe stilled the words that threatened to erupt, about where and how Bjorn broke his arm, but instead she glared at her husband. My boys will go to school. Her chin rose to a dangerous angle. She said softly, “We will discuss this later.”
“There is no discussion. I paid your fare for you all to work here.” Einar shoved his chair back. “I’ll be in the machine shed.” He stared at Rune. “I’ll light the lantern so we can get all the tools sharpened tonight.”
Rune nodded. “I’ll be out shortly.”
Einar stomped out and let the screen door slam behind him.
Signe waited for Rune to say something, but he calmly finished his supper. He looked at the boys. “Do you have more chores to do?”
All three shook their heads.
“Then finish eating. Bjorn, you come with me.” He looked at Signe. “Is there more for the boys to do in the garden?”
She nodded. “And Knute needs to run his trapline.”
“Then we will all finish eating.” The look he gave her let her know they would discuss the school issue later. He was not ignoring the situation.
She collapsed against the back of her chair. “Would you like more coffee?”
“I would.”
Bjorn heaved a sigh. “I want to be back out in the woods, Mor.” He raised his now filthy cast. “When can I get this off?”
The Promise of Dawn Page 17