The Reaper's Song

by Lauraine Snelling

  When Ilse settled herself on the seat, Ingeborg wrapped one arm around her and, while hugging the board-stiff body to her side, handed the reins over to the small hands and then cupped her own over them. While her heart beseeched the Father for help, her hands and arms melted the ice within until the girl leaned against her side.

  “This is nice.” Ilse looked up and a ghost of a smile touched her dark blue eyes.

  “Ja, driving horses always makes me feel better too. You were good with Sophie at the church.”

  “Mange takk.”

  Paws ran out to greet them, pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He yipped and danced beside the wheels, first on one side, then the other.

  “I had a dog at home.” Ilse handed the reins back, stiffening up again at the same time. “I want to go back to Nordland. Bestemor and Bestefar must miss me. They don’t know about . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  A glance to the side showed Ingeborg that the child was fighting with all she had to keep the tears inside.

  “Mrs. Bjorklund wrote to them, and the steamship company would have notified them too.”

  “Oh.”

  Ingeborg tightened the reins so the horses stopped by the back stoop. “Do you know how to milk a cow?”

  The look she got in return said plenty. As if any ten-year-old girl didn’t know how to milk cows, and what a stupid question to ask.

  “Good, then you can help Thorliff and Baptiste with the milking. The pails are in the springhouse right over there. I see they already have the cows all in the barn.”

  “Mor, we’re hungry.”

  “Yes, Andrew, I’m sure you are, but we have chores to do first.”

  Ingeborg swung over the wheel and to the ground. “You and Ellie can feed the chickens while the rest of us milk. I’m going to check on your pa first.” She scooped the sleeping Astrid up in her arms and mounted the steps. “You show Ilse where things are. Have her start with Bess.” She named the gentlest cow in the herd.

  A stew bubbled on the back of the stove, greeting them with the rich fragrance. Metiz came out of the sickroom.

  “Him sleeping.”

  Metiz carried a half-finished basket on her arm, this one a different shape, so Ingeborg knew the other one was finished.

  “Rain tonight.”

  “Then it is a good thing the men stayed to nail down the roof. That house went up so fast, Metiz, you would be amazed.”

  “Tepee faster.” Metiz’ black eyes sparkled.

  “Ja, tepees go up faster, come down faster, and let you freeze in the winter faster.” Ingeborg knew her friend was teasing. More than once, Metiz had commented on Ingeborg’s “fine” house. She loved the light coming in the windows about as much as Ingeborg did.

  Later that night when all the others were tucked in bed, Ingeborg sat beside Haakan and, while changing the cloths again, told him about the talk with Ilse on the way home.

  “I’m surprised she talked with you at all. Bridget said she hadn’t heard a word from the child since the ship’s men restrained her.”

  “I know. I was so shocked I about dropped the reins.” She partially wrung out a cloth of cool water and laid it across his belly. He flinched but smiled up at her.

  “I think you like making me flinch like that.”

  “No, but if you can smile at me, you must be feeling better.”

  “I think so. As long as I don’t move my legs or anything.” He laid his head first one side, then the other. “See, at least this end of me works.”

  “Good. Reverend Solberg asked if he could come see you tomorrow after church.”

  “And you said. . . ?”

  She looked at him, astonishment widening her eyes. “I said of course. He’s coming for dinner.” She leaned closer. “I have a feeling he isn’t coming just to see you, though, or he would have been over here before.”

  Haakan quirked an eyebrow.

  “Katy.”

  “Ah. Then he probably won’t mind that I can’t get up and greet him.”

  “Most likely not. Although he did say that anything that could fell Haakan Bjorklund had to be pretty bad.”

  “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.” He groaned when he tried to roll over. “Never thought I’d be hankering to walk to the outhouse.”

  She handed him the thunder mug. “The things we take for granted when we are well.”

  What other things had she been taking for granted? Ingeborg pondered that as she nursed Astrid for the last time that night. God forbid anything else bad would happen.

