The Promise of Dawn

by Lauraine Snelling

  Bjorn and Rune came inside with tools and a stepladder. Rune mounted the drill bit into the brace. “Bjorn, go up into the attic. I’m going to drill a hole straight up. Then you will tie this string to the bit and the other end of the string to a pencil and use it to trace a perfect circle on the attic floor. Like this, see?”

  “I see!” Bjorn pulled the pencil out of Signe’s hand. “May I borrow this? Takk.” He jogged toward the new stairs in the parlor.

  “Did you get the stove set up?” Gerd asked.

  “Ja. We vented it out the window with a baffle and wired the flue to stay in place. If it does not blow down in this wind, it will never blow down.”

  Signe copied onto clean paper the figures that stayed the same and figured out how much their labor was worth since they’d arrived. It was now five times what Einar had paid! She put it aside and gave Kirstin her midmorning meal.

  At noon Gerd announced, “Time for dinner. Slabs of ham on fresh bread?”

  “Perfect. We can eat as soon as Rune and Bjorn come back from the barn.” Signe heard sleigh bells jingle out front. “Uh-oh.”

  Gerd stood up. “That is either Mrs. Benson or the sheriff.”

  Someone pounded on the front door.

  “Mrs. Benson does not knock so loudly.” Signe made her way carefully to the door and swung it open. The wind nearly whipped it out of her hands and sent her sprawling. A large man grabbed her arm and steadied her, just in time.

  “I’m Sheriff Daniel Gruber,” he said. “You are Mrs. Carlson?”

  “I am.” Signe had better stick to English here. She got her feet back under her and waved a hand toward Gerd, who stood in the kitchen doorway, cradling Kirstin in her arm. “Mrs. Strand.”

  Gerd called in English, “Do come in, and welcome.”

  “Thank you. This is Officer McGuthrie. I’m sure you two are aware that I am . . .” Signe could only understand a few of the words.

  Gerd gestured. “Yes. Please join us in the kitchen. It is warmer here.”

  The two men followed Signe into the kitchen. Her English was so woefully deficient! How would she ever know what was going on?

  Triumphantly, almost grinning, Einar stomped in the back door, his boots shedding clods of snow. Rune and Bjorn entered behind him. “These are the other Carlsons. The two smaller boys are in school,” Einar explained.

  Signe asked Gerd in Norwegian, “What is English for bryte?”

  “Violated.”

  “Thank you. Sheriff, I think Mr. Strand says we violated our agreement. Broke the law.”

  “That is correct.”

  Gerd frowned at Einar. “Please take the men’s coats and hang them up. Try to be civilized.”

  As the officers removed their coats, Signe laid her papers in front of the sheriff. “This is the agreement. And this paper shows how much we worked. The family worked.”

  Einar lost his smug smile. “Wait! You can’t believe that! She made up the figures.”

  “Mr. Strand, I am doing the investigation.”

  “Would you two like coffee? We have fresh bread and jam.” At least Signe knew those words.

  Officer McGuthrie smiled, and Gerd translated his reply. “Yes, ma’am. Gotta keep the furnace stoked in this weather.”

  The sheriff was reading the letter of agreement, so Signe set out cups and jam. Bjorn was already slicing the bread into generous slabs. Rune poured the coffee.

  The sheriff put down the letter and picked up Signe’s sheet of calculations. He studied it for a long time, so Signe did not try to explain it. She waited.

  Einar warned in English, “Don’t trust those figures.” At least, that was what Signe thought he said.

  The sheriff asked Gerd several questions in rapid-fire English, and she responded. Signe could not keep up. He spoke tersely to Officer McGuthrie, and the young man unfolded a map of some sort. They began to talk to Einar about it. Einar might have walked into the kitchen looking smug, but now he looked worried or frightened.

  Then the sheriff sat back and looked at Rune. Gerd translated as he went, so that Rune and Signe would not miss anything. “Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, Mr. Strand wanted me to lock you up and deport you because you would not obey him. In fact, he mentioned a hole in his ceiling, in his personal property.” He pointed to the new vent. “Did you cut that?”

