“Mor, I never even heard the shots.” He counted the geese and jogged up to add his weight to pulling by taking one of the travois poles.
“I missed one deer and wasted a shell,” Ingeborg grumbled good-naturedly. “How did the sheep do?”
“They stayed right with me. Paws is the best sheep dog. You should have seen him when the ram thought he’d stay out to graze. Paws nipped his hocks and ol’ Charlie came charging after us. Sheep is still the leader. She stays right with me.”
Ingeborg stopped dragging her pole to tousle his hair and knocked his cap askew in the process. “You didn’t let them graze too long in one place?”
He looked up at her with wounded eyes. “M-o-r.”
“Sorry. I know you know better than to let them dig up the roots, but I have to check sometimes. That’s what mothers are for.”
“I thought they were for cooking. I’m really hungry.”
“Me, too. That’s why Tante Kaaren said to come eat supper at her house tonight.”
“Good!” He slanted a grin up at her. “You think she had time to bake cookies with Andrew there?”
They stopped the travois by the barn. She could hear Haakan’s voice inside, calming the cow as he stripped milk from her udder.
“Mr. Bjorklund is almost finished with the milking. Wait till you see all the wood they cut. Onkel Lars says Mr. Bjorklund is a terror with that ax of his.”
Ingeborg stopped and smiled at her son. He hadn’t talked this much all last winter. Was he making up for lost time after the long winter that was so hard on all of them that no one talked much? She knew she hadn’t. Guilt stabbed her anew. What trials she had put her family through in those months she raged against God for taking Roald and Carl and the two small girls. But now she lived anew in the light of His forgiveness. She sighed and looked up to see the evening star shining above the horizon as a reminder that God’s love and forgiveness comes fresh each day and never changes.
Thank you, Father, thank you. Her prayers flowed freely once more as did the joy she passed on to Thorliff with a hug that made him wrap his arms around her waist.
“Let’s get this deer and the geese hung. I’ll skin and pluck them later.” Together they dragged the deer inside the open barn door and attached the pulley to the stick she’d thrust through the tendons on the deer’s back legs. With a couple of quick pulls on the rope, the deer hung head down from the rafter. Thorliff knotted the end of the rope around a peg in the post, went back outside, and returned dragging two gray geese.
Haakan stood from the stool beside the cow’s flank, and picking up the milk bucket, he set it out of the way on top of the grain bin. He hung the stool on its peg on the wall and turned as Ingeborg brought in the last of the geese and strung them up beside the others from the line of pegs on another rafter.
“Six geese and a deer?”
“Ja, I missed the other. I didn’t see any elk.” Ingeborg turned to face him.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
“My brother taught me when I was young, and I practiced since we came here.” She wiped her hands on a twist of hay and dusted them together. “While we haven’t had a variety of food sometimes, we have always had meat.” She pulled some strips of bark from her pockets. “And medicinals. This willow bark, when steeped, is good for headache. I have dandelion greens on the travois. I know Kaaren will be glad for those. They are good for renewing the body in spring, just like their cheery yellow blossoms bring delight to the eye.”
She looked up from the bark in her hands to meet his eyes. “The land is good to those who know how to find its treasures.”
“Mrs. Bjorklund, you are an amazing woman.” He leaned back against the edge of the grain bin and crossed his arms over his chest.
For one insane moment, Ingeborg wished she were wearing a skirt and shirtwaist with a clean apron and had her hair combed, instead of wearing blood-stained britches, a shirt torn at the shoulder where a tree limb had snagged her, and her much-abused straw hat that failed at keeping twigs from sticking in her hair or the sun from dusting freckles across her nose. The faint stinging on her cheekbones made her aware the sun had done its work there, too.
What must he think?
She raised her gaze again, along with her chin. “M—thank you. We will have supper with Kaaren and Lars tonight.” She reached for one of the geese. “I’ll take three of these over there. I nearly forgot.”
