The Reaper's Song

by Lauraine Snelling

  “You got the feeling that there’s something going on that no one is telling us?” Ingeborg had her elbows propped on the table and the coffee cup nestled in her hands.

  “Why sure, it’s almost Christmas. That’s the way it is supposed to be. You can’t tell me you aren’t hoarding a secret or two.”

  “No, it’s different than that. Like everyone else knows but me.” She glanced at Kaaren with a questioning eyebrow.

  Kaaren shook her head. “I have no idea what you are talking about, so if you are trying to pump me, it won’t work.”

  “Never hurts to try.” Ingeborg cocked her head. “There’s the sleigh bells. Now you watch, those kids are hiding something, and Haakan is in on it.”

  The schoolchildren blew in on a snowy north wind breath, their laughter cutting off at the sight of Ingeborg and Kaaren at the table. Manda covered her mouth with her snowy mitten and giggled as she took off her muffler.

  A glare from Thorliff only made it worse.

  Ingeborg gave Kaaren a knowing look that said quite plainly, “See? What did I tell you?”

  As soon as they’d devoured the milk and molasses cookies set out for them, they bundled up again.

  “We got work to do out in the barn,” Thorliff announced. He led the group out but peeked back in the door when they’d gone. “You’re making something good for the program tomorrow night, aren’t you?” The sound of his laughter floated through before the door slammed.

  “Do you miss things like the program?” Ingeborg turned back to Kaaren.

  “Yes and no. I loved teaching while I did it, and doing the first program made it even more special, but . . .” She paused. “I got so much to do with the three we have and another on the way that I don’t have time to miss anything. Besides, I’m trying to find ways to help Grace be able to know what we are saying.” She shook her head slowly, as if attached to a great weight. “That takes every teaching skill I have. She is learning to read lips, though. If she can see your mouth move, she is figuring out what things mean. Ah, Inge, she is so smart, that one. To be locked in a world of silence . . .”

  Now it was Ingeborg’s turn to shake her head. “I cannot bear to think it. Not to hear the song of a meadowlark in the spring, or the cry of a loon, or the beller of a cow. Or hear when a baby cries, or the dog barks to let us know someone is coming, or when something is boiling over on the stove. How will she even get along?”

  “She will! God gave her to us for a special reason and us to her. Having Katy at our house all the time is such a help, and Ilse takes over the twins when she gets home from school. Oh, I am so blessed.”

  That evening after the children were in bed, the three adults brought out the gifts they were making for Christmas. Haakan took out his carving knife and continued fashioning feet and hands for the dolls Ingeborg was making for the three little girls. He had already carved the heads. Bridget knit away—sweaters for the boys and dresses for the girls. Ingeborg stuffed sawdust into the cloth doll bodies she had sewn. A dress, pinafore, and pantaloons were already finished and tucked out of sight in a box, along with other treasures she’d been working on.

  “I think yarn will make the best hair,” Bridget said after looking again at one of the carved heads. “I was thinking to use wool, you know, before it is carded.”

  “That would work.” Haakan held up a small hand. “Only one to go. Are you sure you can’t find someone else who needs a doll too?”

  His question made Ingeborg smile. The one they’d made for Deborah, along with a cradle and quilt, was hidden on the top of a shelf and behind a blanket. She couldn’t wait to see the little girl’s eyes light up. She loved the rag doll Ingeborg had made earlier and carted it with her everywhere.

  “You finished Trygve’s train yet?”

  Haakan shook his head. “Got to smooth it out and put on the wheels. I got Andrew helping me with that. He’s learning to use the deer horn to smooth wood. He’s pretty strong for his age, you know.”

  “And stubborn.”

  “Ja.” Haakan grinned, a look of pride creasing his face. “He’s a Bjorklund, ain’t he?”

  “You got ants in your pants or something?” Ingeborg laid a hand on Thorliff’s shoulder and held him in place.

  “But we’re going to be late.”

  “No, your pa will leave with you children in a few minutes, and the rest of us will come with Lars.”

  “I want you to get a front seat.”

