An Untamed Land

by Snelling, Lauraine

  Thorliff let loose of his uncle’s knees and reached up to pat the other pocket.

  “Careful. It wouldn’t do to break these precious things. Come, you can help me get them cooked.” Carl removed his hat and, with great care, placed each egg in it. With hat in one hand and Thorliff’s hand clenched in the other, he left the room, childish chatter floating back from their departure.

  “Something is bothering you,” Kaaren said to Ingeborg as she lifted a hand to smooth back a wisp of hair that refused to remain in the coronet of braids.

  “Nei, it is nothing.” Ingeborg placed the hairbrush and comb on the washstand by the sturdy white pitcher in which she’d fetched warm water for their morning washing. Her hands refused to remain still. Instead, she placed the pitcher in the matching bowl and then set the bowl exactly centered on the oak stand.

  “Is everything to your satisfaction?”

  Ingeborg could hear the teasing in her sister-in-law’s voice. She clamped her hands together to stop their telltale busyness, moving to look out the window instead of facing Kaaren. “Did you see the snow? There’s a man setting up a stand of some kind across the street.”

  “Ingeborg, what is it?” Kaaren persisted.

  Ingeborg hesitated only for a moment, and then the words came out in a rush. “I promised to pay the grocer for the apple Thorliff was given, but I have no money, and Roald insists it is nothing. He refuses to go back and pay, and I gave my word.” She sighed and turned her back to the window. “What to do?” She felt the weight of the worry sitting right on her shoulders. How could one red apple cause so much trouble?

  “I have some money. I will give you what you need,” Kaaren offered.

  “You do?”

  “My mor believes a woman should have something of her own for times of emergency. She made sure that when Carl and I married, I had a bit also.”

  “But that is yours. I cannot take it.”

  “Ours. With all that you have done for me, I now can give something in return.” Kaaren started to rise from the chair, but Ingeborg waved her back. “I know, save my strength. There, in the bottom of that black leather valise is a drawstring purse. Carl changed the money for me at the Castle Garden.”

  “He knows you have it?”

  Kaaren nodded. “But he won’t mind in the least. In fact, we can ask him to go pay it.”

  Ingeborg shook her head. “No, he and Roald have much to do today. I will not bother him.” She pulled the jingling bag from the valise and poured the coins into her palm. “Surely it can be no more than two or three of these copper coins.” She slipped them into her own pouch and, after pulling the strings closed, buried the small bag back in Kaaren’s valise. “Mange takk. I can’t tell you how much. I will return these as soon as I am able.”

  “Don’t be silly. Maybe we’ll find that street paved with gold and fill the poor bag right up.” Kaaren crossed her ankles and clasped her hands in her lap. “Oh, the luxury of being on land again. I don’t think I’ll ever even want to go out in a rowboat on a lake.” She paused and stared at Ingeborg. “How will you return to pay the grocer?”

  When Ingeborg refused to look at her, Kaaren swung her feet to the floor. “You cannot think to be going yourself!” The sound of her fear set the babe to whimpering.

  “See now, you must not get all upset. We will talk about that later.” At the conversation, the baby screwed up her face and let out a wail that nearly covered the sound of the door opening.

  “It appears to me someone around here feels plenty better,” Roald said while handing two crusty loaves of still-warm bread to Ingeborg. “I see Carl was able to buy some milk.”

  “And eggs.” Kaaren’s soft sigh floated like a prayer.

  “Carl and Thorliff went downstairs to see if Mrs. Flaksrude would let him cook them in the kitchen.” Ingeborg lifted one of the loaves to her face and inhaled the aroma. “They’d best hurry back or I shall eat all of this myself.” The temptation to break off just a bit of one end made her fingers twitch. The fragrance tasted of heaven. Soon she would be baking her own bread again, in her own house, on their own land.

  She glanced up to see Roald watching her with his eyebrows nearly meeting in a straight line, a line that always spelled a scolding. What had she done wrong now?

  “That is for everyone and should last until supper tonight.” Roald removed his coat and hung it on one of the nails by the door.

  Ingeborg caught her reply before it passed her lips and nodded instead. “Of course.” Didn’t he understand she was teasing? When would she learn that her husband, fine man that he was, didn’t make jokes? And didn’t seem to appreciate it when others did.

  She glanced at Kaaren and saw her grin before she ducked her head in the baby’s blanket. At least someone else could see some humor in their situation.

  “Far, Far, we cooked the eggs.” Thorliff burst through the door and flung himself at his father’s pant legs. “Onkel Carl said we each get one. A whole egg!” He stared up at his father, his round little face beaming in delight. “No more of that nasty porridge, like on the ship.”

  “Now, you must be grateful for all our food.” Roald disentangled his leg. “God is good to give us what we need.”

  “Ja, I will.” Thorliff let loose and, bowing his head, sneaked his thumb into his mouth.

  “Only babies suck their thumb,” Roald thundered like the voice of God himself.

  Thorliff whipped the thumb behind him and buried his chin in his sweater.

  “I brought something else.” Carl drew his hand from behind his back, a hand that held a steaming pitcher.

  “Coffee. I thought I smelled it but didn’t trust my nose.” Kaaren held out her hands. “Here, let me pour.”