  Rune nodded. “Ja, I cut it. To get heat into the attic where the boys sleep.” Bjorn stood wide-eyed.

  The sheriff nodded and just sat there for a few moments, obviously thinking. “What you may not know, Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, is that Mr. Strand got into some legal trouble years ago, in the matter of his purchase of this land.” The sheriff waved Signe’s piece of paper. “I doubt, Mr. Strand, that you want to bring that old business up again, and that is what may happen. What I see here, Mr. Strand, is de facto slavery, and that is an offense that could land you in jail.”

  “Wait.” Gerd raised a hand. “What is de facto? I don’t know that word.”

  She translated his response. “In this case, it means that the action taken is not called slavery—not labeled such—but it is indeed slavery all the same. Mr. Strand, you do not want to go to jail, I’m sure. Do you think it is time—past time—to give the Carlsons the land you promised them?”

  Einar sputtered and squirmed. “Ja, I suppose so.”

  “Good!” The sheriff picked up Signe’s pencil and drew some lines on the map. “Perhaps this parcel right here.”

  Einar bellowed, “But that’s cleared land! That’s good farmland. And that part there—the timber has not been harvested yet from that area.”

  “So you were intending to eventually give the blood relatives who have worked for you so faithfully for nearly six months and produced for you a profit of over five times the cost of their passage some uncleared stump fields. I see.”

  “Well, uh, maybe there would be some stumps on some of it, but—”

  “Mr. Strand, shall we look more closely at the ownership of all this property?”

  Einar scowled as blackly as Signe had ever seen him scowl. “Nei. I will give him that parcel.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I will expect you, Mr. Strand, and you, Mr. Carlson, to appear at the courthouse on Monday morning next, to complete the transfer of title. The judge will be waiting. And now, Mrs. Carlson, might I have a slice of that excellent bread before we leave?”

  Chapter

  34

  If Rune were the sort of man who sang when he was happy, he would be warbling like a thrush. He finished his breakfast, shrugged into his coat, and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

  “You start a fire out there and keep it burning, you hear?” Gerd told him. “Don’t want any frostbitten hands or toes. Keep your face covered too.”

  Signe finished her coffee. “How he thinks he’s going to pull that saw with one hand is beyond me.”

  “He thinks he will use both,” Rune said.

  “You remind him. If he pulls out the stitches, he will have to go see the doctor, because I cannot sew that up again. He could lose his hand if infection sets in.”

  “I will remind him, whatever good it will do.” Rune kissed her forehead, scooped up the dinner basket, and went outside. A blast of frigid air hit him.

  With no crust yet on the new snow, the sledge broke through instead of running on top of it. They were forced to break trail for the horses, who were dripping with sweat by the time they got into the woods, where the snow was not as deep or drifted.

  “Throw blankets over them and in a while, give them some extra oats.” Einar carefully lifted the axes out of the wagon bed. “You bring that saw. Bjorn, finish limbing that last tree. Stay on the path.”

  Rune lifted out the saw. The sun glinting off the snow made his eyes water, which froze his eyelashes. He pulled his hat down tighter both to warm him and shade his eyes. It didn’t work well; he could still barely see.

  Ahead of them, Einar tripped on a branch under the snow and went sprawling, slamming his right hand
into the ground. His roar was followed by a string of expletives that could have melted a trail all the way to the house. He struggled to get to his feet and fell onto his hand again.

  The stupid, stubborn fool. Rune dropped the saw and used the trail Einar had broken to get to him. “I will help you up.”

  “You will not. Back off. Leave!” Einar waved him away, his good arm swinging wildly and barely missing Rune’s jaw.

  Rune almost landed in the snow, dodging Einar’s flailing hand. He sucked in the bitter cold air, taking a moment to adjust the scarf across his lower face. Lord, help me. Help him. What he really wanted to do was knock the fool out and drag him back to the wagon, hopefully knocking some sense into him at the same time.

  Einar strangled the axe handle with his left hand, and on the second attempt, finally inched himself to his feet. Like a wounded bear, he swung around as if searching for his attacker.

