Mr. Garborg completed the introduction, and Rune included his three boys, laying a hand on each shoulder as he said, “Leif, our youngest; Knute, middle; and Bjorn is our oldest.” He nodded to Signe. “And this is my wife, Signe, with our baby, Kirstin.”
“Welcome to you all. I hope you will join us in the basement for coffee before you bundle up to head home. I believe Mrs. Benson said you came to Minnesota to help your relatives.”
“Ja, in June.”
“I have heard glowing reports on how much help you have been for both of them. Now, can you come to the basement for coffee so you can meet more of our people?”
Rune looked to Signe and then shook his head. “I think we must decline this time, but we will plan on that next week, if all is well at—at home.”
Signe made sure the surprise of him saying “home” did not show on her face. Had they really come to think of that house and farm as home? Had she ever used that term? Home meant so much more to her than the house they were living in. She nodded and half smiled. What more would she need to do to make that house feel like a real home?
Once they were all bundled up and heading back to the farm, she thought on her question. They had good food to eat, the house was clean again, the boys were in school, the men had plenty of work in the woods, while the two younger boys pretty much handled the farm chores. Gerd had gotten much stronger and was able to help with the cooking and keeping the diapers washed and folded. Signe needed to remember to thank Gerd more often for taking charge of the diapers and baby things. First she had sewed the diapers and knitted soakers, and since Kirstin was growing fast and the box of baby things Mrs. Benson had brought was dwindling, Gerd had sewed more gowns and blankets too.
So what was missing? What made a home?
Chapter
3
Although there were no mountains at all in this area, or even any sharp rises or vales, the countryside was very pretty. Especially in morning sun like this. The shadows and light beams set the snow to sparkling.
Rune grabbed the seat as their sledge bumped across a rut. “Onkel Einar, you ever made skis?”
“Waste of time.”
“Did you learn to ski at home?”
“Ja, didn’t we all?” He stared over the top of the scarf he wore around his lower face.
“If you were to make skis here, what wood would you use?”
“Waste of time.”
“But think about it.” Rune realized he’d not pushed an idea like this before. He usually just agreed and let it go. “If I make skis for the boys, they won’t have to ride Rosie. I know there is a shed at the school, but the barn here is much warmer.” Besides, then Signe can use the horse if she wants. He shook his head. With no sleigh . . . He started to ask another question but let it drop. “Birch should do well.”
“Too hard and brittle.” Einar shook his head. “Makes good firewood.”
Would the lumberyard in Blackduck carry seasoned birch? Perhaps they could recommend something better. Maybe they even carried ash.
Einar drew the horses to a halt and climbed down onto the crusted snow. “Time to move the logs to the railroad at Benson’s Corner.”
“How?”
“Thinking Bjorn could skid them with the team. Never had so many to move before.”
“Not on the sledge?”
Einar shook his head. “Can’t load ’em. If Knute didn’t go to school, he could skid them or keep limbing. Going to slow me down.”
Rune didn’t even bother to shake his head. They were not about to change their minds on the boys going to school.
Bjorn took care of the horses as usual, though he could not take them to drink at the creek, since it was frozen solid. Near dinnertime, he started a fire so they could have hot coffee.
“After we eat, you go chop a hole in the ice so the horses can drink,” Einar said.
“What about bringing out the washtub and setting it beside the fire, melting them water?” Bjorn asked.
“Won’t work,” Einar snapped.
Rune nodded to his son, but trust Onkel Einar to throw ice water on any idea he did not come up with.
Today Signe had sent soup in a kettle, which they set into the coals to heat. Hot food and drink, even though they ate standing, was a welcome respite. Rune reminded himself to thank her.
Bjorn wolfed his soup hungrily. “Far, you really think we can make skis?”
“I don’t see why not, if we can find some suitable wood. We could try pine, but it’s pretty soft and would warp easily.”
