Fury painted itself over Einar’s face.
Rather than running, as her body urged, Signe pointed to the paper covered with her calculations. “On average, we each work a twelve-hour day. More in the summer, less in the winter. Average. Take an hour off for meals, and we each work eleven hours. That is a full day’s work in service to you, boys as well as grown-ups. And we all work seven days. Five laborers times seven days is thirty-five workdays per week. I’ve accounted for the time the younger boys have spent in school as well.
“This”—she circled a number—“is a fair day’s wage. I asked Mrs. Benson what was usual around here. Multiplying thirty-five by that number gives this figure. This next number is the number of weeks we’ve worked for you. Multiplying this and this”—she pointed with the pencil—“gives the total value to you of our labor since we came. You can see that this value is over three times the cost to you of our passage.”
Einar sputtered, “Yes, but . . . I feed you! And house you! You didn’t add that in.”
“That is this sum down here. You see I subtracted it from the value of our labor, even though we raised or hunted the food ourselves—most of it. You did not.”
“But Bjorn didn’t work all that time his arm was in the cast! You have to subtract that.”
“He worked just as hard, but it was around the farm here and not in the woods. His labor counts.” Signe stood up and looked at Bjorn. “You see, son, that you must have skill with arithmetic as well as skill with an axe. If you don’t, others will take unfair advantage of you.”
Einar leapt to his feet. “You’re accusing me of cheating you?”
She kept her voice steady; inside she was nearly paralyzed with fear. “We have more than fulfilled the terms of our contract, Einar.”
“That does it! I’m going to the sheriff right now. He’ll take care of your insolence!”
“If you force us to leave, then who will take care of Gerd? The farm chores? The garden? And the cooking and canning? And who will help you in the woods? I doubt any judge, seeing these figures, will side with you in this argument.”
“You can’t do this! You—”
“We can, but we will not. We will not abandon you.” She turned and looked toward the bedroom, where Gerd had chosen to go to bed early. “We will continue to work with you in the woods, take care of the house, help Gerd. All that we are already doing. You need us desperately. But we no longer need you. And so, Einar, I tell you this. We will remain here, and our boys will continue to go to school, all three of them. Bjorn starts tomorrow.”
“No!” Einar roared. “I need him!”
“Not as much as he needs school. When it’s light enough, he can help you after school. But he will go. He’ll learn English. He’ll learn everything an educated man must know.”
“But, Mor, I don’t want to go back to school.” Bjorn shook his head and kept on shaking it. “I want to work in the woods.”
“Could you have done all that arithmetic?”
“I think so. You could teach me in the evenings during the winter. I can study anything else I need too. And I will, I promise.”
“And speaking English?”
He stared at Einar, who was glaring at Signe with a fury that rocked the room.
Einar wheeled toward Rune. “Don’t just sit there! Put this—this woman in her place!” Woman sounded like an expletive.
Rune’s voice purred, low and even. “No, I will not put her in her place. She tells the truth. We have completed our obligation.” He tapped the paper. “The figures don’t lie. She is also correct that from now on, we will work for you as we have been, but it will be as blood relatives helping relatives who desperately need us. You know what it was like before we came, trying to log single-handed and take care of Gerd. We will not abandon you. But my boys, at least two of them, will go to school. We will talk about Bjorn later.”
Inside, Signe’s heart rejoiced. Rune stood with her! Well, mostly. They would have to talk about Bjorn’s desire later.
She watched Einar nail Rune with the same fury he threw at her, then stomp out of the room, slamming both the wooden door and the screen door on his way out.
Everyone else sat as if frozen.
“Signe! Signe!” Gerd called from her bed.
“Excuse me.” Signe hurried to her, hoping this was not something grave, like a bout of fever or diarrhea.
Gerd looked terrified.
“What is it?” Signe paused at her bedside.
“Don’t leave me, Signe! Please don’t leave me. I’ll die if you leave me!”
The battle was won! Signe had won! She smiled and clasped her tante’s cold hands in hers. “I will never leave you, Gerd. You are safe.” And then she said something she had not even realized until the words came out of her mouth. “I love you, Tante Gerd.”
Gerd slowly moved her head from side to side, still clutching Signe’s hand. “Nei, you cannot, not the way I—we have treated you. Love is impossible.”
“Love is never impossible. You sleep now, and you will feel better in the morning. I will be here.” As long as God wills, she finished in her mind.
“Einar—he . . . he . . .” Gerd heaved a sigh.
Signe watched the older woman carefully. Was she strong enough to endure more? She had already come a long way.
“Tomorrow we will sew diapers.” Gerd collapsed back against the pillows, her gaze never leaving Signe’s face, as if searching for any hesitation.
“Ja.”
Back in the kitchen, Signe saw that Rune and Bjorn had gone outside. She could hear them sawing, working by the light of the moon. Knute and Leif were clearing the table as quietly as they could.
“Is she all right?” Leif whispered.
Signe nodded. “She will be, just like we all will. I made pudding for dessert. We can have it now.”
“I should go split wood,” Knute answered. “Can we eat it later?”
“Ja, we can. Let us hurry with the dishes, Leif.”