  “We will come soon, then.” She tousled his hair. “You better go comb your hair, son.”

  He wrinkled his nose at her. “My hat will mess it anyway.” He nibbled on his lower lip.

  “What is it?”

  “N-nothing.” He shook his head and bounded off, ricocheting off the kitchen counter as he went out the door. “Ouch!”

  “That boy. He’s growing so fast he’s lost track of his body. Why, he’s knocked more things over or banged into them in the last weeks than in his whole life.”

  “It will get worse before it gets better.” Bridget turned from putting the last of the fattigmann and sour cream cookies in the basket.

  “Wait, do you hear that?” Bridget paused.

  “It’s a wolf howling.” Ingeborg finished banking the stove. A tap at the door and Metiz entered, kicking snow off her boots before stepping on the braided rag rug.

  “Wolf back.”

  Ingeborg clasped her hands to her breast. “Oh, Metiz, how wonderful. I hated to ask, afraid that maybe he’d gone away to die or something got him.”

  “Me think so too. But he back.”

  “Wolf?”

  “Metiz saved a wolf puppy from a trap once, and he’s sort of stayed around. He saved our sheep one winter from marauding wolves, and he’s the one that brought Andrew back when he got lost in the tall grass. Remember, I wrote you about that?”

  Bridget cocked an eyebrow.

  “And then again, maybe I thought to and didn’t.” Ingeborg felt a flash of guilt. The prick of it made her wince. “There were many things I wanted to write and tell you, but there were never enough hours in the day, no matter how early I began it or how late I fell into bed. But the thoughts were there.”

  “You think I didn’t know that?” Bridget tipped her head to one side. “Our prayers went up for you all the time. Now that I am here and see what life is like in this Dakota Territory, I do not know how you did all that you did.” She shook her head. “Nor Gustaf either. He so often said, ‘How will Ingeborg and Kaaren make it, the two of them alone like that after losing their husbands?’ You had his highest admiration.”

  The jingle of sleigh bells and a halloo from out front sent them scurrying for their coats. “Come on, Andrew, Deborah. Bring Astrid with you. We’re ready to go.” Once they were all bundled into their coats, along with hats, scarves, and mittens, Lars carried Astrid out to the sleigh and tucked them all under the elk lap robes and quilts.

  Ingeborg brought rocks she’d heated in the oven and tucked them at everyone’s feet, then climbed in herself, snuggling under the robe with the children. Metiz chose to ride in front with Lars.

  “Wolf back,” she said when he hupped the horses.

  “So you are saying, ‘Don’t shoot’ if I see him?”

  She chuckled. “That right.”

  As they entered the church, giggles and shushes came from behind the curtain stretched from one side of the church room to the other, but there were no schoolchildren to be seen. Haakan waved them to the places he’d saved in the front row, and they all took their seats, removing their coats for Lars to carry back to the cloakroom.

  “Where’s Thorliff?” asked Andrew.

  “Back behind the curtain with the other children.” Astrid bounced on her mother’s lap. “Uff da, you are much too big to do that.” Ingeborg looked over to Haakan, who reached for his daughter.

  “Here you come, missy. You can bounce all you please.”

  A hush fell as Reverend Solberg strode to the front of the church.
“Welcome to our Christmas program for 1886. We gather in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost.” He made the sign of the cross and smiled out at his audience. “I have a special announcement to make tonight, one that the children have kept secret with a great deal of effort. And some of you have made that even harder for them by asking questions.”

  A few titters rippled through the packed room. Latecomers lined the walls as the center aisle had to be kept clear for some reason.

  “And now for the revealing of that secret. Our program this year was written by our own budding writer, Thorliff Bjorklund.”

  Ingeborg could feel her jaw drop. She looked to Haakan, who wore a look that she knew matched her own. “Thorliff wrote the program?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “What program? What did Thorliff write?” Andrew’s whisper could be heard clear out on the snowdrifts.

