A Land to Call Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  Picking up coal along the railroad tracks became habit for all of them. No one went out without the bags that Katja stitched up from some ragged curtain material she found behind a house.

  Hjelmer thought of all the wages he had sent to the bank in Grand Forks. How he wished he had some of it now. He’d paid off his chit at the company store and already spent the rest of his last pay. He couldn’t get into a card game if he wanted to. He had no more cash. But after payday, that would change. Vow or no vow, he—they—needed money to live here in the city, and he knew how to get some fast.

  He remembered the wood carvings he’d so carefully wrapped and stashed in his pack. “You think folks might be willing to pay for those carvings of mine?” he asked Katja after supper on Sunday night.

  She thought a moment, then nodded. “I could sell them for you, if’n you want. Most likely get a better price than you would.”

  He started to take offense at her remark and then caught the laughter in her eyes. “You probably would.” He went to his bundle and brought out the carvings, setting them on the table in the light of the candle Sam had brought home. An eagle in flight, another sitting on a rock, a grouse, a flying duck, and two geese in a piece together. A half-finished fox he set to the side.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think we’ll eat fine this week.” She stroked the feathers of the goose.

  Sam picked up the eagle and turned it to see all the sides. “You done more’n I thought, dose nights around de fire. I got some leather I been workin’ on.” He laid finely braided thongs on the table. “Could be watch fobs for de gentry.”

  “You want them sold?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Good.” Katja gathered in the treasures. “You go bend iron, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  The next Saturday night all three men turned part of their wages over to the young woman to pay for food, sent Leif to pay the rent with part, and after supper, headed for the nearest saloon and the card games.

  Hjelmer fought down the guilt that rose with his decision to gamble again. After all, he had made a vow. He jingled the coins in his pocket, knowing if he didn’t win quickly, he wouldn’t be playing long. There was no time tonight to feel out the men at the table, finding their strengths and weaknesses. He needed a win.

  But Lady Luck seemed to have deserted him, and with the money quickly gone, he and Leif slogged through the slush in the street back to the shanty. Fat snowflakes settled on their shoulders and hats.

  Hjelmer felt like swearing. Playing poker tonight had not been fun.

  By the next week, with a bit more cash at his side, he threw off the need-to-win and settled back in his normal style. Lose one, win one, give another, win small, and then edge toward the bigger pots as those around him got drunker and his glass stayed about the same.

  “You did it!” Leif thumped him on the shoulder.

  “Ja, but I wondered there at first.” Hjelmer hunched his shoulders against the cold. He could feel the temperature dropping as they walked along. “How’d you do?” They always played at separate tables.

  “A bit above even. I ain’t got the touch like you. I heard about another place where some of the railroad men play, if that be any interest to you.”

  Hjelmer stopped to look at his friend. When the wind whipped around the corner and slashed his face, he started walking again. “Where?”

  Leif told him, but when after a block of rapid walking and Hjelmer had not said a word, Leif asked, “So what do you think?”

  “I think I need a plan, and part of that plan will be to wear better clothes than these when I go there to play.”

  “Ahhh. That’s wise.”

  After three weeks of Katja using their money to purchase all the supplies they so desperately needed to survive, the three men did as they’d done out on the prairie—sent most of their wages elsewhere. Sam sent his to his family, who, now that he could get mail at the post office, wrote to him once in a while. Leif and Hjelmer sent theirs to the bank in Grand Forks, Leif having decided he might look for land up that way one day. But since the wages were much less than out on the train line, the accounts grew slowly.

  Hjelmer’s gambling stash at the house grew weekly, even after he gave Katja money to buy extra blankets for each of them and an ample supply of coal. With the bone-breaking cold setting in, they all moved their pallets close to the stove, but even that wasn’t enough to keep them comfortable.

  Katja lived up to her part of the bargain, keeping hot food on the table most days. The day coffee appeared at one of the meals, the men raised a toast to her health. The fire the compliment sent to her face made her look feverish, but her laughter dispelled any such notion. She fixed dinner pails for them and scouted for coal and wood for the fire every day. One never knew what her collecting would bring in, but between the men’s carvings and her nose for finds, the house began to appear like a real home.

  She bought herself needle and thread, patching the garments she washed and dried for them on a line above the stove. Every spare moment the needle flashed, turning scraps into a quilt top and then a braided rug. She haunted the bins behind the woolen mill for leftover fleece for batting and bits of yarn that she used to tie the quilt.

  When the new quilt appeared on his pallet, Hjelmer took it into the kitchen. “Why for me?”

  “Can’t a body give a gift if’n they wants?” She looked up from her stitching.

  “Ja, but you need it worse. I heard you shivering in the night.”

  “Yes, and you spread your new wool blanket over me.”

  Sam chuckled from his place at the other side of the stove. “That weren’t him, that were Leif.”

  “Well, then . . .” She paused for a moment. “Then he’ll get the next one.” She held up the piece she was working on, already grown to a yard square. “Won’t be long till it’s ready”

  Trudging through the near dark of the early morning on his way to work, Hjelmer considered the gambling and his vow. Surely if God minded, he wouldn’t be winning like he was. The thought blunted the guilt that gnawed at his belly when he took time to think on it, but something about it just wouldn’t let go.