“What will Onkel Einar do?” he asked, staring up at her, his blue eyes troubled.
“I do not know. But I know we will keep on doing what we always do and wait to see.” She paused. “We must trust that God will take care of this—this mess.” She could not come up with a better word.
“Will we ever go to church again?”
His question caught her by surprise. She looked into his eyes. “Ja. We will. We will go to church again. But in the meantime, we will read God’s Word here, in the evenings.”
“But—but what if it makes Onkel Einar mad again?”
Oh, child, such hard questions. Lord, what do I say? She handed him a dish to dry. “Then I guess he will just have to be mad.”
Leif stared at his hands. “I don’t like when he yells, Mor. He scares me.”
She wanted to say, “Me too,” but instead she put her arms around her son. “Things will get better.” Please, Lord, let that be true. “Let us hurry and finish the dishes, and we will make some whipped cream to go with the pudding.”
“Can Tante Gerd have some too?”
“Ja, for sure.”
Einar had not come back into the house yet when they gathered at the table, but Gerd decided to join them. She sat next to Leif and ate her pudding along with the others.
“I have not had pudding since we moved here from Norway,” she said.
Knute stared at her. “When did you come?”
“Fifteen years ago. We were so young, but strong.”
Later, Rune and Signe skipped their nightly coffee at the table and crawled onto their pallet. Einar had still not come back to the house, although they could see a light in the machine shed. They clasped hands, and Rune raised them to kiss the back of her fingers.
“I am glad that is over.”
“I hope it is,” she answered. What if . . . ?
Sleep banished that thought.
In the morning, Einar showed up at the table as usual. While he wore a scowl fit to scare demons,
he did not say a word until he finished eating and pushed back his chair. “Let’s go.”
Rune nodded. “When will we cut the hogs for brining?”
“Tonight.” Out the door he went.
Rune went back to eating his breakfast, as did the others.
“Will we have biscuits in our dinner pails?” Knute asked before stuffing the last of his in his mouth.
“I made you sandwiches, but I will add a biscuit with jam.”
He grinned at her. “And an apple?”
Signe finished packing the basket for the men and poured coffee in the jars. “Apples?” she asked Rune.
“Ja, that will be good.” He patted her shoulder as he went out the door.
I must get the winter things out of the trunk upstairs, Signe reminded herself as she brought a tray in to Gerd, who was dressed and sitting by the window with a shawl over her shoulders, knitting away.
“Did you look in the box of baby things Mrs. Benson gave you?” Gerd asked.
Signe could feel her mouth drop open. Had she not had the tray in her hands she would have put her hands up to her cheeks. “Uff da. Nei, I forgot all about it.”
“Where is the box?”
“Out on the porch, I suppose. The boys unloaded the wagon when they came home from school that day.”
“I thought we better look in it before we sew more than diapers.”
Signe set down the tray. “Here, and I brought my coffee in too. However, it would be warmer in the kitchen.”
“True.” Setting her knitting aside, Gerd used the arms of the chair to help her stand. “You better take the tray first. I need you to walk by me.”
Signe did as ordered, but with a small smile. When she had Gerd settled at the table, she fetched the box from the porch and set it on the chair beside her. Piece by piece, she put the gowns, shirts, and even a baby-sized quilt on the table. At the bottom was a tiny sweater with matching booties. “My land, and no diapers or soakers, the only things we already have.”
Gerd studied the booties. “I will make more of these. And I have a larger sweater half done.” She turned and dug into her oatmeal. “And you made biscuits. Do you ever sleep?”
“Ja, I did. Until she decided to get moving.” As always when talking of the baby, Signe laid her hand on the mound of her stomach.
“Have you thought of names?”
She shook her head. “Not much.” How she wanted to ask about Einar, but she refrained—barely. The set of his jaw told her he was still angry, but he’d said nothing about the arithmetic lesson, as she had taken to referring to it in her mind.
“More coffee?” Gerd tapped her cup.
“I saved his pudding.”
“He don’t deserve pudding.”
Signe stared at her, again her mouth agape. Gerd shrugged. After refilling the coffee cups and the stove, Signe sat down again, only to get up and stir the lard rendering in the oven. Once enough had melted in the flat pans, she poured the lard into a crock that stood waiting on the counter.
“Did you ever think of selling butchered hogs?” she asked. “Mrs. Benson was pleased that I took her a small crock of lard. She asked about buying pork.”
“We never had any to sell before. We almost didn’t get the sow, but I insisted that I would take care of her. Same with the cow. All he thinks about is timber. He said he’ll trade for a boar now that we have the gilts.”
“You took care of the pigs and cow?” Signe closed the oven door.
“Chickens too. Until I could not walk that far. But we had to have food to eat, so he kept them.” She placed the baby things back in the box. “I should have had you get more yarn.”
“I got all she had. I want to knit scarves for the men and boys for Christmas. I will pay for the yarn.”
“You will not. Nor any clothes nor boots.”
Signe shrugged. “Einar said to put the supplies on his account, but these are not really supplies for everyone. I trade eggs and butter for what I can.”
Pushing herself to her feet, she cleared the table again and hung the dish towel on the rod behind the stove.
