“Has Onkel Einar used dynamite to blow out stumps before?” Signe asked.
Gerd nodded. “He learned to leave a longer fuse and not stand too close. House shook every time. That was before I was too weak to get out of bed, but I didn’t go out there.” She shook her head while taking the dishes out of the rinse pan and drying them before putting them back in the cupboard. “I think my eyes see differently now.”
Signe propped the baby against a pillow in the rocker and used a dish towel to tie her in place. Kirstin chortled and waved both arms while Signe carried the rocker over by the churn. “Here you go, little one. Have a good time.”
Gerd dragged a chair over by the churn and sat down to begin, using one foot to set the rocker in motion. Kirstin stared at the thunk of the churn, her mouth matching the rounds of her eyes. Gerd nodded, so close to a smile that Signe held her breath. When the baby waved her arm again and garbled out some sounds, the corners of Gerd’s mouth twitched, then spread. She leaned closer to the laughing baby. Kirstin stared at her, as if she too were waiting for a real smile. When it came, she stared right into Gerd’s eyes, gurgled, and reached for her face with one tiny finger. Gerd kissed the end of her finger, sending Kirstin into another round of chuckles.
Signe watched their game, ignoring the tears running down her face. All she could think was Thank you, Lord God, thank you, Jesus, Holy Spirit, for being in this room with us. Surely this is one of your miracles. She sniffed and beat more flour into the rising sourdough. Once it was thick enough, she dumped it out on a floured board and set to kneading. What a glorious day this was turning into.
The churn song deepened, the baby slumped into slumber, and Signe rolled her dough into a ball and laid it back in the crockery bowl. Now it would rise again, covered with a clean dish towel on the warming shelf above the stove.
“Why don’t you go take a nap while I put her in her cradle?” Signe whispered, as always noticing as soon as Gerd started to fade.
“I was going to wash the butter.”
“I know, but churning takes a lot out of you. Now is a good time to rest.”
Gerd nodded and pushed herself to her feet. “Takk.”
How that word made Signe’s heart bloom. It had been so long, but now it was worth all the times she had ignored the screaming and meanness. Illness truly did strange things to some people. Her mor had told her that years earlier. Never had she seen it so true as here in the Northwoods of Minnesota.
As Gerd made her way to bed, Signe carefully tucked her baby into the cradle and rocked it tenderly until Kirstin settled back into her morning nap.
Later, Gerd was back in the kitchen and the sun was already on the downward plunge when the boys burst through the door, laughing and waving a letter.
“From Bestemor,” Knute announced.
“And Mrs. Benson said to tell you that if the weather holds, she plans to come visit tomorrow. She said she had to see that baby again and to have coffee with you and Tante Gerd.” Leif grinned at his mor. “Good, huh?”
“Ja, indeed, very good.”
“Oh, and Tante Gerd, she sent you more yarn. She just got more in. We are to tell her in the morning if you want her to bring more when she comes.”
Gerd fingered the skein of yarn, nodding all the while. “I can always use more. It will be good to see her again.”
Signe swallowed her shock and smiled both inside and out. How wonderful to have good memories in this house to blot out the earlier ones.
“I’m hungry.” Leif sniffed the yeasty smell of rising bread. “Fresh bread would be good.”
“We will have that for supper. There are some pancakes left you can butter and sprinkle with sugar. How was school?”
“I got a hundred on my spelling test.” Leif brought the pancakes from the pantry to butter at the table. “Do we have buttermilk?”
“Since Gerd churned the butter today, we do. Look in the pantry.”
“I have to write an essay.” Knute shook his head as if this were a punishment rather than a simple assignment.
“About?”
No answer.
Signe rolled her eyes and lifted the lid to feed the fire. “You both better bring in wood before you start the chores.”
“Joseph from two farms north of here said the wolves tried to get in their sheep pen. The ewes are having their lambs. I sure wish we had some sheep.” Leif rolled another pancake and ate half of it in one bite. “Maybe we could buy some sheep from them.”
