An Untamed Land

by Snelling, Lauraine

  “You must calm down”—he held up a soothing hand—“for I cannot understand you.” He spoke slowly, enunciating every word clearly.

  A woman wearing a white bibbed apron came running out of the gate. “How can I help? I hear you need someone who speaks Norwegian.”

  At the sound of her own language, Ingeborg swallowed her tears and drew herself erect. “My son, Thorliff, is missing. Mr. Roald Bjorklund, my husband, said for us to stay here with our belongings, but when the man in the blue uniform made us move closer to the fence, Thorliff disappeared. I . . . I . . .”

  The woman clasped Ingeborg’s icy hands in her own. “We will find him; you pray.” She turned and gave orders in English to those around her. Then turning back to Ingeborg, she asked, “Now what does this Thorliff of yours look like?”

  Ingeborg drew in a deep breath. “His hair is gold like the summer wheat, and his eyes are blue like his father’s. He is five years old and wearing a black coat with a cap I knitted myself.” Her hands moved swiftly, describing height and size.

  The aproned woman quickly translated the description of the boy and sent people scurrying in different directions. “Now then, my dear, you and I will wait right here so they can find you when they need you.”

  “No, I must go look, myself.” Ingeborg tried to pull away, but another aproned woman blocked her path.

  Ingeborg sniffed back a fresh onslaught of tears. What was the matter with her? She knew that crying never did any good. They must think she was a hysterical female, one who couldn’t even keep track of a small boy. She drew her shoulders straighter and dug in her reticule for a handkerchief. And she’d been worried earlier about losing her hat!

  “I’m better now.” Ingeborg straightened her back as she spoke to the kind woman beside her. In the distance, she could hear voices calling out her son’s name. Dear Lord above, watch over your wayward lamb. You, who said a lost sheep was worth searching for, please help these good people find my Thorly. While she wasn’t sure how closely God was listening, nevertheless, the prayer made her feel better. Could even the eye of God find one lost boy in all this confusion?

  A few minutes later a shout went up some distance away, and Ingeborg turned her head in that direction. What were they saying? Oh, to be able to understand the language!

  “Come, I think they may have found him.” The woman in the apron pointed down the street bordering the enclosure.

  Ingeborg looked up the street and then back at the pile of belongings stacked against the wooden posts.

  “I will care for your things.” The other aproned woman smiled and gave her a bit of a push. “Go now.”

  With a hasty “mange takk,” Ingeborg followed the woman’s advice and darted down the cobbled street. Tall wooden buildings rose on either side of her, blocking the sun. She could hear the sounds of a crowd up ahead and made for the noise. As she ran, her mind kept time with her feet. Please let him be all right, Lord. Please. She pulled up short at the sight of a small boy snagged in the clutches of a blue-coated officer. The ruddy-faced man was handing the squirming child to an officer wearing a uniform and badge.

  Thorliff clutched an apple in his hand.

  “Thorly!” Ingeborg’s screech could have crossed the North Sea.

  “Mor!” The little boy reached for her with open arms.

  She grabbed the child away from the police officer and hugged him close.

  “E’s a thief, that’s whot ’e is.” The man brusquely took ahold of her arm above the elbow.

  Unable to understand the man’s words, but sure of the look on his face, Ingeborg thrust Thorliff behind her and turned on him like a banty hen defending her lone chick.

  “You leave him alone! I don’t care who or what you are, you leave my son alone.”

  At that moment, one of the apron-garbed women from Castle Garden puffed into the intersection. “Now then, missus, what seems to be the problem?” She spoke in the dialect of Oslo that Ingeborg could well understand.

  The policeman crossed beefy arms over a chest broad enough to dance on and glowered down at them. “Blasted furiners! When they gonta learn to speak the king’s English?”

  His scowl made Ingeborg stutter. “He . . . he had Thorliff.”

  “And what did the mite do to bring your wrath down on his innocent head?” The woman in the apron planted her hands on hips that well filled out the gathered garment.