“If you have time now,” Gerd said, “I will teach you how to use the sewing machine.”
“Will Einar take care of smoking the hogs?” Signe looked at the jars of chopped pork she had canned. Since it wasn’t cold enough to freeze, the remainder would have to be smoked. Without thinking about it, she used both hands to rub her lower back.
Gerd shrugged. “He will expect you to do the smoking.”
“But I have not done that before.”
“Has Rune?”
“Ja, I think so.”
“Then he will have to take care of it. Come sit with me at the machine so there will be diapers for this baby.”
For the next hour, Gerd showed Signe how to thread the machine, work the treadle, and feed the material under the foot. Getting the rhythm of the treadle made Signe groan. “I do not—my feet—this looks so simple.”
“It is. Remember, push with your toes and rock back with your heels. Keep the beat, like dancing. Again. Push, rock, push, rock. Better—that is right. Good, now you will thread the needle and sew on this scrap.”
She rethreaded the needle, lowered the foot and started the treadle again. The stitches walked across the fabric and she let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “I did it.”
Gerd took over and showed her how to fold the hem in place and stitch it down.
When Signe returned from a rush trip to the outhouse, Gerd had the machine rocking and one side of the flannel already hemmed. By dinner time, Gerd had hemmed six diapers, all folded and stacked on the table. She had a system. Hem one side, back stitch, pull on the thread, and set another square in place to start again. She set Signe to snipping the threads of the diaper train, then she would hem another side, and the trains continued.
“How did you ever figure out something like this?” Signe asked, admiration shading her voice and widening her eyes. What other wisdom lived in the brain of this woman who barely even talked when Signe took over her care?
Gerd shrugged. “Made sense, is all. Dish towels, anything you need a lot of.”
After they finished their soup and biscuits, Signe helped a weary Gerd back to bed.
“Takk, tusen takk.” Signe adjusted a pillow.
“You are welcome.” Gerd nodded. “There is a burlap sack in the attic, in the corner.”
“Ja, I saw it. I don’t know what’s in it.”
“Heavy outing flannel. I was going to make Einar a shirt someday, but we will make blankets for the baby. Bring it down.”
“Ja, I will.” Signe started to back up quietly.
Gerd opened her eyes again. “Could you please make corn bread with cracklings in it for supper?”
“Ja, I will do that.”
It was the first time Gerd had ever asked for something special. Might she indeed become a friend, someone to talk with? Like real family. Might they become a family? Probably not like her family in Norway, but at least talking and doing things together. Signe sniffed back her liquid joy and drained the lard pan again, this time keeping out enough cracklings to make the corn bread.
Now to get the sack of outing flannel. Going up the ladder left her huffing and puffing as she lifted her bulk up each rung. Once through the large opening, she clung to the ladder posts and stepped carefully onto the attic floor. Dust motes danced in the sunlight shining through the little window at the far end, showing a layer on the floor again. She should have brought up the broom and mop. The boys’ pallets lay over by the window, where they had moved them to get some breeze during the heat. They needed hay-filled ticking to help keep them warm now that winter was coming. A grate cut into the floor above the kitchen would be best, but at least the metal chimney would help warm the room during the winter.
She found three burlap bags in the corner. One was dark cotton duck, probably for making trousers for Einar. The second one she opened was the flannel. It sm
elled musty. No matter. She’d wash and air it before they sewed it.
She returned to the ladder and threw the bundle down ahead of her. How much easier it would be had Einar been willing to build a stairway. Sometimes her resentment burst into a flame at the way he acted. But as her mor had always said, a soft answer turned away wrath. Signe would add “sometimes” to that.
Step by step, she cautiously climbed back down the ladder. Nearly down, she glanced to the side to see where the burlap bundle had gone, and her foot slipped off a rung. The floor came up to meet her. The impact cut off her scream.
Chapter
27
Signe clutched her belly with both hands. Pain, pain. Had she broken anything?
How could she get up? Her head, she’d hit her head on something. The floor? A knife stabbed her in the back, and pain tore around her middle. Lord, please, my baby. Take care of the baby. More pain, enough to cause her gaze to dim. Someone was sobbing. It had to be her.
A gush of heat poured from her. Water, blood? Lord, help me!
But there was no one to help. She had to get up, get off the floor. Could she crawl to her pallet? When she tried to roll over, the pain blinded her again.
Her vision dimmed and darkened. Give in to the darkness, rest. She needed rest.
Roll on your side. I—I cannot. What could she grab to help her turn? Lord, I cannot.
“Signe!”
She heard the voice. Mor. Help me! The darkness sucked at her, ravenous, like Jonah’s whale.
“Signe! I’m coming.”
Who? Who was coming? She tried inhaling a deep breath, but that too only caused more pain. Too early. If the baby was coming, how would she live? Too small. More hot liquid flowed out of her.
“Signe, oh my—”
Signe forced her eyes to open. “Gerd?”
“What happened?”
“The ladder. I—I slipped.”
“What were you doing on the ladder? Oh, never mind, I remember. Oh, Signe, there is blood. We have to get you to the bed.”
The Promise of Dawn Page 24