  Once inside the great domed building, he pushed thoughts of his predicament aside and, ignoring the cacophony of sound, made his way down the rows to his forge and the day’s work. With pulleys screeching overhead and the belts that brought the power to the blowers whining when engaged, the steady ring of his heavy hammers on forming steel seemed to disappear in the upper regions of the two-story building. Donkey engines pulled the cars to be worked on along the tracks that bisected the switching area. Leif and Sam worked on the section that removed broken parts from steam engines and replaced them with either repaired or new stock.

  Hjelmer soon developed a reputation for forging parts that fit without numerous trials.

  “You got a good eye, Bjorklund,” Reginncamp said one afternoon on one of his walk-throughs. “You want to stay on here instead of going back out on the line, you just let me know. Men like you are hard to find.”

  “Thank you.” Hjelmer bobbed his head and stuck the bolt he was grooving into the bucket of water, sending steam head high. But working in a fire pit like this in the soot-covered, crowded city held no draw for him. He’d rather work the forge on a flatcar where the clean wind blows away the stink of steel and coke. Besides, the prairie was closer to home—and Penny.

  Hjelmer caught Leif watching Katja one evening. His gaze followed the girl’s sprightly movements like a sheep dog guarding the flock. Ah, so that is the way the wind blows, Hjelmer thought. He looked up to catch a small nod from Sam. Now he had a new puzzle to work out.

  He still hadn’t written to Penny, but he began to mention her once in a while, talking about her as the girl waiting for him back near the Red River. He hoped to heaven she still was.

  He passed Christmas Eve playing cards with a bunch of lonely men. Christmas Day Katja surprised them all with a dinner of roast
chicken and potatoes followed by a real apple pie.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have any presents to give you,” she said, her eyes sad instead of the normal sparkle.

  “This is gift enough,” Leif said with a slight bow. “I don’t know how you feed us like you do on the little bit we give you.”

  Hjelmer wished he had made things for each of them, but his mind had only worked on his plan to learn more about the railroad men so he could finally join their gaming table. “Thank you, Katja,” he said simply.

  “Me too,” Sam added. “Don’t you worry yourself none, missy. You do more’n your share.” He smoothed his hand down the tear she had mended in the front of his shirt.

  One paycheck later, Hjelmer was ready. He brought paper-and-string-wrapped packages home with him containing new fawn pants, a black tailored jacket, and a white shirt. The boots in their box drew oh’s of appreciation from his friends. When he was washed—he’d nearly scrubbed the skin off his fingers to get the black out from around the nails—and dressed, he stopped in the arch to the main room.

  “Well?”

  “Well, Mistah Bjorklund, suh.” Sam pretended to doff his cap and bow.

  “You look mighty fine.” Katja walked around him and brushed some lint off his shoulders. “If I didn’t know who you was, I’d never recognize you.”

  Leif laughed. “That makes sense.” He wore a clean white shirt, new black pants, and had polished his boots to help them somewhat. He didn’t plan to play with that crowd anyway. He was going along to protect Hjelmer’s back, if need be.

  The two set out, the night air frigid, but the wind and snow had stopped.

  “Should have caught a cab,” Hjelmer muttered, his chin sunk down in his collar. “Or bought a warmer coat.” But when they walked up the front steps of the hotel, he ignored his cold hands, stuffed his hat in Leif’s jacket pocket, and threw his shoulders back. They made their way to the back room where the gaming could be heard from down the hall. Smoke hung heavy on air redolent with the smells of fine cigars and premium whiskey. Men with green eyeshades and black garters holding up their sleeves dealt at each card table, while another ran a game of dice.

  Hjelmer looked around. Which table served the men he was searching for—the railroad men? He strolled through the room, pausing once in a while to pick up on bits of conversation. In the mirror above the carved walnut bar, he saw Leif take a seat and give his order.

  “Can I help you, sir?” The floor-length red velvet dress fit the woman as though it had been sewn around her. Her voice held a hint of honey. Only with a supreme effort, Hjelmer kept his eyes from straying lower than her face.

  “I am looking for a table to play at.” His glance had just shown him all were filled.

  “Follow me.” He was sure men were willing to follow her anywhere.

  She drew out a curved-back chair from a table in a far corner. “This is the only seat we have available right now. Best of luck. May I bring you something from the bar?”

  If her voice wasn’t invitation enough, her eyes said it all.

  “Thank you.” Hjelmer asked for a whiskey, although he only pretended to drink it—his usual practice since he needed a clear head and hated the taste of it anyway.

  He took his seat and nodded at the five men around the table. The man with the green shade announced the game.

  When one of the men asked where he was from, Hjelmer said, “Out west.” He answered their other questions with similar short remarks, asking few of his own. He knew he’d learn more just by listening. That night he only came out even. But he was invited to come back again.

  “Part of the plan?” Leif asked on the way home.

  Hjelmer nodded.