  “He stole that apple, he did.” The officer jabbed an accusing finger in Thorliff’s direction.

  The man from behind the corner fruit stand joined the growing crowd. “There were three of them hoodlums. One distracted me while the other took my apples and tossed them out to others. Then they all ran off.”

  “All but this little one,” the woman said, planting herself in front of Ingeborg.

  Behind his mother, Thorliff took another bite of his apple. Ingeborg heard the crunch and instantly turned around. Bending over, nose to nose, she demanded, “Did you steal this apple from that man?”

  “No, no. The nice boys . . . they gave it to me.” His chin quivered and a single tear hovered on the tip of his blond lashes. “Mor, they gave it to me. I promise.” He tried to hide the evidence behind his back.

  “Give it to me.” When she had the apple in her hand, Ingeborg tried to hand it to the stern-faced policeman. “He did not know he was doing wrong, sir. Surely you can understand that. Where we come from, when someone gives you a gift, you say ‘mange takk’ and enjoy it. When my husband comes . . .” At the thought of Roald, her heart dropped to her ankles. She caught her breath and continued. “He will pay for the apple.”

  The woman acting as interpreter finished conveying what Ingeborg said to the police officer. “And where are the ruffians who actually did the stealing?” She glared at the tradesman and the officer. Then laying a hand on Thorliff’s head, she asked, “Why aren’t you chasing after them instead of scaring this poor innocent?”

  Ingeborg looked from one to the other, trying to follow what was happening by the expressions on their faces and their tone of voice. If only she could speak Amerikan; the thought hardened into resolve. She would learn to talk right. There had to be a way. If only they had learned to speak Amerikan before they came. She just hadn’t realized how important it would be.

  Her protector kept on talking, jabbering so fast that Ingeborg thought no one would understand the torrent of her words. But before her very eyes, the storekeeper threw his hands in the air and strode back to his fruit stand. The policeman shook his head and, after giving what sounded like a serious warning, headed back toward the wharf area.

  “Come, dear, it is all right now.” Taking Ingeborg’s arm and Thorliff’s hand, their newfound friend led them back across the busy street and down another.

  The buildings on either side of them appeared totally unfamiliar to Ingeborg. Where was she taking them? Ingeborg could feel her stomach tie itself up in knots again. Whatever had she done to deserve this? She had not even had time to thank God for saving Thorliff, and they were off again. She planted her feet on the cobblestone walk and refused to go any farther.

  “My things, I must get back to guard them.”

  “Oh, my. I didn’t tell you. We are just taking a shortcut to get there sooner,” their guide said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.” Ingeborg felt as she had when scolded as a child by a schoolmarm. But the woman wasn’t scolding her; the smile that turned her cheeks into round buns assured them of that. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Never you mind. I know this has all been terrible for you, not understanding a single word of what’s going on and all. You just come with me, and we’ll get you back to Castle Garden and to your husband.”

  Please let us get there before Roald does. Ingeborg’s plea drifted heavenward. But when they turned the final corner, she knew her request had fallen on deaf ears.

  “Far! Far!” How could one small boy shout so loud? Ingeborg wished she’d been able to clap her hand over his mouth b
efore the shout. The thunder gathered on her husband’s brow left her in no doubt of his state of mind. If only she could back up time and pretend this all hadn’t happened.

  Roald strode across the street, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea before Moses. “Where have you been? I left you to take care of our belongings. You know what they’ve said about people stealing from immigrants. How could you leave?”

  “Now, Mr. Bjorklund, your belongings are—” Their angel of mercy cut short her words as Roald quelled her with a stern look.

  When he directed that same withering glare at Ingeborg, she ignored the urge to hang her head and let the tears flow. Here she had risked life and limb to find his son, had snatched Thorliff away from the police, and then returned to find his father on a rampage.