  “Shhh, listen.” Ingeborg pointed to the front of the room, where Thorliff now stood before the audience, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  “ ‘Once upon a time, long ago in a small land, there lived a band of shepherds who took care of the sheep for the people in the village.’ ” He cleared his throat and continued reading.

  The story told of a small boy who helped the shepherds, but who never felt he was a part of a family or the shepherds or belonged anywhere.

  At the end of the program, after the story was told, the songs all sung, and the gathering had oohed and aahed over the production, Reverend Solberg returned to the front of the church. He started to talk, then had to clear his throat. Not once, but twice.

  Ingeborg wiped the tears from her eyes. Her son wrote that play. She could hear others sniffing and a man hawk the lump out of his throat. She felt as if she’d been at that manger when a little boy saw the Christ child and knew the Savior had indeed come. She felt in her bones that if they all trooped outside right now, they too would hear the angels sing, “Glory to God in the highest and peace to men on earth.”

  Ah, that they might all know that peace this evening. A picture of a hand waving at them from the upstairs window of the Valders’ home flew through Ingeborg’s mind. There was no peace in that home for sure. You have to go back and try to see her again! It was her own voice ordering her, but she knew where the idea came from.

  “That was a magnificent play,” Kaaren whispered. “And to think our Thorliff wrote it. I knew he wrote well, and he talks of being a writer. Face it, Ingeborg, he is one.”

  As soon as he could, Thorliff came to stand in front of Ingeborg and Haakan. “Did you like it?” His voice trembled.

  Ingeborg wanted to fold him in her arms, but she knew that would embarrass him, so she just took his hands. “Thorliff Bjorklund, I have never been so proud in all my life. You wrote a fine play and you narrated the story wonderfully.”

  “I’m so proud of you I could bust.” Haakan laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “And that goes for all the rest of us.” Kaaren took the liberty of being an aunt and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I like doing it.” He looked into Ingeborg’s eyes. “Do you think it made people think more about how it felt to find Jesus?”

  “Yes, my son, I think all of us feel closer to Him tonight because of your story. It made more than one person get tears in their eyes. Couldn’t you hear the sniffles?”

  “Ja, but I thought maybe some of them had colds or something.”

  “Ah, Thorliff, God gave you something special, and now it is up to you to grow the gift wisely.” Kaaren patted his cheek and turned to answer one of the children who’d been her student.

  Each one of the children received an orange and a tiny bag of candy for a gift, and the parents accepted the cutout stars their children had made for them.

  Metiz stopped beside Thorliff. She looked up and into his eyes. “Great Spirit say things through you. Don’t forget.” She swept an arm to indicate the evening and all that had happened. “I got news. Wolf come home.”

  “Merry Christmas, Metiz.” Thorliff smiled back at her. “That’s your present.”

  “Good gift from Great Spirit.” The old woman nodded. “Best gift is baby in manger.” She melted through the crowd until Thorliff couldn’t see her. He turned to find his mother staring with her mouth open.

  “She knows.” Ingeborg clasped a hand to her throat. “Metiz knows and believes the real story of Christmas.” Surely the angels were singing this night.

  “I wish the Valderses were here.” Kaaren handed Trygve to his father and picked up Grace. While she cuddled the little girl close, she shared a look with Ingeborg.

  “I know. I plan to go see her as soon after Christmas as the weather permits.”

  The Christmas service several days later was almost anticlimactic after the children’s program. Folks were still talking about the play after church and during the visiting that went on from house to house. With all the Bjorklunds at Ingeborg’s, the house was busting at the roof ridges. After they’d eaten and the presents had been opened, all who could headed for the skating pond. Thanks to Zeb and Hjelmer, everybody had skates.

  “Look at Bestemor!” Thorliff tugged on Ingeborg’s coat to get her attention.

  Bridget swooped and circled and skated backward, cutting long curves in the ice with her sharp skates. She waved to Hjelmer and he joined her, the two of them skating as if the finest waltz were playing. When they finished, everyone cheered and clapped.

  “Bestemor, teach us!” Thorliff skated out to her.

  Bridget took Manda by the hand. “Come with me, child. You will learn this in no time.” Then with hands crossed in front of them, she led all those who wanted help back onto the ice.

