Mrs. Benson handed Gerd a brown paper package of yarn the size of a soup kettle. Maybe even bigger. “This should last you awhile. For a change, I was able to buy two-ply in a soft yellow. I thought you might like to knit a dress for the little miss and perhaps a bonnet. But if you don’t want it, I am sure I can sell it to someone else.”
Gerd opened the package carefully, to save the paper, and fingered the soft fine yarn. “Oh, how lovely.” She lifted a skein. “Won’t this be perfect?” She held it out for Signe to see. “I have never knit anything so fine. Good thing I have my bestemor’s wide collection of knitting needles. The ones I use for socks might work for this.”
Signe gazed at Gerd’s face in wonder. Soft to match the way she sometimes looked at Kirstin. She swallowed and took a deep breath. For this, God had brought her to this house and these people. She caught the look of delight Mrs. Benson sent her way and smiled back with a slight nod.
“I brought this for you.” Mrs. Benson handed Signe a jar of honey.
“Tusen takk, we just used up the last. We can have that on the biscuits with our coffee.” Signe made a face. “I almost forgot them.”
The biscuits were a bit more brown than usual, but when she set the pan on the table, the fragrance invited them to pour the coffee. Signe glanced over when she heard her baby squirming and starting to wake.
“She likes the smell of coffee, I think.” Gerd picked up the baby, who snuggled into her shoulder.
Mrs. Benson and Signe exchanged a smile. Gerd might not have been a mother, but she sure knew how to cuddle a baby.
“True Norwegian, the smell of coffee wakes her up.” Mrs. Benson raised her cup as Signe reached her to pour coffee. “And no, nothing in it, black is best.” She spread honey on her biscuit and passed back the jar. Signe sat down with her daughter on her lap, handed her the bacon rind, and ate with her free hand. “Your bees certainly produce good honey,” she said.
“Mr. Benson considered no longer keeping the hives going, and there was such an outcry from our customers that he changed his mind and built two more hives, so when the queens decide to go looking for new quarters, they can move right in.” Mrs. Benson dabbed at the honey that dripped on her plate. “That other package is baby clothes Mrs. Engelbrett sent for Kirstin, so she has some to grow into. She has been keeping these clothes in case she had another girl, but she thought you could use them in the meantime. She said she hoped you would come join our sewing circle when the weather lets up.”
“I hope we both can come when spring breaks through.” Signe bounced her knees gently as Kirstin fussed a bit. “I need to feed this one, so excuse me.”
“Can you not nurse her where you are?”
“Ja, but . . .”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. As far as I can see, we are all women here. Go ahead.”
With Kirstin content again, Signe finished her coffee. “We are about out of jam, I’m sorry to say. Do you know anyone who has strawberry or raspberry bushes we can buy?”
“Not for sale, but we share such things, all us women. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask when we have our next meeting.” She looked to Gerd. “I hope you will come too, Mrs. Strand.”
“We’ll see.”
Signe knew a smile did not stay down where she was trying to stuff it. We’ll see was a far cry from an adamant no. “I have a question, Mrs. Benson. We want to have Kirstin baptized. Is there a process we need to know?”
“Just talk to Reverend Skarstead. I know he has been wanting to come out here.”
Signe glanced at Gerd, whose shoulders hinted at a shrug. “It might be best if we talk with him after church on Sunday.”
“Did you know that he preaches at All Saints in Blackduck every Sunday afternoon?’
“No, I didn’t. His Sundays are really full then, aren’t they?”
“Ja, but he says some pastors have three-point parishes. Two is hard, so three would be really difficult. Of course, he says at least he doesn’t have to write two sermons for every Sunday.” She glanced up at the clock. “Oh my, how the time flies. I need to get back to the store. Thank you so much for the visit. Can I hold that baby for just a minute?”
“Of course.” Signe brought Kirstin around the table and handed her to their guest.
“Oh, you are just the dearest thing, such a sweet baby.”