“We don’t have enough animals to take care of now?” Knute shook his head at his younger brother. “Those two gilts mean we will have lots of baby pigs this year. And I want to work in the woods. Just think, Onkel Ivar will be here too. Means there are going to be plenty of branches to cut and haul to the piles.”
“And we get to build our own house.” Leif stuffed the last pancake in his mouth and drained his glass. “You get to milk Belle tonight. She tried to kick the bucket over last night. Wonder how come?”
“Maybe you pinched her teat.”
“I didn’t pinch her.” Leif took a playful swing at his brother, who sidestepped him with a grin.
“Isn’t the heifer due soon?” Signe asked.
Knute nodded. “She’s pretty big.”
“Have you put her in the box stall yet?” Gerd asked.
“No, should I?”
She nodded. “If she decides to have her calf during the day when they are outside, she might try to go hide somewhere.”
“I won’t let her out tomorrow. Far will know if she is getting close.” Both boys headed out the door and returned with a load of wood.
“Takk.”
“We’ll bring in more later, after we put Jenna in the box stall.” They laughed as they ran out the door, bounded off the porch, and chased each other to the barn.
Signe watched them go with a smile.
Chapter
7
Another job! Nilda was happy that she had been able to find a place with the storekeeper, Mrs. Sieverson, so quickly. It was only temporary, but it was money in her pocket. She entered the store, and the bell over the door tinkled.
“I am so glad you’ll be filling in for Matilde until she is well enough to come back to the store.” Mrs. Sieverson took Nilda’s coat and showed her where to hang it up. “I have gotten behind on unpacking and putting out the last shipment of supplies, so that is where we will start.” She led the way to the back room, where crates covered half the floor. “Some of this will go up on these shelves, then the rest out on the shelves in the store.” She handed Nilda a crowbar to pry off the tops of the crates and left.
Nilda opened the first crate and lifted out paper-wrapped bolts of fabric and packets of notions, including thread. Yarn came in another wrapped parcel, and the bottom half of the crate was canned goods. She set the fabric and yarn on a shelf and lined the cans up on a table. Setting notions in a basket, she carried them out to place on the shelves that still held enough to guide her.
Dry goods! Nilda loved just being around beautiful dry goods. She smiled. This was going to be so much nicer than that Nygaard job!
Over the next few days, as she unpacked crate after crate, Nilda struggled to fight off the curiosity bug that kept attacking her. What did Johann mean when he told her to stay out of it, whatever it was?
One morning, she pried the lid off yet another crate. The last of Mrs. Sieverson’s dry goods order. Excellent. She filled her basket with boxes of thread and took it out front to shelve the spools.
“You!” The customer at the counter pointed a long finger at Nilda. Mrs. Nygaard!
Nilda froze. Of all the people in the world—well, except Dreng—Nilda wanted to avoid this woman the most.
Mrs. Nygaard turned to Mrs. Sieverson. “You are employing a vixen. A hussy! A tramp! I insist you fire her immediately!”
“Why, Mrs. Nygaard—”
“She tried to seduce my poor Dreng. The boy knows nothing about the ways of the world, and she
tried to pervert him. I insist! Out!”
Fury grabbed Nilda’s heart and mind. And then that fury came flying out of her mouth. “Mrs. Nygaard, haven’t you ever wondered why you cannot keep household help for more than a month or so? Your son makes unwelcome advances! Persistent advances! Not just to me; all of us! That is why.”
“And you are a liar as well!”
“Miss Carlson is a splendid worker,” Mrs. Sieverson barked, and she never raised her voice. “Industrious, fast to catch on, scrupulously honest, and pleasant to the customers. No, I will not fire her.”
“Then I will not come here again.”
“That is your choice, Mrs. Nygaard. Takk for coming in.”
Red-faced with anger, Mrs. Nygaard marched out.
“I am so sorry.” Nilda stepped toward Mrs. Sieverson. “You lost a customer, and it was all my fault. My terrible temper. I’m so sorry!”