  “We will discuss this later.” She grabbed Thorliff by the hand and marched over to the wall where Carl had set Kaaren and the baby down on the mound of bundles and satchels. “Thank you for watching our belongings,” she said to the aproned woman who still hovered by the stack. Ingeborg turned to her guiding savior and extended a work-worn hand. “Mange takk.” She closed her other hand over their clasped fingers. “You have been so good to us. God bless you.”

  All the while, she wanted to throw herself into the motherly woman’s arms and bawl like one of the newly weaned calves in the pens back home. Home. So far across that turbulent sea. Another world, another lifetime.

  She could feel Roald, his barely contained anger an ominous presence, by her side. As if she would walk away from all their earthly possessions without good reason, when she knew the mound of belongings may mean the difference between life and death when they reached their new home. The thought of his accusations caused a spark to smolder in her midsection. Her mother’s frequent admonition resounded in her ear. A calm and gentle spirit, Inge. Pfft with the anger and the talking back.

  Ingeborg deliberately released the tension in her jaw. She looked up to see Carl watching her, compassion evident in his eyes and half-hidden smile.

  “You are all right?” he asked quietly.

  “Ja, God be thanked.” She could feel a tremor begin in her chin. If she wasn’t careful, someone being nice to her would be her undoing.

  “I’m going inside to determine how we are to proceed,” Roald said over his shoulder. “Are you coming, Carl?” When there wasn’t an immediate answer, the tall man in black paused. “Well?” He turned to face the small group clustered for comfort amidst the sea of pushing and yelling alien bodies. When Carl shook his head, Roald grunted a sound of disgust and merged with the swirling crowd, only his black felt hat visible above the masses.

  “Well, Thorly, you certainly caused a stir, didn’t you?” Carl swept the boy up in his strong arms and looked him in the eye. “Didn’t your far and mor tell you to stay right here?”

  Thorliff nodded. His lower lip began to quiver.

  “And what did you do?”

  Thorly hung his head. “I went after those boys.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” A tear beaded on an eyelash and meandered down his cheek.

  “Little boys are to obey their parents. You won’t do such a thing again, will you?”

  Thorliff shook his head.

  “I should have kept hold of his hand, but . . .”

  “It is not your fault,” Kaaren said from her place among the bundles. “It was an accident, but all is well now.”

  Ingeborg shot her sister-in-law a grateful look. “How are you feeling, den lille?”

  “Stronger. Being off that . . . that heaving ship helps.” She looked up with lines of worry creasing her forehead. “How will I ever pass the inspection?”

  “With God’s strength. He wouldn’t have brought us here if we weren’t supposed to come.” Ingeborg put all the confidence she could muster into her words. “Tomorrow, we will be all together on our way west.”

  A woman’s wailing snapped their heads up.

  “I’ll see what is the problem,” Carl said before pushing his way through the crowd. When he returned only seconds later, they could see he carried bad news.

  “What . . . what is it?”

  “She is being sent back to Norway. She has tuberculosis.” Carl reached for Kaaren’s hand.

  “Oh, dear God, dear God.” Kaaren leaned her cheek against his arm. “Father God, not us. Please, please. I could not bear the return voyage. Please, no more ships.” She rocked back and forth, wasting precious strength in her fear.

  “Kaaren!” When the babe began to whimper, Ingeborg spoke again, even more sharply. “Kaaren! Enough!” Ingeborg saw Carl frown at her sharp reprimand, but he kept silent when Kaaren’s cries turned to sniffs.

  “Like I told you, you are not sick, only weak from having the baby and being seasick. Surely they will understand this. They are not ogres after all,” Carl said as he stroked his wife’s head.

  “Not to be afraid, Tante Kaaren.” Thorliff crept closer to her side. “Far won’t let the bad mans get you.”

  Kaaren smiled through her tears. “Mange takk, Thorly. You help Far, all right?”

  The little boy nodded and grinned. “I big help.”