  “Look, I’m skating backward,” Manda shrieked, her face split by a broader smile than any had yet seen from her. When she started to slip and flail her arms, Hjelmer skated in front of her.

  “Put your hands on my arms,” he said. And so she did. The setting sun painted the white snow in reds, then pinks, firing sparkles like diamonds, and none were brighter than those in Manda’s eyes.

  “Bless you.” Ingeborg took Hjelmer’s hands when he asked if she would skate with him.

  “Did you see her face?”

  “Ja, and she has never looked so beautiful. Mange takk, my friend, mange takk.”

  The day Ingeborg chose to go calling on the Valderses dawned bright and clear. With the temperature up near the thirties, water dripped from icicles on the house and barn, causing a song of their own. The chores were caught up. The baking done. All were healthy. Ingeborg had no excuse.

  “You planned it this way, didn’t you?” She looked heavenward as she drove the horse out of the yard. A basket full of julekake, fattigmann, cheese, and a loaf of fresh bread sat close beside her. Other neighbors had tried to visit the Valderses but always reported no answer to their knocks on the door. “But I’m sure you have another plan, don’t you?”

  The horse flicked his ears back and forth, hearing her voice above the jingling of the harness bells. The sleigh runner hissed through the snow. Because of the frozen snow crust, Ingeborg cut across the fields, not confined to the roads as usual. She kept up the conversation with her Father in heaven, bringing to Him all the hurts and needs of those around her, but she kept coming back to the Valderses.

  Each time she thought of the snarl in Anner’s voice the last time she went to their door, she got a cramping in her belly. Would the man yell at her again? What would she do if he did?

  And each time she had to go back to thanking God that He had a plan.

  “ ‘Fear not,’ you have said. That is so easy to say but right now my stomach is full of fear. My head knows this is your idea, but my belly sure is arguing.”

  Was that a heavenly chuckle she heard or just the hiss of the runners? She took in a deep breath, grateful that the cold didn’t hurt clear to her middle. Maybe the air would calm her insides.

  Smoke rose from the chimney of the Valders’ house, straig
ht up in the still air. Someone was home.

  Ingeborg slowed the horse so the jingling wouldn’t be so loud. “I should have left the bells off.” She slowed the horse even more, and finally came to a stop.

  The crunch of her boots as she approached the home sounded like rifle shots in the stillness. The horse stamped his foot and snorted.

  She jumped.

  At the bottom of the steps, she took in another deep breath, settled the basket on her arm, and put her foot on the bottom step.

  The door opened a crack. “Wait there.” Hildegunn waved a hand and withdrew. A moment later she stepped out the door, wrapping a scarf around her head and neck as she came, but not quickly enough to keep Ingeborg from seeing the black bruises on her neck and one side of her face. She limped across the porch.

  “Hildegunn, what happened to you?” Ingeborg whispered, but the shock made her voice sound loud.

  “Ah, n-nothing. I fell down on the ice.” Her hand went to hide the bruises.

  “On the side of your face like that?” Ingeborg wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around the woman, who shivered in front of her. Hildegunn looked as though she’d aged twenty-five years into an old woman. Her eyes, what Ingeborg could see of them, seemed as devoid of life as the windswept prairie.

  “No matter. I am just so glad to see you.” Hildegunn reached out a hand.

  Ingeborg took it. Shudders came from the shrunken woman before her.

  “I brought you some things,” Ingeborg said. “I wasn’t sure if you had time to bake, and I know Anner likes the cheese I make.”

  “I will tell him you left the basket on the porch. Others have done so. Oh, Ingeborg, I . . .” She stopped herself. After a glance over her shoulder that shouted of fear, she turned back. “I better go back in before he wakes up. Thank you for coming.”

  She scurried back into the house like a mouse being chased by a very big cat.

  Ingeborg stood a moment, staring at the closed door. “Dear God, this is so bad. He has been beating her, has he not?”

  While God didn’t answer, Ingeborg had no doubt that was the case. But what to do about it?