Mrs. Sieverson studied her, and she did not even look upset. “I’ve heard rumors about Dreng. That woman called you a strumpet, it is no wonder you got angry. I would have as well.” She smiled. “In fact, I did. Please resume your duties and think nothing more of it. I will see you first thing in the morning, right?”
“Ja, I will be here.” Nilda’s heart sang. Mrs. Sieverson believed her! She believed her!
That boy knows nothing about the ways of the world? Hah!
It was not as dark as usual when she left work that evening. The sky was still a bit light. Could spring be near? Nilda buckled into her skis and, digging her poles in, headed for home. Being outside with the cold biting her cheeks always made her want to shout for joy. Nothing felt more like freedom and flying than slipping over a hillock and up another. Except spring flowers. That was even better.
At the farmhouse, she loosed the bindings on her skis and studied them a moment. Would she be able to take them to Amerika? Rune had written that he was learning to make skis and how he wished he had spent more time with Bestefar in his woodshop. She needed to write to him and ask if he would have extra skis made by next winter.
Unwinding her scarf as she entered the house, she could hear Mor in the kitchen talking with someone.
“That you, Nilda?”
“Ja.” She hung up her things and followed her nose to the coffeepot on the stove. Once her cup was full, she joined her mor and Ivar at the table. “Something sure smells good.”
“A leg of mutton, Ivar’s pay for helping cut up the fir tree that blew down at the Stettlers’.”
“Good pay.”
“Ja. Ivar didn’t plan on getting paid. So how was work?”
Even as she told Mor and Ivar about the confrontation with Mrs. Nygaard, she wondered—would this help or hinder whatever it was that Johann had in mind? She wished he had told her more.
She ended, “And Mrs. Sieverson wants me tomorrow too. Every day puts more in the ticket fund for Ivar.” She sipped her coffee. “I don’t think Far would have allowed me to go without Ivar. In a way, Dreng illustrates why.”
Mor nodded. “I am going to miss you dreadfully. And two of you leaving at once.”
Ivar laid a hand on hers. “You will get to come to Amerika, Mor. We will all see to that, and somehow you will see Ingeborg again.”
“We were so close, Ingeborg and I, until that big feud that my far enforced. All those years we couldn’t even talk to each other. Mor never got over it.”
“I don’t think you did either, not really,” Nilda said.
Mor heaved a sigh and stood up. “That rug will never get done at this rate. How long until you are supposed to leave?”
“May twentieth. Right after Syttende Mai. I would like to take my skis along.”
“You already have two trunks going and the loom, besides your clothes. I want to send Signe a yellow rosebush start too, and some more seeds. She has always loved our yellow roses. They will climb up anything. Perhaps she will have a porch on her new house that needs a yellow rosebush blooming in front of it.”
Every time Nilda saw Johann, she wanted to ask him if anything was happening to teach Dreng a lesson, but some kind of wisdom helped her keep her questions to herself. One afternoon, she nearly pointed her skis to his house rather than straight home. Disgust dug into her skin like a sliver. She should have come up with an idea by herself. At least something might have happened that way.
Sometime later, Nilda was at work, setting the storeroom in order, when she heard the tinkling bell announcing a customer. When she didn’t hear Mrs. Sieverson welcoming the person, she started for the front of the store.
“You won’t believe this, Mrs. Sieverson.” Mrs. Grosbach, one of the gossipers from church, had a voice that could carry across the valley.
Nilda told herself to go back to work but instead waited.
“Whatever has you in such a state?”
“Well, I can hardly believe this myself, but . . .” She dropped her voice.
Go back to work, Nilda instructed herself. Now! Still she waited. Nilda Carlson, you do not like that woman anyway, what do you care about her tittle-tattle ways?
Something kept her stuck to her spot. When she heard the name Dreng Nygaard, she leaned closer to the curtain-shrouded doorway. Hearing voices was different from understanding what they were saying.
“He was beaten up pretty badly, and when his far found out . . .”
Nilda fought to think of an excuse to go closer to them, but nothing came to mind. At least the men had inflicted some kind of punishment.
“And . . .”
And what? Never had Nilda’s ears worked harder to decipher muttered words.