“Waste of time,” Einar said more forcefully this time, including his traditional glare. He tossed his coffee dregs in the direction of the fire. “Bjorn, start a new pile closer to where we are. We sure could use another hand.”
Rune ignored him and headed back to the last tree they had felled to start cutting off the branches. He started working from the bottom, and Bjorn started halfway up. Einar returned to the tree he’d started. If they hurried, they’d get another tree down today. The next time they went to Blackduck, he would check with the lumber company. Perhaps Sunday he could ask Mr. Benson if he had wax or could order some.
A blizzard day would give him more time in the woodshop. Much as he liked farming, he liked building things in the woodshop far more. Felling trees would never be a pleasure. So far he had built a table and benches for their new house and was working on a chest, a surprise for Signe.
Rune focused on his work, and the rest of the day passed quickly.
“A letter from Norway,” Leif announced before supper. “Onkel Einar got one too.”
Tante Gerd turned from the stove. “Bring the cream up when you come so we can churn tomorrow.” She set the lid back on the pan and reached toward the line they had strung across the kitchen to unpin diapers. Some were still hanging, frozen stiff, out on the porch.
“I will bring in the others,” Signe said when she had laid her fussing daughter back in the cradle. “Shhh, shhh, you sleep, and then we will all have supper.”
Gerd snorted. “Funny how quickly babies learn to demand what they want.”
“And with no patience to wait.” Signe shrugged into her coat, even though she would only be outside for a few minutes. At almost four months old, Kirstin had been fussy lately. It had been so long since Signe had a baby that she often wished she could ask her mor or Aunt Gretta what they thought might be wrong.
She was shivering by the time she brought the stiff squares back in the house to rehang. With most of the moisture frozen out of them, drying would be quick. She pegged them up in the kitchen and sat down to fold those already dry. The sourdough starter filled the room with thoughts of bread baking tomorrow. She would use the last loaf they had for breakfast and dinner.
While Einar never mentioned his letter, she read the one addressed to Rune out loud, since it was from Nilda.
“‘Dear Minnesota family: Ivar and I are so excited to be coming to Amerika to join you.’” Signe stopped. “Ivar is coming too?” She looked to Einar, who was going out the door. Was that news to him too? Why did he have to be so—so . . . ? She shook her head.
“Keep reading, Mor.” Leif propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
She nodded. “‘We are grateful that Onkel Einar will pay for one ticket, but since Far does not want me traveling alone, we are all trying to get the rest of the money to pay for the other.’”
Gerd nodded. “I will see about that.”
Things had really changed around here, now that Gerd felt so much stronger.
Signe continued reading.
“If there is something you would like us to bring, please write back with your list.
“We so look forward to letters from Amerika. I tried to convince Mor to come with us, but she is not willing to leave Far. He has fallen a couple of times, and while he says they are all accidents, we are beginning to wonder if something is wrong to cause these.
“Mor’s big news? She finally received a letter fr
om Tante Ingeborg. I had no idea you live so far apart. Amerika is such a big country compared to Norway. We sent her your address, so perhaps you will receive a letter too. Please write soon so we can be prepared. Onkel Einar said the ticket will be in the mail soon. Where do you buy tickets back there?”
Signe looked to Gerd.
“Never fear, buying tickets just means Einar will have to make a trip to Blackduck.”
Signe nodded. “‘We pray you are all healthy. I know that baby Kirstin must be growing like dandelions in the spring. Just the thought makes me yearn for spring greens. With love from all of us. Your sister, Nilda. P.S. Have you met any handsome loggers yet who might want a wife?’”
Signe folded the letter carefully and looked at Rune, who nodded and smiled.
Rune stood up. “We better get to the woodshop before the night is over. Such good news. Thank you for supper, Tante Gerd. What a pleasure to see you up and about.”
Gerd looked up from playing with Kirstin, surprise widening her eyes. “Why, you are welcome. Signe and I . . . we did it together.”
Signe grinned at her husband. “I will make pudding so it is warm when you all return. Knute, Leif, do you have homework?”