“Let me do that.” He swung three of them down and knotted a piece of twine around their feet. “How did you bring all this bounty back with you?”
“Mor made a travois, like Metiz taught her. You can carry a lot that way, more than one person could do alone.” Thorliff walked backward out the door. “Come see.”
As Thorliff described the value of the simple travois, Ingeborg went on to the house to wash the residue of the hunt from her hands. She’d just as soon have stayed and skinned out the deer, but Kaaren would have supper waiting, and she needed to retrieve Andrew. After the boys were in bed, she would go back out to the barn. While the light wasn’t good, she knew she could skin a deer or pluck a goose in her sleep by now.
After a quick wash, she changed back into her woman’s garb, as she sometimes called the black ankle-length wool skirt and white waister, then she lifted her shawl down from its peg by the door and headed back outside.
“I strained the milk and set it to cool in the pans in the cellar.” Haakan said as he swung the string of geese over his shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“All the animals are fed and watered. I put six eggs in the basket in the cellar.” Thorliff joined her on her other side. “Four of the hens are broody. You think we should let that black one set? She didn’t do so well last year.”
“If she hadn’t laid all winter, she’d have been in the stewpot long ago.” Ingeborg clasped the corners of her shawl around her bosom. With the setting of the sun, a real bite had come on the night air.
“She pecked me again.” Thorliff rubbed his hand.
“That makes five broody hens then. I think that is enough for now. You let her have eight eggs, and this is her last chance. Some nice young frying chickens will taste mighty good.”
When they entered the other soddy, Andrew banged his spoon on the table and crowed with delight. Ingeborg took him up in her arms and snuggled him close, kissing him on the neck to make him giggle.
“Thank you for caring for him,” she said to Kaaren and pointed to the geese Haakan laid by the door. “I brought you something. There are three more at our barn, so the down should go a long way to replenish our store.”
“Thank you. Roast goose, tomorrow, with stuffing and the last of the rutabagas.”
Ingeborg swung her bag of greens on the table. “And these. I thought you might want them also.”
“Good, good. Now please be seated. Andrew was ready to eat a long time ago, and I only gave him a bread crust to stave him off. I thought all of us eating together would be a treat.”
As soon as Lars finished grace, they passed the bowls of potatoes and gravy, roast chicken and biscuits around the table, each of them filling their plates and eating like they’d not had a meal for days.
When Kaaren got up to pour the second cups of coffee, Haakan said, “Please tell me more about this Metiz. I hear so much good that she has done—”
“Metiz saved Mor’s life,” Thorliff said around a mouthful of biscuit.
“Yes, she did. She’s become a good friend. She taught us much about learning how to find the bounty of the prairie. Things are much different here than in Nordland.” Ingeborg laid her fork down and leaned her elbows on the table. “Metiz is the name for the people who are descendants of both French Canadian fur trappers and the Indians, usually Chippewa or one of the Lakota tribes. They were here long before the current settlers, living off the land like their ancestors did and migrating with the buffalo and the seasons. Metiz herself broke that piece of the prairie nearest the river an
d raised some grain and garden things like tubers and corn. She still leaves to be with her family in the winter and returns in the spring. She should be coming back anytime now.”
“Metiz’ wolf saved our sheep last year from a pack of wolves,” Thorliff added, his eyes shining in the lamplight.
“Yes, you most likely will see Wolf. Metiz saved his life when he was young, and now he guards her; and because we are her friends, he guards us and ours, too.”
“A wolf!” Disbelief colored Haakan’s tone.
“Ja, you will see his tracks before you see him. His right front foot was caught in a trap, so his paw print is distinctive.”
Ingeborg watched as Haakan exchanged a look of wonder with Lars.
“Stranger things have been known to happen.” Lars sipped his coffee. “I have heard many tales in my travels with the threshing crew.” He turned to Ingeborg. “Haakan and I think it is dry enough now to make a trip to St. Andrew with the wagon, and since we got so much wood cut for the riverboats, tomorrow would be a good time to go. What do you think?”
