A Land to Call Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  Ingeborg began sorting the clothes into white and dark piles. Even bending over the tub caused her back to ache. Sometimes she wondered if like Kaaren she would have twins, she was already so large. Less than a month to go. She looked off to the riverbank. I sure hope Metiz gets home in time to midwife. Memories of another baby never allowed to breathe the clear valley air assailed her. “Please, Metiz, come home soon.”

  They won’t be buying any of your land but will take some off the piece I bought from Polinski,” Haakan announced after talking with the land buyers. “They’re taking ten acres from the Baards, and they said that right near the schoolhouse will be a good spot for a watering station. They set them up every twenty miles or so.”

  “So, we will have a town around the schoolhouse after all.” Ingeborg closed her eyes and let the motion of the rocker soothe her. The last few days had been rife with speculation as neighbors visited back and forth, impatient to know the exact route of the railroad spur and anxious for the land to thaw enough to get the spring work started. The Bjorklunds still hadn’t sheared the sheep, a task that always seemed to end up at the bottom of the list of things to be done. Thorliff, Baptiste, and Hans were figuring to start on that soon as they got home from school.

  She rubbed her mound of baby, especially on the one side where it liked to drum its feet, or was it elbows? Whichever, this baby sure was an active one. Agnes said it was certain to be a boy, busy as it was, but deep in her heart Ingeborg longed for a girl.

  “Are you all right?” Haakan’s tone spoke of love and concern.

  “Ja, I am fine, this is normal for the last month or so.”

  “We’re going to have a burying tomorrow after the service. With the pastor here from St. Andrew, they all think it a good time.” He poured himself another cup of coffee and stood looking out the window.

  “I imagine digging the holes was hard yet.”

  “Ja, but keeping the bodies was harder.”

  Ingeborg nodded and relaxed for a few moments in the quiet. Goodie had gone to help Kaaren and Solveig begin the spring-cleaning since they were already finished in this soddy. Ingeborg wanted it done early just in case. She never finished the just in case, but they all knew babies sometimes came early. Andrew and Ellie were both sound asleep after playing so hard they nearly collapsed into their dinner plates.

  She glanced over at the bed. Andrew’s cheeks had already lost their winter pallor, and the April sun had started on his hair, streaking the gold to near white. He seemed to be growing up right before her eyes. She rubbed her belly again. She sent a few thank-yous heavenward for the health of all, for the man at the window, for the coming of spring.

  At church in the morning, everyone wore their most somber garments. Reverend Amundson from St. Andrew devoted his sermon to God’s promises of life after death, reminding them that Jesus and loved ones waited for those who died and welcomed them to the kingdom. Ingeborg let her mind drift. Had Roald found their baby that died? Did Carl and the two girls watch over the family below? Surely the mansions in heaven had more rooms than a soddy. She smiled at that thought and swayed the tiniest bit to keep Andrew sleeping before he slipped off her somewhat limited lap.

  After the benediction, everyone followed the pastor outside and over to the graveyard where the caskets rested beside the previously dug holes. The wooden boxes ranged from infant size, where Agnes and her family stood, to man length for Elmer Peterson. Haakan had gone down to the farm to bring Mr. Peterson back for the burying.

  Mr. Booth stood a bit apart. For him there was no casket and no hallowed ground in which to set it. They’d never found any part of his wife’s clothing or anything.

  Ingeborg knew how he felt since she’d experienced the same. They all figured the scavengers of the prairie had done their job, as God ordained them to.

  One by one the boxes were lowered into the earth. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the words were repeated for each body. The prayers rose as incense on the spring breeze that rifled the clothing of the worshipers, then dried the tears and sniffles of those left behind. Kaaren began singing the final hymn, her voice rising sweet as the meadowlark’s trill while the others joined in. “Blest be the tie that binds, our hearts in Christian love. . . .” The Norwegian words rolled across the prairie, as if a benediction of their own on the burgeoning land.

  Mr. Booth came to each of them before they left for home. “I just wanted to say good-bye and God bless,” he said as he shook hands.

  “You are leaving then?” Haakan asked.