  The sound of the rain tapping on the windows reminded her that no one would skip church tomorrow to harvest. The grain would have to dry again before it could be cut. Please, God, protect the wheat. A hailstorm now would be the end of harvest for sure.

  They were discussing the rainstorm both before and after church the next morning.

  “Flattened fields south and west of here,” one man said.

  “Thanks be to God He spared the fields around here,” someone else added.

  Ingeborg couldn’t help but silently add “for now.” Nothing was certain until the grain was bagged and shipped, and the uncertainty of falling wheat prices kept the farmers on the edge of worry.

  Haakan Howard Bjorklund, you just get right back in that bed!”

  The thud when his body hit the floor brought all of them running. The women piled through the doorway with Ingeborg in the lead. Her heart started beating again when she recognized the stubborn-mule look on her husband’s face.

  “I . . . have . . . to . . . run . . . the . . . steam . . . engine.” He spoke from between teeth clamped so hard together his jaw glistened white. Sweat ran in rivulets from the effort he’d made.

  “You think you didn’t give Lars good training? He’s run the steam engine before, and he will do so again.” Ingeborg signaled to Goodie, who took Haakan’s other arm. “On three now. One, two, three.” With them hoisting, he straightened his legs enough to lift him back to the edge of the bed. Even the effort of sitting up kept the sweat pouring down his face and chest.

  “Ingeborg, I have been sick for over a week. The fields are cut and shocked. We need to get the separator going.”

  “Ja, that is true, but the we will not include you yet.” She stood in front of him, arms akimbo and a jaw nearly as tight as his. “If you conk yourself on the head, you’ll be laid up that much longer. Besides, you need all your strength for getting better, not for getting out of bed. If you want to sit in that chair while Goodie and I change your bed, that’ll be a help.”

  Bridget appeared in the doorway. “Can I do anything?”

  “You can try to talk some sense into this man here.”

  Bridget shook her head. “Not a Bjorklund man when he has his mind made up. Like a bear trap, they are.” She turned and said over her shoulder, “I’ll go kill chickens for dinner. That’s much easier.”

  “Spoken like a truly wise woman.” Goodie helped settle Haakan in the chair and handed him a damp towel to wipe his face. “You just behave yourself, Haakan Bjorklund. You know you are supposed to stand up with Olaf at our wedding this Sunday. Asking for help would go a long way to getting your strength back sooner.”

  Haakan wiped his face and neck. “At least I can feel the bone and muscle in my neck again. That’s something to be thankful for.”

  “You have plenty to be thankful for.” Goodie stopped stuffing the goose-down pillow into the pillowcase. “Two sons, a daughter, another baby on the way, a wife who stands by you, and a farm the riches of which I bet you never dreamed.”

  “You’re right, Goodie. It’s just hard to remember those things when I’m supposed to be out in the fields providing for all that I have.” Haakan leaned against the back of the chair, a white line around his mouth, evidence of the strain the effort cost.

  “Perhaps the good Lord gave you this time of quiet to help you remember.”

  Between the two of them, the women turned the mattress,
fluffing the sweet hay stuffing at the same time. With dry sheets spread and tucked in, they helped Haakan back to bed again.

  “Now you rest, and in a while we’ll come back and help you walk, if you can stand the pain. Perhaps moving about more will ease the swelling some.”

  Haakan gave Ingeborg a look that said what he thought about Goodie’s bossing him about like he was still in short pants. Ingeborg quirked the side of her mouth in what passed for a smile that Goodie wouldn’t see but let Haakan know she understood his frustrations.

  “Perhaps we can tighten the truss somehow to give you more support. It’s worth a try.” She whispered the words as she held a cup of cool water for him to drink. “You’ve lost so much weight. . . .” She just shook her head and didn’t bother to finish the sentence.

  That night Lars, Joseph, Petar, and the boys all crowded into the sickroom.

  “We got to start.” Joseph Baard took the floor. “And you know it, well as we do, that if we wait any longer, someone’s liable to lose their crop to a hailstorm or some such.” He scratched his scraggly beard. “Now, near as I see it, we haul the steam engine and separator to that same spot we did last year when we hired that outside crew. Four to five families can bring their wheat shocks there. They can pick up their straw later.”