  Each week he brought home more cash, the amount doubling and sometimes tripling the week before. One day he took it all with him on his way to work, using his dinner break to open a bank account. Leaving that much cash in the ramshackle house was foolish, and foolish he did not intend to be. This was his land money he was playing with, money to start a blacksmith shop so he could ask Penny to marry him.

  One night after he’d been playing with the same group for about a month, the talk turned to railway spurs—who was laying them and where. Mention of Grafton and Drayton caught his attention. When they talked about the right of way, Hjelmer realized it would go right across a corner of the Bjorklund land. He was pleased for Ingeborg and Kaaren, but the railbed before that and on the other side of the Little Salt meant more to him. If he could buy up some of that land and resell it to the railroad at a better price . . .

  He lost a goodly amount on the following hand. His mind was too busy counting up the profit to be made in the buying and selling of Red River Valley land.

  How could he make it happen without anyone becoming suspicious? And before the news leaked out to the general public?

  The afternoon of the barn dance finally arrived.

  When the dancing began, Uncle Olaf played the harmonica, revealing another surprising side to this man who Ingeborg was realizing hid many untold talents. Along with George’s fiddle, Joseph Baard’s fiddle, and two guitars, they had quite a good band.

  While Solveig still couldn’t dance, she never lacked for a male partner to sit with her. When he wasn’t playing his fiddle, George sat with her and the others took turns: several farmers, a store owner from Grafton, Joel Gunderson, pastor of the Lutheran Church in Acton—the town upriver from St. Andrew—and a new immigrant who spoke only Swedish, which most of them understood anyway. His smile more than made up for the language.

  “I told you so,” Ingeborg whispered to Solveig as she passed one time.

  Penny, too, as the only other female of marrying age, never sat still for a minute. Modan Clauson tried to monopolize her time, but she made sure she danced with all the others who asked. “If only Hjelmer were here,” she said to Ingeborg when they met at the cider bowl.

  “I know. I thought the same thing. We’ll have to do something like this for your wedding.”

  “If there ever is one.” Penny downed her cider as another young man tapped her shoulder.

  “There could be one right soon if you wanted.”

  “I’d rather go to Fargo. We have to write and tell your friend when I am coming.” She whirled off to dance the pols, followed by a polka, either of which would set a person to breathing hard.

  Ingeborg glanced over to the area near the stove where the children played. The babies were over at the soddy with the younger girls taking turns watching them and coming for the mothers when the children needed feeding. A long table off to one side had nearly disappeared under all the cakes, cookies, candies, and pies the guests brought, but now it showed the ravages of the partying horde. The scent of fresh lumber still filled the barn, since the animals hadn’t been allowed in it yet. Even above the music and dancing, she heard the thunder of feet on the bare boards and the shrieks of laughter in the haymow above where the older children played. Haakan had hung two thick ropes with a big knot at the end for swings, which proved a perfect entertainment for them.

  The westering sun sparkled on the new windows along the side walls. Ingeborg sighed. She’d rather live in the barn this winter than the house. Every once in a while, she let herself regret talking Haakan into building the barn instead of the house this year. But with all the new stock, they needed the barn worse. Even so . . .

  “Ingeborg, may I have the honor of this dance?” Haakan asked from behind her, his breath tickling her ear.

  “Ja, you may.” She smiled up at him, glad they were playing a waltz so she could be in his arms.

  With the stove red hot and the dancers red of face, no one felt the cold outside. About halfway through the party, Ingeborg noticed the men slipping outside more and more often. They always came back slapping their hands against their upper arms and shuddering “brrr,” but it wasn’t long before they went out again. Usually one at a time, sometimes two or three.

  When she changed partners in one of the
pattern dances, she smelled something and sniffed again. Sure enough, the man had been drinking. So that was the draw to go outside. Someone had brought a bottle, or from the heartier laughter she heard frequently, more than one.

  “I think it is disgusting,” Hildegunn Valders said when she dipped a cup at the cider bowl again.

  “I’m not happy with the drinking, either, but as the saying goes, men will be men,” Ingeborg answered.

  Agnes joined them. “Are you are talking about what I’m thinking about?”

  “Our imbibing husbands?” Ingeborg saw Haakan leave by the small door too. How come she hadn’t noticed the smell on his breath when they danced? Of course he could be stepping outside for another reason.

  “Ja, Joseph has had his share, but I think Petar is too young. And he’s been out several times.”

  “Keeping count?”

  Mrs. Valders raised her chin and therefore her nose a bit in the air. “Well, my Anner would never do such a thing.”

  Ingeborg cocked an eyebrow at Agnes. Anner had been the man she’d danced with when she first noticed the smell. His nose shone red as a polished fall apple. She wouldn’t want to be in his boots on that long sleigh ride home. His wife’s tongue was sharp enough to filet fish.

  So what do I do? Ask Haakan to make them stop? Go out there and take away the bottle myself? God, your Word doesn’t say people shouldn’t drink, but it does say many things about getting drunk—and none of them good. Why did they have to bring something like this along? Who brought it? The thoughts raged behind the smiling face she presented to the laughing people.

  “Would you dance with me, Mor?” Thorliff appeared at her side.

  “Ja, I will. You think you know the steps to this one?”