  “We’re trying to help you!” Rune yelled at him. Tying him up and throwing him in the back of the wagon was looking better by the moment. He glanced over his shoulder to see Bjorn starting toward them. “Stay back,” he told his son, who obeyed. At least he was acting wisely.

  “I don’t need yours or anyone else’s help!” Einar waved his arm again. “Get out of here! You’re all useless anyway.” Sucking in a freezing breath made him cough and choke. When he caught his breath, he muttered, “I don’t know why I ever brought you here. Go on, go! I don’t need you!”

  Rune watched him stagger back with the force of his rage. He heaved a sigh, then turned and walked toward the wagon. “Come on, Bjorn. You heard the man. We’re just following orders.”

  “But he could freeze to death out here.”

  “Ja, he could. That’s up to him now.” Rune threw the saw in the back of the wagon. “Your axe too.”

  Bjorn shook his head, turning back to look at Einar again. “But Far . . .”

  “He said leave once too often.” Rune strode back up the track through the snow. “Bjorn!”

  “Coming.”

  Together they trudged toward the homestead. Anger still sizzled and snapped in Rune’s gut. He’s like a wounded bear. You shouldn’t leave him alone out here. I should not have lost my temper like that. He has to learn he cannot treat people like this. But he isn’t thinking clearly. What if he hurts himself worse? That is his problem. He told us to leave, and we are. The thoughts bombarded him like a hailstorm. But like a hailstorm, it blew over as they slogged back through the snow. Hot under the collar would have applied to him, but he knew better than to answer wrath with wrath. If that fool man dies out here, it will be my fault. How will I live with that? He stared toward the woods. Go back and get yelled at again, or on to the house? Perhaps this would give Einar’s temper time to cool off. The cold should be good for something.

  They had walked only a short distance when one of the horses nickered.

  Bjorn stopped. “What about the horses?”

  “They’re blanketed. They’ll be okay for a time.” Rune paused to catch his breath and stared heavenward before continuing onward.

  They reached the barn, and Bjorn asked, “What are we going to do now?”

  “We’re going to cut up the remainder of that tree, split and stack it so Gerd has plenty of firewood. We’ll have dinner, and then if Einar has not come back, I will go looking for him. You can help Gerd.”

  “I would rather come with you. If he’s hurt, you’ll need two more strong arms.”

  “So be it.”

  “Will we really leave here?”

  Rune heaved a sigh, his breath puffing white through his scarf. “I want to, but . . .” He shook his head. “I gave my word to stay. I try to live up to that.”

  “Tante Gerd does not want us to go.”

  “I know, and really, I don’t either.”

  “He yells a lot, but he has never hit any of us.”

  “True.” But he barely missed me out there. And it wasn’t on purpose.

  He thought of how Knute and Leif were so frightened of Einar. Even Signe was fearful, although she tried not to let it show. What could he do to make it better for all of them? Move his family out? Bjorn did not want to leave. Neither did Signe. And he knew Einar did not really want them to go either. The bear with the wounded paw tromped through his mind again.

  He had two choices: go or stay.

  If he chose to go—where to?

  However, if he chose to stay—what needed to change? Or did they just go on as if nothing had happened? That was usually what Einar did the next morning. Lord God, I know you have a plan, but you need to let me know what it is. In spite of the effort of walking home, the cold was seeping deep into his bones.

  “Let’s go cut wood.”

  “What happened out there?” Gerd asked when he and Bjorn both carried armloads of wood inside and dumped them in the woodbox. “Soup will be ready soon.”

  “I will tell you over dinner.”

  And so he did, Signe at the table with them as they ate their soup and the bits of raised dough Gerd had fried.

  Gerd frowned. “And he has still not come back to the barn?”

  Rune and Bjorn both shook their heads.

  “Leaving the fool out there is tempting, I know, but . . .”

  “But we will go out after dinner to check on him.”

  “He could be lying in a snowbank.”

  “More likely he is trying to cut limbs one-handed.”

  Bjorn shook his head. “I’ve done that. Hard enough to split wood that way, let alone fight the snow to cut off limbs.”