  Haakan nodded. “I know. I been thinking the same thing. You going to haul wood to burn for the engine or use straw?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Pa says wood don’t burn too fast, makes the heat more even.” Thorliff spoke up as if he was one of the men.

  Lars, Haakan, and Joseph all grinned at one another.

  “We cut more if needed,” Baptiste offered.

  “Ja, we will burn wood while we have it. I heard of a boiler that exploded with straw fire.”

  “Two men killed.” Joseph shook his head. “We got to be real careful. Some of these men get in such a hurry.”

  “I checked all the belts before . . .” Haakan sighed. “Just be careful, you hear?”

  After more discussion, the men filed out, leaving Haakan to force himself to count his blessings rather than curse his own body for betraying him this way.

  In the morning he heard the crack of the whip, the horses’ hooves digging in, the shouting, and finally the moving of the steam engine. When silence finally fell again, he stared at the ceiling. Had he told them everything they needed to know? How could he lie there and let others do his work for him? But when he tried to turn over, he knew why. He couldn’t get his pants on even if he could stand up.

  But with the aid of the women, each day he walked a little farther, from wall to wall in the bedroom, then out to the kitchen, the parlor, and finally he could sit in a chair on the front porch. He stared at his hand, shaking as if with palsy just from the effort of walking out the door. Every night Lars reported how the day had gone. By Saturday, Haakan could get his pants on. On the third Sunday morning in August, at the wedding service following church, he stood beside Olaf, and Ingeborg stood up for Goodie as Reverend Solberg united the two in holy matrimony.

  “Mor?” Andrew tugged at his mother’s skirt when the wedding party joined the rest of the congregation at the tables groaning with hams, fried chicken, beans, mashed potatoes, vegetables of all kinds, both cooked and pickled, rolls, salads, and lemonade. Off to one side, the desserts decorated a table of their own.

  “Ja?” Ingeborg finally turned from the person she was talking with and answered her son.

  “Mor, Thorliff said Hans and Ellie are going to live at Onkel Olaf’s new house.”

  Ingeborg nodded. “Sure they are. Olaf is now their pa. You saw them get married.”

  “But”—he shook his head—“Ellie lives at our soddy.”

  “Not anymore. I told you.” Thorliff came up beside his brother.

  “Go away.” Andrew turned on his brother and pushed him with all his might.

  “Andrew, whatever has come over you?” Ingeborg took her younger son by the shoulder. “Come with me.”

  She walked him over by the wagons that sat in the shade of the church with the teams tethered to the wheels. “Now, what is this all about?”

  Andrew looked up at her, his eyes swimming in tears. “But Ellie can’t move away. She’s my bestest friend.”

  “It isn’t like she’s moving to Grand Forks or something. You’ll still get to see her at church, and they’ll come to our house to visit and we’ll go to theirs.”

  Andrew shook his head until his curls bounced. “Please, Mor, keep Ellie at our house.”

  Ingeborg sank to her knees and pulled her little son to her, wrapping him in her arms. “Ah, Andrew, we can’t always make people do what we want. Children live with their parents, and things change. Pretty soon Sophie will be big enough to play with you, and . . .”

  “Can I go live with Ellie?”

  “No, but she will come stay with us tonight yet.” Ingeborg stood, keeping his hand in hers. “Come now, let us go eat and show your pa what a big boy you are.”

  Andrew rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed again. “When Ellie and me gets married up, she can stay with us, huh, Mor?”

  “Let’s just get through this wedding before we begin planning that one, all right?”

  Andrew sniffed the air like a dog on a scent. “I want a drumstick. No two. One for me and one for Ellie.”

  Ingeborg shook her head. “Oh, Andrew, the things you come up with.”

  Later, when she told Haakan the story, he chuckled. “That boy of ours! You got to admit he’s smarter than many kids lots older than him. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he does what he says.”