Both boys nodded. “I could do it after we come back,” Leif offered.
“No, first.”
Bjorn pushed his chair back and followed his far to the coatrack. He winked at his brothers and wiggled his eyebrows. Leif grinned back, but Knute glared at his older brother. Signe knew that if they offered Knute a choice between school and work, he would definitely choose the woods and the farm over book learning. He was counting the months until he was sixteen and could make the choice.
While she set the milk to heat for pudding, Gerd took out her knitting, making room on her lap for an orange body to curl up, purring. Gra of the gray stripes lay sleeping on the oval braided rug by the stove.
“Did you ski in Norway, Gerd?”
“Ja, of course.” She leaned over, to the disgruntlement of Gul, to pick up her ball of yarn. “But there has never been time or a need for skiing here. I think skis for the boys to get to school would be a good idea. Leif, come here so I make sure the sleeves are long enough.”
Leif stroked the wool as she measured out the sweater. “This will be so warm. Takk.”
“Should have it done in the next week or so. I’m making it plenty big so you don’t grow out of it too fast.”
“Far says I am growing like a weed. I think corn would be better than a weed.”
“You have to admit that weeds grow awfully fast.” Signe dipped some of the milk into her mixing bowl with the eggs, which were beaten with sugar and flour, so they wouldn’t cook too fast in the hot milk. Then she slowly stirred that mixture into the rest of the heated milk, which she’d pulled to the cooler side of the stove. She enjoyed making pudding on a winter’s night. The warm kitchen, the boys studying at the table in the lamplight, the baby gurgling and kicking in her makeshift bed, the click of knitting needles—what more could one ask for?
The pleasure shattered when Einar kicked the snow off his boots and came in to hang up his coat. How could it be that his growling seemed to precede him and taint the whole house?
He rubbed his hands over the heat rising from the stove in shimmery waves. “You need to use so much wood?”
Signe rolled her eyes. Would kindness ever get through to this man? “I thought pudding might taste good when you all came in.” She poured the rich mixture into the bowls she had lined up on the table. “Are the others right behind you?”
He glared at her. “How should I know?”
She heard Gerd sigh. Kirstin’s gurgles and happy noises turned to a whimper. Even she could tell the difference.
Signe shoved two more chunks of wood into the stove and pulled the nearly hot coffeepot to the hottest place. After spooning a dab of jam into the center of each bowl, if for no other reason than to irritate Einar, she picked up the baby and rocked her in her arms. The sounds of Bjorn and Rune on the porch gave her a sense of comfort in spite of Einar. They both entered carrying an armload of wood and dumped them in the box. Interesting, she noticed. Einar never brings in a load of wood when he comes.
“Takk.” She settled Kirstin on her shoulder and patted her back.
“Smells good in here.” Rune eyed the pudding dishes. “What a fine thing for a night like this.”
Einar grunted as he lowered himself into his chair. While he no longer favored the hand he had cut so severely, she saw him limping sometimes by the end of the day. She was not surprised, considering how hard he worked throughout the day. Rune had said more than once that keeping up with Einar took every ounce of willpower he could dig up.
“Would you like your coffee now?” Signe asked, looking right at Einar. He nodded without ever meeting her eyes. She poured a cupful, set it on a saucer, and the others passed it around the table to him. Rune raised one eyebrow at his wife.
While the others waited for everyone to be served, Einar was scraping the sides of his pudding bowl before the others had tasted their first spoonful. He drained his coffee, shoved back his chair, and headed for his bedroom. “I’m going to Blackduck day after tomorrow. Have the lists ready.”
“Takk. I will go with you then,” Rune said.
“You and Bjorn could fell another tree.”
“I need to go to the lumberyard.”
“Suit yourself.” As always, the door shut more firmly than it needed to.
Leif let out a whoosh of air, as if he’d been holding his breath. Knute snorted a laugh, then both looked at their mor.