  “Ja, you know, eh?” Gerd nodded. She looked from Signe to Rune. “I want you to know that I do not want you to go, not now, not any time. I do believe when Einar gets his wits about him again, he does not want you to go either. He has always had a temper but has never hit anyone that I know of.”

  She started to stand to get the coffeepot, but Rune beat her to it.

  “Takk.”

  “I think we should bake cookies this afternoon,” Signe said, with a slow nod. “And maybe bake a custard. We need to use some of the eggs. That does sound good.”

  Rune laid his hand on her shoulder as he refilled their coffee cups and squeezed gently. He set the coffeepot back on the stove. Looking around the room, he nodded. This place felt more and more like a home—their home.

  When he and Bjorn shrugged into their coats and headed out to the woods again, they found the team and sledge by the barn, but no Einar. They searched the barn, called his name. No Einar.

  “Go up to the house and get some quilts,” Rune told Bjorn. “Ask Gerd for strong coffee and to put on a boiler of water. Hurry!”

  He took the blankets off the horses and folded them into the wagon bed. Turning the team and sledge, he waited for Bjorn to toss the quilts in the back and climb up on the seat with him. All the while, Dear God, let him live screamed through Rune’s mind.

  They found Einar facedown in the snow in the runner tracks, heading toward the homestead. Rune swung the team out to park the sledge right beside him. He and Bjorn leaped out and rolled the fallen man on his back.

  “Einar, Einar!” Rune shook him. “Come on, man, open your eyes.” He turned to Bjorn. “Grab one of the horse blankets.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Nei. See, he’s breathing. Let’s get him up in the wagon.” He shook Einar again. “Wake up so we can get you home.”

  Slowly Einar’s eyes blinked half open. “T-tired.”

  They rolled him onto a blanket, dragged him to the tailgate, and each took two corners. They heaved and got his upper body up onto the wagon bed. “You climb in and pull.” Huffing, they dragged Einar’s inert body all the way into the wagon bed and wrapped him in quilts.

  Kneeling beside him, Rune uncorked the quart jug of coffee. “Einar, hear me. I am going to lift you and pour some of this into your mouth. Drink it to help warm you. Can you hear me?”

  Einar nodded, then managed to swallow once, twice.

&nb
sp; When they pulled the sledge to a stop by the back door, Knute and Leif were just arriving home from school. They leaped off the horse.

  “What happened?”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Nei, you’re just in time to help us carry him into the house.” Between the four of them, they heaved and dragged the big man inside, where Gerd had laid a pallet by the kitchen stove.

  “Put him there.”

  Rune knelt and pulled off Einar’s boots and began rubbing his feet while Bjorn helped Gerd rewrap the quilts around him.

  “Einar, can you hear me?” Rune asked.

  A slight nod was a better response than nothing.

  “Good.” Please, Father, save this man. Restore him to health both in his body and his mind. Rune sucked in a deep breath. The fact that he was alive was a miracle by itself. Thank you he did not die out there. I should have gone back earlier. Forgive me, please, and help me to care for him. Help us all.

  Slowly they warmed him up, using the hot rocks they had for warming the beds at night. Gerd checked his fingers and toes for frostbite, but only his nose and cheeks showed the white spots of being frozen.

  “Is he sleeping or unconscious?” Signe asked.

  Gerd shook her head. “Stubborn fool. Einar Strand . . . you—you . . .”

  Rune caught the agony in her voice and on her face. “He’s going to be all right.” How he knew that was beyond him, but for some reason, he felt sure of his words. “Einar, can you hear me?”

  Again the nod.

  “Good. We’re going to hold you up enough to help you drink coffee. It will not be hot.”

  Another slight nod.

  Gerd poured coffee in a cup, laced it with cream and sugar, and knelt beside her husband. Rune slid an arm under Einar’s shoulders and lifted. Bjorn dropped to his knees at his onkel’s head and scooted so that his knees became a brace for Einar’s upper body.

  Rune blinked and sniffed at his son’s actions. Lord, how you have blessed me with my family.

  Gerd spooned the coffee into Einar’s mouth and nodded when he swallowed. She looked to Rune and Bjorn. “Takk.”