Kirstin stared at Mrs. Benson, wrinkled her forehead, and whimpered before shifting into full-blown crying.
“I’m afraid she is not used to very many people.” Signe took her baby back and, swaying, shushed her with a gentle voice.
Mrs. Benson pushed back her chair. “I’ll have to make sure she does not think me a stranger.” She dropped a kiss on the baby’s forehead as she made her way around the table. “Thank you, and I hope to see you again on Sunday. We are having a get-together meal after church, and I hope you can stay for that. You would be our guests, so please do not bring anything but your appetites.”
“We’ll see.” Signe tried to smile.
“It would be a great way to meet more of our members.” Mrs. Benson reached for her coat.
After she left, Signe refilled the firebox and put the remaining biscuits in a tin to keep them fresh. “Are you hungry?”
Gerd picked up her knitting, shaking her head. “Not really. Can we wait a bit?”
“Of course. I thought we might have fried cheese sandwiches.” The last of the leftovers from the night before had gone to the woods with the men.
Snow had started to fall by the time the boys rode into the lane.
“Your turn to put the horse away,” Knute told his brother from the porch stairs.
“I know.”
Knute scraped off his boots and pushed open the door. “Getting colder.”
Gerd looked up from her knitting. “The wind does that.”
“Can we have something to eat before we start chores?”
“Ja, there are biscuits in the tin, or you could have bread and butter.”
“With sugar?”
“Fix some for Leif too.” Signe took the last of the diapers from the line and finished folding them. “Skim the milk pans so you have milk for the pigs and chickens.”
“There is soured milk in the cans and plenty of cream to churn.”
“Good. We sent the last of the butter with Mrs. Benson.”
“I’m going to check my snares too.” Knute sat down at the table with his bread and a glass of milk from the pantry. “I think we need a dog.”
“Whatever brought that up?”
“We had to write a paper today about dogs, and we don’t have one. So I wrote about our one in Norway, but it made me realize how much I want to have a dog again.”
“We have two cats.”
“They can’t go along to check the snares or fishing or hunting or anything.”
“Where would you get a dog?” Gerd asked. “We used to have one.”
Leif blew in, stomping his feet on the rug. “We better get on those chores fast. Good thing we didn’t let the cows out this morning. Onkel Einar was right. A blizzard is coming.” He grabbed his bread and ate it standing in front of the stove.
“I’ll go skim the milk pans so you can get to the animals.” Signe reached for her coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. “You want anything from the well house?” she asked Gerd.
“Just the cream for the churn. Let it warm, and I can churn in the morning.”
The wind fought to tear off Signe’s hat and drive the cold into her bones. Closing the door of the well house behind her, she paused to catch her breath before lighting the lantern on a hook on the wall. After skimming the cream into a crock, she poured the milk into one of the milk cans, filling a jug for the house. Knute had taken the full one down to the barn. They really needed more milk cans, especially now that the heifer had freshened. With a bucket of cream in one hand and the milk jug in the other, she stepped back outside and made sure the latch fell into place on the door. She looked toward the barn, hoping the m
en were already back, but she couldn’t see through the blowing snow.
By the time she made it to the house, she had to stagger up the steps and stand there a moment, trying to catch her breath. Dark hovered overhead, making her glad to see the lamps lit and set in the windows, promising warmth within.
Concern had begun to gnaw on her insides before she finally heard the stamping of boots on the porch and the men filed in, brushing snow off their hats and coats as they came.
“Good thing we started back when we did,” Rune said by way of greeting. “Almost hated to leave the quiet of the barn and fight the wind up to the house.” He rubbed his hands over the heat of the stove.
“No frostbite?” Gerd stared at Einar, who huddled over the stove with the others.
“Nei, but this might turn into a bad one,” he grunted.
Rune inhaled. “Sure smells good in here. If it keeps on, there won’t be any school for you boys, so we can work in the shop all day.” He shot Einar a questioning look.