Ingeborg hid the pleasure she felt at being asked instead of told. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “There could still be another blizzard.”
“Inge, the grass is nearly ankle-high in places. We might get another dusting of snow, true, but a blizzard? I doubt it.”
“You could wait another week.”
“By then we could be out in the fields. I’d hate to waste a day that could be spent plowing.”
“Kaaren and I could go later. We have eggs and cheese to take to the Bonanza farm.”
Lars laid his hand on his wife’s. “I don’t think Kaaren feels up to a trip in that wagon. And besides, I’m not sure the ferry is running yet.”
Ingeborg looked from Kaaren’s pale face to Lars. She nodded. It seemed the decision was out of her hands. But a tiny voice deep inside worried at her. Another few days wouldn’t matter so much, would it?
With Haakan carrying Andrew, they made their way back to the southern soddy, and after she put the boys to bed, the two adults returned to the barn. Working together, they had the deer skinned and the geese plucked in what seemed like no time. They covered the deer carcass with a cloth and, after salting it heavily, rolled the hide, hair side in.
Ingeborg poured warm water from the reservoir into a pan so they could wash. Haakan’s shoulder brushed hers, sending a tingle down her arm. She had felt the same out in the quiet of the barn.
“Thank you for your help.” She handed him a cloth to dry his hands.
“You are more than welcome. I’ve heard it said willing hands make work lighter.”
“Ja, that is true.” She started to hang the towel on the peg, when he reached out and took something from her hair. She froze, her gaze snagging on the deep blue of his Bjorklund eyes.
He held up a twig. “You had an extra passenger in your hair.”
“Oh, ah, mange takk.” She took the twig from his fingers, careful not to touch the rough tips, then crossing the small space, she lifted the lid on the stove and dropped the bit of wood in. All the while, she hoped the actions would calm her tripping heart. What was happening with her?
“We will leave before daylight. Lars will use his team.”
“You might be wise to hitch up four in case there are places so soft yet to get stuck.” Did her words make any sense at all? Ingeborg took in a solid breath and wiped her hands on her skirt.
“Thank you, but no. That is not necessary.”
“I will milk the cow, then.”
“Good.”
Why did he stand with the lamplight glinting off his hair and stare at her that way?
Her heart tripped again.
He turned to leave. “Good night, then.”
“Good night, Mr. Bjorklund.”
“I remember you said you would call me Haakan.” He waited.
“Good night, H-Haakan.”
He touched a finger to the brim of his hat and crossed the few steps to the door. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I must say I think I liked you in britches better.”
Ingeborg felt the flaming reach clear to her hairline. “Uff da.”
She crawled into bed still trying to keep her lips from smiling. Such effrontery. She grinned in the darkness. After saying her prayers, she rolled on her side. This “uff da” was definitely the end of a chuckle.
The men were gone when she awoke to the rooster’s crowing.
The blizzard struck in the early afternoon, bearing down from the north like a runaway freight train.
He couldn’t remember her face. Haakan tried to bring back the memory of the cook in the lumber camp, but he couldn’t. In his mind, she stood in front of the huge cookshack stove, birdlike in her swift movements, but when she turned, he couldn’t see her face.
“So, this must have seemed a mighty long walk,” Lars said as he slapped the reins over the backs of the team trotting between the traces.
“Huh?” Haakan jerked himself back to the present. “What did you say?”
“Long walk. You know, the day you came to the homestead.” Lars turned his head and gave Haakan a questioning look.
“Ja, it was, especially since I nearly froze to death in the snowfall the night before. If it hadn’t been for that run-down soddy, they would have found my bones out on the prairie.”
“The weather here is mighty changeable.” Lars shook his head. “I don’t like leaving Kaaren when she is feeling so low.”
“Is she sick?”