  “Ja. Without my Auduna I just can’t care about the land like I did ’afore. When Hjelmer offered me such a good price for it, I didn’t feel like turning him down. With the cash I can buy something somewhere else or homestead again in the Pacific Northwest. There’s land there.”

  Haakan and Ingeborg shared a private glance. So that was what Hjelmer had been up to.

  Two other men pushed forward. “You sold your land to Hjelmer Bjorklund? Why didn’t you say something? I’d of bought it.” The belligerent tone made Ingeborg step back.

  “Wasn’t planning on selling, but when the opportunity rose, I took it.”

  “But ain’t you mad at him? He’s selling to the railroad now, and you coulda used that extra money.”

  Mr. Booth shook his head. “A deal’s a deal, and I got a fair one. They wouldn’t of taken all my land like he done, so I’d still been stuck. Well, it’s been good knowing you folks. Now I gotta get about packing and such.”

  But the grumbling around them didn’t fade away when he left. Some cast blaming glances in the Bjorklund direction, as if they should be held responsible for Hjelmer’s actions, let alone the railroad’s.

  Once in the wagon, Haakan began. “What I can’t understand is why he didn’t tell us.” He slapped the reins over the rumps of Bell and Bob, setting them to a trot. “Since he knew where the railroad was going . . .”

  “How do you suppose he knew?” Ingeborg reached over and snagged the back of Andrew’s jacket before he took a header into the bed of the wagon. “You turn around to climb over, son. Thorliff can’t always catch you, you’re getting too big.”

  Andrew grinned at her and turned around, slipping over the back of the seat like a river otter down a bank.

  “I imagine there are rumors abounding whenever you work on the railroad. He was in the right place at the right time. Hjelmer seems to have a knack for that.”

  “Or the wrong place at the wrong time. He has a knack for that too.”

  “Ja, and this time there are some pretty unhappy folks around here—those that sold to him and those that think he should have shared the information. I wouldn’t have minded buying some land along that right-of-way either. He probably made over a dollar an acre for doing not much of anything. What the railroad don’t take, he can sell this summer to the immigrants coming in or anyone else who wants to pay his prices.”

  “He bought my land, but I don’t begrudge him one penny. Hadn’t been for him, they’d of found all our bodies in that soddy when spring came,” Goodie said from her seat in the wagon bed. “I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you up front and honest-like. But he asked me not to, so I didn’t. He paid me more’n he had to, you know. I woulda sold for about anything at that point.” She sighed. “Seems like another lifetime now, even with planting Elmer in the ground this day. If’n you was angry with me, I would understand. I could go on now with spring here and all.”

  Ingeborg turned as much as her girth allowed. “Why would I be angry with you? It’s Hjelmer whose ear I’d like to twist. Don’t know what it’s going to take to get him to think about someone besides himself.”

  “He didn’t have to come back for us.”

  The words lay like soot upon a fresh snowfall.

  The horses leaned into their collars when they hit a spot thawed deeper than the rest. The gumbo came up through the dead grass and sod, clutching at the wheels and horses’ hooves to make them lag with the sheer weight of it.<
br />
  “Won’t be using the wagon for a while again.” Haakan clucked the horses into a trot once they were free of the mud. Black chunks spun up and out, splattering those too near the back. The three boys laughed as they picked dirt off their pants and pointed at one another’s spotty faces, but they didn’t leave off dangling their feet over the tailgate.

  “I . . . I could leave if’n you want, you know.”

  Ellie and Andrew, as of one mind, let out a wail that could be heard clear to St. Andrew.

  “Andrew, hush, they’re not going anywhere.” Ingeborg glared at her young son. “Now, Goodie, why would you want to leave? I thought you planned to stay through the fall, at least.”

  “I did. I do. But if having me there makes you think bad of Hjelmer, well, I . . .”

  “Hog swill.”

  Haakan gave Ingeborg a double raised-eyebrow look.

  “It’s not your fault Hjelmer manages to offend people. He’ll have to deal with that when he comes home.”