Gerd shook her head. “Well, good riddance.”
Signe tried to keep a straight face, but when Rune and Bjorn both wiggled their eyebrows, she gave up. She nearly choked on the laugh she tried to swallow so Einar wouldn’t hear. The boys stared from Gerd to their mor to Rune. They too tried to laugh without making noise, which only made them stutter.
“Tante Gerd, is there anything special you would like from Blackduck?” Rune asked.
“Just more yarn. Signe and I will make a list of things we cannot get at Benson’s.”
“Do you ever go along to Blackduck?”
She shook her head. “I used to, but for the last year I never left the place, got too weak.”
“Have you ever seen the doctor?”
“Einar got him when he found me on the floor. He said it sounded like my heart. But thanks to you, I am so much stronger now. He gave me some pills. I took them till they ran out.”
Signe stared at the woman whom she thought so much older than she really was. It still amazed her, the differences between the old Gerd and the new. Such changes, and they’d not even been here a year yet.
Chapter
4
Nilda blew a strand of hair from her face and leaned back to stretch a kink from her spine. Being hired by Mrs. Nygaard to cook and clean seemed a blessing, if you only considered the money. Scrubbing floors was never fun, but the work was no harder than at home, and every day was one closer to earning Ivar’s ticket to Amerika.
And that still irked her. Here she finally had a sure way to Amerika with Onkel Einar paying for the ticket, and now she had to pay for Ivar first. Shame on you, Nilda! You would begrudge your little brother his big chance? He had the same dream as Nilda.
With a happy sigh, she returned to the floor as she imagined her new life. According to her letters, Signe seemed to spend most of her time on the farm, but Nilda knew there must be a handsome lumberjack or two just looking for a wife in the nearby town—Blackduck, she thought it was called.
Without knowing why, Nilda was drawn out of her daydream and looked up. There, standing in the door, was Dreng Nygaard.
“Very nice,” he said, raking his gaze along her kneeling form.
“Pardon?” Nilda didn’t know Dreng well. He had gone to school with her older brothers but rarely interacted with them. Something about the way he was looking at her made the hair stand up on her arm
s.
Suddenly, Nilda remembered her friend Addy warning her not to take the position with the Nygaards. Addy had worked for Mrs. Nygaard for a short time and had pulled Nilda aside as soon as she learned of Nilda’s new job.
“It’s not a good place, Nilda,” Addy had warned at the time, but Nilda hadn’t wanted to hear her vague warnings. Now she wondered if she should have asked more questions.
“I said it looks very nice down there,” Dreng commented.
Fairly certain he didn’t mean the floor, Nilda sat up and dropped her brush in the bucket. Rising to her feet, she ignored his comment and asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”
She realized her mistake immediately as he took three steps toward her. “Oh yes, there is something you can get me.”
Nilda backed up until she felt the doorframe hit her shoulder, and still he was only a step away. He wouldn’t really touch her, would he? Surely that was not what Addy had warned her about. Frantically, Nilda searched the room for help. Should she call out?
“Dreng!” Mrs. Nygaard’s voice rang through the house.
Nilda’s sigh of relief turned to alarm when she recognized what it would look like if Mrs. Nygaard entered the room and found them in such a compromising position. There was no question whom she would believe. Realizing she still held the scrub bucket between them, Nilda gave it a quick flip and allowed the water to slosh out and over his pants and boots. Getting her own skirt wet was worth the look of shock in his eyes and the way he scrambled back from her.
“Dreng,” Mrs. Nygaard called again as she entered the kitchen. She stopped as she noted the soapy puddle spreading on the floor. “Whatever happened?”
Nilda held her breath, waiting to see what Dreng would say.
“The girl is clumsy.”
“Nilda, dear,” Mrs Nygaard chided, “you must be more careful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nilda agreed.
“Now go change your boots, Dreng. You agreed to take your dear mor to the store.”
A Breath of Hope Page 3