“Supper is ready,” Signe said. “Wash, and we can eat.”
Every time the howling wind woke him during the night, Rune gave thanks for the sturdy house and his family sleeping around him. He went downstairs and stoked the stove several times, and each time the storm seemed to have gathered new energy for another onslaught.
It was hard to tell when morning came with the storm still raging. The parlor windows were blocked by snow drifts, and all the windowpanes in the house wore delicate designs of frost. Only the kitchen had clear glass at the top.
“We will get the animals taken care of, then breakfast before we head to the wood shop,” Rune instructed. “Einar?”
“Harness needs some repairs. That mower’s not done yet.” He glared at Leif, whom he blamed for the cut on his hand he had received from the mower, which had laid him low for a time.
Rune shook his head. Accidents happened, and most were not intentional. As if Leif would want to hurt anyone. “Bjorn, you can help by sharpening the blades, if you like.”
Einar muttered something and raised his cup for Gerd to refill.
“Hang on to the rope,” Rune ordered as they stepped off the porch and into the icy teeth of the storm. Earlier that winter, they had strung a rope from the house to the barn to keep anyone from getting lost in this kind of weather.
It took Einar and Rune together to pull the barn door open as the boys kicked the snow away. Inside, the barn seemed a haven of peace and quiet. One of the horses nickered, and the rooster crowed from the chicken house.
Rune made his way to the shop, lit a lamp, and started a fire in the stove. He set a bucket of snow on top to melt. The water barrel in the barn had frozen over. He set two more snow-filled buckets by the fire. The animals all needed water. The only pump not frozen was the one in the house.
“Wish you all could stay in the house,” Signe said as the men and boys bundled up to head back out after breakfast.
“Me too, but don’t worry about us. The shop will not be warm, but it will be tolerable, since we’ll all be working. What’s for dinner?”
“I brought up that ham hock and set beans to soaking last night. I thought ham and beans would be warming.”
“And fried bread?” Leif grinned at his mor before he pulled his scarf up over his lower face.
“Ja. It should be ready for that. We’ll have fried rabbit for supper, thanks to Knute.”
“You two fill that woodbox before you come down,” Rune told the younger boys. “I’ve got buckets of snow melting in the shop. Can you melt some here too?” he asked Signe.
“Of course. Bring me in a washtub of snow.”
By noon, all the animals and chickens had been watered, and more buckets of snow were melting for later. Between Bjorn at the grinding wheel and the wind trying to collapse the building, sitting down for dinner felt like a reprieve for their ears.
Corn bread, ham, and beans with fried bread and bowls of syrup had everyone in a good mood.
Except for the baby, who woke from her nap crying and hot enough to melt a bucket of snow.
Chapter
9
The wind no longer rattled the windows. It couldn’t; the windows were covered by the snow banked on the windward side of the house. Rune and the boys were kept busy just keeping a path cleared to the barn. The snow drifted in almost faster than they could shovel.
There were chores to be done and dinner to be made, but Signe had a sick baby to rock. This fever worried her; there was no way anyone could reach a doctor, or even a neighboring farm, with this blizzard raging. She could not even tell the cause.
“Try this.” Gerd handed her a baby bottle of vile-looking fluid.
“What is it?”
“A palm of vinegar and a palm of sugar in a cup of water.”
“A palm?”
“You know, a palm.” Gerd held out her cupped hand, palm up.
Uncertain, Signe offered the bottle to Kirstin. Kirstin took one suck and jerked her head aside, her arms waving. She fussed louder.
Boots thudded on the porch, and Leif burst into the room. “Mor, the calf is coming! You can see the front feet.”
“Now?” The worst blizzard of the year, and the heifer was going to calve. “Is your far there?”
“Nei. Knute said to come get you.”
“I have the baby.” Gerd reached down.
Signe handed Kirstin off to Gerd, headed for the coat rack, and rammed her arms into her wool coat sleeves. This weather was far too cold for a mere shawl. The wind made her shiver the moment she stepped out the door. She tucked her scarf ends in her coat, grateful for the warm mittens, scarf, and hat Gerd had knitted for her.