  But the next week at the quilting bee, she knew the subject hadn’t been discussed enough for the women. Countless times Agnes was told to keep her nice little niece away from that Bjorklund scalawag, and each time she shook her head and tisked the admonisher away.

  “If the quilting bees are going to turn into nothing more than glorified gossip sessions, think I’ll stay to home from now on,” she muttered for Ingeborg’s ears alone.

  “You better wait till we have Penny’s quilt done first.” Ingeborg sorted through the pile of piece goods for the blue that would go next on her ring.

  “Ja, that’s a good idea.” The grin returned to Agnes’s face. “With all the ‘Donald Moen says this’ and ‘Donald says that’ in Penny’s letters, Hjelmer might not be the man lying under this here quilt with her after all.”

  “Agnes!” Ingeborg dropped a piece on the floor and groaned when she leaned over to pick it up. “This baby don’t like no squeezing, that’s for sure.” Sitting upright again, she took in a couple of deep breaths to catch up. She grimaced and leaned to the side. “Now I got a cramp in my leg. If this don’t beat all.”

  She heard one of the twins beginning to fuss and laid her sewing down and got to her feet. “Think I’ll carry that little one around for a few minutes. It’ll get me in practice for the coming nights.” She waved Kaaren back to her chair. “No, let me do this. I need to move around some.” She limped back to the pallet where four babies slept and picked up Sophie. “Hush now, baby dear. You let your mother rest for a time. She’s busy, you know.”

  Sophie looked back at her, a grin curving her lips. She stuck a fist in her mouth, answering around it with words all her own.

  “You know, child, you are really going to be a talker.” Ingeborg nodded and Sophie copied the action, then flailed her hand, her legs pumping in unison before reaching for Ingeborg’s mouth. Ingeborg pretended to chew on the questing hand, making the baby laugh and repeat the action.

  “What do you mean ‘going to be’? She already is.” Kaaren reached for the baby. “I’ll feed her before Grace wakes. After that they’ll both want down. This crawling is such a new adventure for them.” She shook her head at the earthen floor. “I surely hope we can put a floor in here soon. Lars is talking about doing that in our soddy for the children’s sake.” She settled into the rocker. “Pretty soon we’ll be bringing this chair for you and your baby.”

  “Ja, we will need two then.” Ingeborg kneaded the tightness from her middle back. She glanced around the room of busy women. Several others were showing babies on the way also. “Our group is growing.”

  “Ja, in more ways than one.”

  About a week after the first of May, Ingeborg was already in the walking stages of labor, trying to keep busy and yet having to stop for the cramping sometimes. A warm breeze was drying the earth as fast as possible, and Haakan had plowed and disked the garden spot the night before. The two women were planting peas, potatoes, carrots, and onions—things hardy enough to survive a late frost. The corn wouldn’t go in until last.

  Ingeborg sucked in a deep breath and watched the sky nearly darken with another wave of water fowl flying north, their songs a spellbinding call to join them. “I should be out hunting. We can use some fresh duck or goose, and the feathers always come in handy.”

  Goodie had long since given up being astonished at Ingeborg’s varied skills. “Why don’t you go cut those seed potatoes for a while, get off your feet, and keep enough energy to push out that baby?”

  “Andrew, come here, please.” Ingeborg waved to the two small children hanging over the rails of the corral to watch the sow and her piglets on their first day outside. They’d been warned and warned again about staying out of the pigpen, the mother pig being extra protective of her new litter.

  “But, Mor, she likes me.” Andrew had planted his fists on his hips. “I feed her.”

  “I know, but you give her a few days outside to settle down again.”

  “I want to play with the piggies.”

  “Andrew, stay out of the pigpen, you hear?” She had to put a stern tone in her voice, otherwise he’d set his chin and try to explain to her why he should do it anyway.

  Andrew loved the animals and the land they lived on. He always found the first dandelion, the first ripe strawberry, the mouse nest in the corner under the manger. Each find was a treasure to share with his mother and now with Ellie.

  The two children backed down the two rails and ran to the garden. “What?”

  “You help with the potatoes. Mrs. Peterson will dig a hole and you drop the cut pieces in. Ellie, you can cover them up again and step on the top to pack the dirt.”