  “Carl, Carl.” Roald’s shout caught all their attention. “We’ll gather what we can for the first trip inside with you and Kaaren. Then you can wait in line for all of us. Once we have our things there, we can purchase something to eat.” He hefted bundles and valises as he spoke, loading himself up more heavily than had the black stevedores they’d seen on the docks. “Ingeborg, you and the boy stay here.” He shot Thorliff a stern look. “And you obey your mor, hear me?”

  Thorliff nodded and ducked his head. He studied the top button on his coat until his father strode off.

  For the next half hour, Ingeborg waited and watched as hundreds of anxious immigrants filed past her into Castle Garden for inspection. Then above the crowd she saw Roald’s black hat as he fought his way back through the crowd to get them. Silently she thanked God for her husband’s tall height.

  Once inside, Ingeborg looked up in awe at the ceiling arching high over their heads, supported by tall white columns. The din of hundreds of petitioners entering the new land echoed around the vaulted ceiling, increasing in volume on its journey. Ingeborg felt like clapping her hands over her ears, for the roar was worse than the mightiest breakers pounding the rocks of the Norwegian coast. Even the tallest waterfall hurling its spume to the river below failed to match the thundering sound. For this river carried a powerful riptide of fear and agony. An undertow of apprehension.

  Roald returned from his mission for food and handed each of them a pasty of potatoes and carrots baked in a golden crusty dough. He also brought a jar of milk and gave it to Kaaren. “For you. The man said it was fresh this morning.”

  “Thank you, Jesus, for this food for our bodies.” Ingeborg murmured the prayer before biting into the tantalizing pie. She closed her eyes, savoring both smell and taste. After stew or soup for all the meals during the voyage—often consisting of more water than sustenance—she bit into the flaky crust with relish and chewed slowly, delighting in each mouthful.

  When she opened her eyes, she looked around at the other three adults and the small boy who’d let out a shriek of delight at his treat. If her face looked like the others, this first bit of food in their new land spoke well of it. And she was certain she saw a tinge of color coming back into Kaaren’s cheeks after only half the milk was gone.

  At that moment, as if afraid she might be missing out, the baby let out a wail that made others in the snaking line turn their way.

  “Our baby’s hungry,” Thorliff announced to all within earshot.

  As Ingeborg looked at those waiting patiently around them, she was greeted with nodding heads of understanding and gentle smiles. Gone were the frowns and impatient mutterings—a baby always seemed to bring out the best in folks. She looked down at Kaaren, nestled on their mound of belongings. She had a worried look on her face, but her che
eks now blossomed with color.

  “How can I feed her here?” Kaaren whispered to Ingeborg. The baby wailed louder, in spite of Kaaren’s rocking and shushings.

  “We cannot leave the line,” Carl replied.

  “But we can gather around her and make our own wall.” Ingeborg motioned for the men to join her. They stood facing out, arms crossed over their chests, as if daring anyone to make a comment.

  When Ingeborg looked up at her husband’s face, his expression was blank. But the nearly invisible twitch hadn’t yet left his right eye. That twitch alone told her he was still angry with her. Knowing him as she did, she knew he would never mention the incident again.

  How would she find a way to pay the shopkeeper? Could she find him at all?

  By the time they reached the inspectors, Thorliff was whiny, the baby refused to be comforted, Ingeborg felt a pounding in her head, and Roald’s left eyelid had begun to twitch in earnest again. Only Carl could summon a smile or an encouraging word.

  The woman who had rescued Ingeborg earlier appeared at the doctor’s right side, ready to interpret. Her smile bathed them all in warmth. As she asked the questions and translated their answers, a man perched on a stool at a tall desk wrote swiftly in a huge ledger.

  “He’s just writing down the information,” the woman assured them.

  After all the questions had been answered, the man in charge excused himself and walked across the tiled floor to speak to another official.

  A mewl of fear escaped from Kaaren, who was propped upright between the strong arms of Carl and Ingeborg.

  Ingeborg gave her a comforting squeeze. Only a few minutes to wait. They would pass—they must pass—all of them! Please, God, let not all our hardship be for naught.