  “Haakan, he’s just a baby.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  Before the sun rose the next morning, Haakan and Hamre backed the loaded wagon out of the barn where they’d stored it overnight to keep the dew off the bundled wheat. Along with another wagon that Lars drove, they headed off across the fields to where the steam engine and separator were set up at the junction of four properties. Wagons full of bundled grain were already lining up by the time he and Lars got the steam engine burning hot enough to begin building steam in the boiler. While they waited for the gauge to reach the needed pressure, Lars oiled all the moving parts, and Haakan showed Hamre how to reset and check the long belt for the proper tension.

  “Why is it crossed like that?” Hamre pointed to the X made in the middle of the wide belt that joined the separator to the steam engine.

  “Keeps the belt on the pulleys that way. If that belt flies off or breaks, it could mean the end of a man’s life.”

  “Like the winches on the fishing boat?”

  “That’s right. It’s dangerous to be around machinery if’n you don’t know what you are doing.” Haakan studied every inch of the belt, pointing out the places where he’d restitched it. “Better to fix it before it busts.” He turned to the boy at his side. “You want to be in charge of the oil can? When Lars or I holler, you climb up and pour oil into whatever hole we tell you.”

  Hamre nodded. “Ja, I can do that.”

  “Come on then, I’ll show you where all the places are.” Haakan and Hamre climbed all over the separator and the steam engine, being careful to keep from getting burned as they neared the firebox. “You can help keep the fire up too. Between the three of us, we should be able to keep this contraption going.” He gave the steam engine a slap on the side.

  “She-e’s ready,” Lars shouted. When he threw the lever, the pulleys began to turn. The kerplunks of the engine joined the screech of metal against metal, and in a few moments the rig settled into the rhythm for the day. At Lars’s nod, Haakan threw the long-handled lever on the separator, and the belt engaged. With more screeching and grinding, the separator bed began to bring the bundled grain closer to the maw of the monster.

  The men on the first wagon forked the bundles onto the moving canvas, and within a few moments chaff flew out of the stack, and golden grain poured into the sack
ing bin. Lars finished hooking the gunnysack over the square frame at the side of the machine, and with the twist of another handle, kernels of wheat began rounding the bottom of the sack.

  When the first sack was full, he spun the handle to shut off the golden stream and, grabbing the sack by the two sides of the open mouth, hoisted the entire thing off to the side and between the knees of one of the older men, whose job it was to stitch the mouth closed. His big needle, threaded with hemp, flashed in and out as he whipped the sack closed. Swen, at almost fourteen the oldest of the Baard children, hefted the sack and tossed it into the waiting wagon. As the day progressed, the men changed jobs but the rhythm remained the same.

  As did the wheat chaff that worked its way into shirts and pants and made everyone itch. The sun rose higher in the sky, raising sweat to pour over the rash from the chaff. When Knute Baard brought the water bucket and dipper around, he had instant friends.

  “Noisy, huh?” He shouted to be heard. When Hamre ignored him, Knute set the bucket down and clapped his hands over his ears. “I said noisy, huh?”

  Hamre wasted no motion with his nod. He took the dipper, drank, and handed it back. Knute took it and poured some over his own head, then motioned for the other boy to do the same. Hamre shook his head, his eyebrows meeting to finish the frown.

  Knute shrugged and went on his way. When he got to Haakan, he looked over his shoulder at the newcomer.

  “Just give him time,” Haakan said, clapping a hand on Knute’s shoulder. “I sure do thank you for both the drink and the shower.” He used two dippers full like most of the men had. One to drink and one to pour.

  “He’s some mad, ain’t he?” Knute looked over at Hamre again.

  “Don’t worry. It wasn’t nothing you did.” Haakan waved to catch Hamre’s attention, then pointed to a place on the steam engine that needed oil. “You just go on about your water carrying. Far as I can see, you’re the most popular man on the crew.”

  Knute touched a finger to the brim of his flat hat and, picking up the now empty bucket, headed to the water wagon for a refill.