  Andrew looked up at her from under the brim of a straw hat, still two sizes too big. “How many pieces?”

  “Two or three.” She tried to take another deep breath, but the pain arced around her middle. At least they were coming closer together.

  “Would you bring me a drink, please? Oh, and did you water the rosebushes this morning?”

  He tipped his hat back in a perfect imitation of Haakan. “Mor.”

  “I know, you wouldn’t forget the roses.”

  “I watered the cottonwood, too, but Thorliff said it had deep enough roots it didn’t need water.” He thought a moment. “How long is deep enough?”

  “Long enough—to reach water.” She paused for a quick breath.

  “But, if I pour in water—”

  “Don’t ask me any more questions right now, Andrew. You go help.” She pointed to the bucket of already cut potatoes.

  Paws ran toward the river, his welcome bark in good volume.

  Ingeborg shaded her eyes against the morning sunlight. “It’s Metiz. She’s home again.” Taking off her apron, Ingeborg waved it over her head.

  After the greeting and introductions, Metiz studied Ingeborg through eyes that shone from behind more wrinkles than could possibly fit on one face. “You in big hurry, hmm?” She nodded toward Ingeborg’s protruding abdomen.

  “Good thing you didn’t wait until tomorrow to return.” Ingeborg gritted her teeth. “This one gave up on waiting for you.”

  “Said would be here. You walk.”

  “Is she all right?” Haakan asked from the doorway a few hours later.

  Metiz beckoned him in.

  Ingeborg opened her eyes enough to smile at him. “Come see your new daughter.”

  “A girl? We have a girl?” He knelt beside the bed, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips.

  “Is that all right? I . . . I mean, I know sons are important to you.”

  “I have two sons. Now we have a daughter.”

  Ingeborg stroked his cheek with her fingertips. “Haakan Howard Bjorklund, you are an amazing man.”

  He turned a kiss into her palm. “I love you, Mrs. Bjorklund. Now, will you show me this daughter of ours so we can become acquainted? She needs to meet her far.”

  Ingeborg laid back the blanket that shielded the baby from the drafts. “A
strid, meet your far.”

  Haakan reached out a trembling hand and laid his finger beside the round, wrinkled little face. Holding his breath, he touched her cheek, the bit of fuzz on top of her head, then stroked across her clenched fingers.

  Ingeborg watched as his eyes filled and swam with tears, darkening the blue and beading on his eyelashes. He shifted his gaze to meet hers. “She . . . she is perfect. I never saw a baby so new like this, not since I was a boy.”

  “And then you thought it was ugly?”

  He ducked his head, but his hand never moved from the baby’s head. “Ja, I did.”

  The baby curled her fingers around one of his. “But not now.” He cleared his throat again. “Not now.”

  Ingeborg sighed and much against her will, her eyelids drifted closed.

  “Sleep well, my Ingeborg” were the last words she heard for several hours.

  Mother and daughter, Astrid Bjorklund, were still sleeping soundly by suppertime.

  “Astrid so little.” Andrew tried to whisper, but like a blizzard mimicking a breeze, he failed.

  Ingeborg opened her eyes and smiled. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Andrew looked at his mother. He stared at the baby. He looked up at his father, then back at his mother. “No.” He shook his head. “Astrid is ugly. Give her back. Get one bigger.” A puzzled look settled on his face when everyone laughed. He glared at Thorliff, who collapsed on Andrew’s bed in laughter. “C’mon, Ellie. Supper.”

  Two days later, Ingeborg felt more like moving around again. Metiz rang the dinner bell to call the men. When they had all gathered around the table, Ingeborg turned to the rosemaled chest that came from Norway those five years ago. She drew out a piece of paper and handed it to Metiz.

  “This is for you.”

  Metiz looked at her, her white eyebrows turning into question marks. “Not read.”

  “I know. I will read it for you.” Ingeborg took back the paper and read the official-sounding words. When she finished, she said, “This means that the three acres where you usually put up your summer tepee are now yours. This is a deed making you the owner.”