“What’s the word? Oh I remember, banished. Mr. Nygaard is sending his son to Amerika to work for his uncle.”
“When?”
“Immediately. His mor is going to be heartbroken.”
“She’s the one who spoiled him. You say no one knows who the girls were?”
“Pretty hush-hush altogether. The Nygaards would not want this kind of information out.”
“How did you come by it?”
“I will never tell. Do you have any envelopes and writing paper?”
“I do, back here. Do you need ink for your pen too?”
“Why yes, I believe I do. And do you have any fresh eggs? Our hens are not laying yet.”
Nilda shook her head and returned to her cleaning. So Dreng was receiving recompense for his vile actions after all. Banished. God help the young women in Amerika.
A couple of days later, she picked up the mail at the post office. A letter for Mor and one for . . . her? No one ever wrote to her.
She slid a fingernail under the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
On it in block letters, she read, I will get you for this! DN
Chapter
8
Be sure to tell Mrs. Benson that I need more yarn,” Gerd said as the boys headed out the door for school the next morning.
“I will!” Leif called over his shoulder.
As soon as they’d had breakfast, Signe set to sweeping the kitchen while Gerd washed the dishes. When things were put to rights, Kirstin nursed, and the coffeepot on, Signe sat down to finish a letter home for Mrs. Benson to take back with her.
We are so looking forward to Nilda and Ivar coming. Today is a beautiful day, but Einar said this morning that he thinks we are in for another blizzard soon. Gerd says he is right about the weather more often than not. Here it is, March, and I am already longing for spring. Kirstin is gumming everything, so I think she may be teething soon. I gave her a piece of bacon rind to chew on before she gnawed my knuckle off. That keeps her happy for quite a while.
Tante Gerd still needs occasional rests, but she is so much better, it is hard to believe. We all have scarves, hats, and mittens thanks to her knitting. We have rabbit skins to make outer mittens, so we are learning to do that. Bjorn is a good hole puncher with an awl they finally found in Einar’s shop.
Rune bought wood to make skis, and they will plane those in
the evening. They all like working down in the shop. Knute and Leif would be there more, but they have homework for school almost every night. Their English is getting very good, and they are teaching their mor. Gerd helps me too. Tell Nilda and Ivar the most important thing they can do is learn to speak and read English before they come. Their lives here will be much easier that way.
I hear a harness jingling. Mrs. Benson is coming, so I will say good-bye for now. We treasure your letters.
Your daughter,
Signe
She quickly folded the pages and slid them into an envelope. How she desired to see her family again. Writing should make the sadness go away, but it did not, not really. She grabbed her coat and headed for the back door to greet their visitor. The front door was all snowed in.
“Come in, come in. I will take your horse to the barn.”
“No, no. With no wind, we’ll blanket him and leave him here. I need to get back to the store soon, since Mr. Benson has to deliver orders later.” Mrs. Benson smiled at Signe. “You see, that is what I am doing too, delivering yarn, and I am sure there are some other things in the sleigh. Isn’t this a beautiful day? I think the icicles are even dripping on the south sides of roofs.”
Together they settled the heavy horse blanket over the horse and retrieved a basket and packages from the back.
As they mounted the porch steps, Mrs. Benson said, “You have the nicest boys. You should be very proud of them.”
Signe stared at her visitor while she opened the door. “I—ah—takk.” She wondered what they had done to have earned such a compliment. “Let me take your coat.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Strand,” Mrs. Benson said as she walked into the kitchen. “How are you this fine morning?”
“Better. Sit down, sit down.” Gerd pulled out a chair. “The coffee is nearly ready.”
Setting her basket on the table, Mrs. Benson looked around. “Where is that baby girl of yours? You know that’s who I really came to see.”
“She is sleeping, but knowing her, she will be awake soon. She already doesn’t like to miss anything.” Signe glanced over to the cradle Rune had made for the downstairs. He had built another for upstairs, where the whole family slept. Wrapped in her blanket, Kirstin lay on her belly, one fist against her mouth.
A Breath of Hope Page 6