“Feels like it. Women get that way sometimes when they’re in the family way. Of course, it’s all new to me. Can’t say I ever remember my mor having trouble, but then she was good at hiding how she felt. Kaaren is, too, but I can tell.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Not even a year yet. We married after harvest was over last fall. She’d been widowed the winter before. Now, that was a hard year for many around here. Blizzards, and then the flu hit, taking entire families. Kaaren lost her husband and two little girls. Way she tells it, if it hadn’t been for Ingeborg, she’d have lost her mind, too. A mighty close call it was there for a time.”
“Is that when Ingeborg’s husband died, too?”
“Ja, he went out to assist the others as soon as the blizzard let up. We don’t know if the weather got him or the flu or some combination thereof, but he never came back. Polinski—you’ll regret the day you meet him, now there is one lazy farmer—found the headstall of Roald’s mule, and Ingeborg found Roald’s pocketknife in the duff by a big cottonwood. Wolves must have got the rest.”
Haakan barely kept himself from shuddering. What an awful way to die, unless the man just took refuge under the tree and slept his life away. He left such a fine family. “Some man will be fortunate to marry Mrs. Bjorklund.”
Lars sent him a slanting look. “What about you?”
Haakan shook his head. “No, I’m not one for farming on this prairie. Too flat for me. If I leave the timber country, think I’ll head farther west. I heard tell there are mountains with trees so big you could hold a dance on the cut stump, and hills and valleys with land so rich you can stick a post in a hole and it’ll sprout.”
“Funny, that’s what they say about the Red River Valley. No one’s dug down below the topsoil yet. Might be it goes on forever. Indians say there used to be a great sea here.” He motioned to the land around him with his chin. “Well, let’s hope we don’t have no trouble fording the Little Salt, and we can get loaded and head home ’for the sun heads down. These two horses know the way home. They’ll take us there after dark if the moon’s hiding out.”
Haakan stared ahead over the rumps of the team pulling the wagon toward St. Andrew. This was such an easy ride compared to that day he had walked these miles.
The wagon barely had to float to ford the Little Salt, a far different scene than the one he had forded. The horses threw themselves into their collars, and with mud flying from hooves and wheels, they bre
asted the bank. Lars wrapped the reins around the brake handle and leaped to the ground to make sure the traces remained secure. He checked all the harness and around the wagon before climbing back aboard. With a chirp and a quick flap of the reins, they were on their way again.
“That’s the soddy where I spent one night,” Haakan said, pointing to the building with one corner of the roof broken in and the doorway gaping open.
“Better’n out in the weather.”
“Ja, I’d slept under enough trees to appreciate the shelter. One night I slept in a barn, another in a haystack. Farms on the Minnesota side can be few and far between.”
“Out here, too. But settlers are coming in fast as they can hitch their horses to a wagon and drive it. Mark my words, that railroad comes over on our side of the river and you won’t be able to more’n throw a rock between the farms. Almost no land left now, leastwise not for homesteading.”
“I heard there’s still plenty to the west.”
“Right. But nothing with the richness of this river valley. I haven’t had to dig a rock yet, or a stump. Just get that sod busted and seeds grow. The Indians didn’t even bother to plow. They dug a hole with a stick, dropped in the seed and waited for it to come up. Corn, squash, beans they grew. Takes busted sod for wheat and oats, though. You done any of that?”
Haakan shook his head. “I’ve plowed plenty. Driven freight with six up, loaded ships on the docks of Duluth, anything I needed to put my hand to in order to survive, I did.” He looked over at Lars. “There’s work for whoever’s willing in this country, but I still like working the timber best.”
Lars nodded. “Your skill with the ax proves that. Surprised me how much we got cut and stacked. The paddle-wheelers will be happy to load up.”
“Don’t you need a dock to load from?”
“We’ll build something. What they had got washed away in the spring runoff last year. And the two women didn’t have wood cut for the ships last year.”
“But they got more sod busted?”
Lauraine Snelling - [Red River of the North 02] Page 10