Leif ran ahead to open the barn door for her. They both had to push and yank to knock aside the drift that already settled against it. The glow of the lantern hooked on a post by the heifer’s stall drew her. From her stanchion, Belle was reminding the boys she had not been fed yet, while Rosie chomped hay in her stall. The team had hay as well. Had Einar fed the horses but not the cow? Where was Rune?
Signe leaned on the stall’s half door to make sure all was well with the heifer. First-timers sometimes had more problems than an experienced cow. Knute sat in the corner beside her head, stroking her face and murmuring encouragement. “Is she progressing?” she asked.
“I think so. When she pushes, the front legs come out farther.”
“And then they go back a bit,” Leif added. “Baby pigs just pop out.”
Belle lowed again.
“Leif, you better give her some grain so she doesn’t disturb the heifer.”
Leif did as he was told, then went ahead and set the stool down so he could get to milking. “You be good, now, Belle, you hear?” He brushed off her udder, and in moments, the ping of milk in a bucket added to the evening barn sounds.
Listening and watching the heifer reminded Signe of the years she had milked cows and taken care of the livestock in Norway along with her younger brother. In the winter in the barn under the house, and in the summer up at the seter where the older girls and younger children took the cows, sheep, and goats for pasture.
Knute came around to look. “Is the calf stuck, do you think?”
“It could be. Sometimes the head gets twisted out of line.” Signe stepped into the stall and knelt by Jenna’s tail. Jenna pushed again. The tiny hooves did not move.
“Knute, your hands are smaller than mine. Reach up into her and feel if the head is between the calf’s front legs.”
“She’ll let me do that?”
“Try.”
Knute took off half of his coat and rolled his sleeve up high. Warily, he worked his hand past the tiny hooves. He pushed farther, to the elbow. Farther. “I feel the head, and it’s turned, kind of.”
“Can you twist it back in place between the calf’s legs?”
“I don’t know.” Knute forced his arm in farther; the whole arm was swallowed up now; maybe it would not be long enough. He grunted and squirmed. “
Maybe . . . I think maybe . . . there.” He pulled his arm out. It was slimy with placental fluid. “Yuck. But worth it if we save the calf, right?”
“Right! And save the heifer as well. She could die if the calf can’t get out. Leif, bring a towel!” Signe called. The heifer pushed again, and this time the progress was clear.
“I’ll get some sacks.” Knute hustled away and returned quickly, drying off his arm. He beamed. “That was kind of fun. There’s the nose! A couple more pushes . . .”
The miracle of birth, be it animal or human, never failed to bring tears to Signe’s eyes. She glanced over to see Leif beside her. “You sure milked her fast.”
“She’s not giving so much anymore.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I hung up the bucket.” He grinned at his mor. “Pretty special, huh?”
“Ja, that it is.”
The heifer groaned, lifted her head, and with a heave, the calf slid out onto the straw.
Leif grabbed the gunnysacks and handed one to Knute, who was lifting the calf’s head already. He scrubbed the mucus out of the nose and mouth. The calf jerked and sucked in a breath of air.
Knute rubbed the rest of the baby’s head to clean off the sac while Leif did the same, starting with the back.
“How come it didn’t breathe right away?” Leif asked.
“Just needed a bit of help. Do we have a heifer or bull here?” Signe asked.
“Heifer.” Knute blew out another breath. The cord lay flaccid, now that it was no longer needed. “Do we need to cut that?”
“You have a knife?”
“I do.” Leif dug in his pocket for the knife he had been given on his birthday. He cut the cord about a foot away from the calf’s belly, started to wipe the knife blade on his pant leg, then used the gunnysack instead.
“Good thinking.” Signe left the gentle scene and went to open the barn door. She stepped outside at the same moment Rune came down from the house.
A Breath of Hope Page 7