  Ingeborg rummaged in one of the satchels and withdrew the cups they’d used on the ship. Eggs, bread, coffee, and milk with real cream—a veritable feast. Thanking God for their food was certainly easier today than it had been on board the ship.

  As soon as their feast was set before them, Roald bowed his head and offered grace. His mumbled “I Jesu navn går vi til bords . . .” stampeded to a close. They fell to as if they hadn’t eaten for days.

  Ingeborg looked up at Roald from under her eyelashes. Dare she ask him again if he would pay the grocer? He seemed in a good mood at the moment. She wiped her mouth on her handkerchief and tried to find either the words or the air to speak. Neither came to mind or being.

  She felt akin to a child lost in the fog and hoped it wasn’t a portend of things to come. Ingeborg squared her shoulders. She would find a way. She would keep her word and pay the man. Please, God, don’t let Roald come back before I do. For if he asked her, she could not lie to her husband, no matter how angry he might become. She shuddered at the memory of the glaring look on his face when he thought she’d lost Thorliff.

  But he hadn’t said she couldn’t go. He had just said he wouldn’t. The thought consoled her as she nibbled at her last crust of bread. Strange how it didn’t taste quite as good now.

  When the men left, promising to be back as soon as possible, she cleaned up their crumbs and rinsed out the cups. Then settling Thorliff next to Kaaren for a story, Ingeborg donned her black wool coat, tucked a blue muffler around her neck and, bending over to see in the mirror, pinned her bit of a hat on top of her head. She tucked her braids into a bun at the base of her skull so her hat wouldn’t look like a sail in full wind. All the time she bustled around, she could feel Kaaren’s gaze penetrating her back.

  “Just don’t say anything.” Ingeborg nodded toward Thorliff, who had watched all the goings-on with curious eyes.

  “Can I go?” Thorliff asked the question as if he already knew the answer to be no.

  “Not right now, den lille. Maybe later. Tante Kaaren will tell you about the boy who got thrown down the well for teasing his brothers.”

  “Will you?” Thorliff snuggled closer to his aunt’s side.

  “Ja, I will.”

  Kaaren’s eyes were
so full of concern that, for just a moment, Ingeborg wavered. But only momentarily. She checked her pockets for her mittens and then opened the door before she lost her courage.

  “You do as Tante Kaaren says, now,” she instructed Thorliff. Ingeborg straightened her back and walked out the door as if she were on the way to a firing squad and square shoulders might earn her a reprieve.

  When she stepped down onto the snowy sidewalk, she turned left and began retracing her steps from the day before. If only she had paid more attention to all the turns they had made. But surely, finding the Castle Garden again wouldn’t be difficult. She looked up at a word on the signpost at the corner. If only she could read it. Glancing back up the block to the boardinghouse, she imprinted the scene in her mind. All she had to do was find Castle Garden, walk to the grocer, pay him, and return to this street. That was all.

  An hour later, with no Castle Garden in sight, she wondered if Roald had not been right. Was paying the grocer really that important?

  Surely they couldn’t have moved the place overnight. Ingeborg wound the strings of her reticule tightly around her fingers. Where had she gone wrong? She glanced up at the tall building on her left. Had she seen it before? Was it today—or yesterday? How could she, who had never in her entire life gotten lost in the mountains or forests of home, be so confused in this maze of dirty buildings and even filthier streets?

  She could feel her nostrils twitch at the foul stench that rose from the open sewer running by the curb. While the snow had temporarily whitened the world this morning, now the streets were full of passing carts and carriages that splashed mud all over everything, including her skirts.

  She thought back to one of the Bjorklund family’s heated discussions on the new land. Some had said the streets were paved with gold. If New York, the largest city in Amerika, was any indication, the only gold to be found lay in the dreams of the immigrants.

  She looked up and down each street of the intersection, praying for a glimpse of the immigration center. Castle Garden was far too large an edifice to hide behind anything. It had to be here somewhere.

  Where was she? Nothing looked familiar to the streets they had passed yesterday.

  A shiver of fear added to the chill from the wind that had been kicking up ever since the sun disappeared behind scudding gray clouds. If the weather here acted like that at home, more snow was imminent. If she couldn’t find the center, how would she ever find her way back to the boardinghouse?

  Another shiver chased the first. Fear made her mouth dry.

  She paused an instant too long on the curb. A tall man, looking even taller with his beaver hat, jostled her on the right.

  Caught just as she was stepping out with her right foot, the bump made Ingeborg stagger. Coming down hard, a patch of ice under the snow sent her sliding into a portly gentleman on her other side, and straight toward becoming an ignominious heap on the cobblestones.

  But as quickly as she slipped, the first gentleman spun around and grabbed her arm, literally lifting her back to her feet and safe onto the sidewalk. It all happened so quickly that Ingeborg only had time for a tiny shriek. But in that instant, her imagination had her huddled in a puddle on the streets of New York City.

  “Mange takk,” she whispered at the same moment he asked her a question. At least it must have been a question because of both the inflection and the questioning look on his handsome face.

  “I asked if you are all right?”

  Ingeborg looked up at him, certain the shock of hearing her own language on the lips of a fashionably dressed gentleman on the sidewalk of New York must be registered on her face.

  “You speak Norwegian?”

  “Yes. Since birth.” The smile that lifted the corners of his mouth lacked the stiffness of those passersby she’d noticed in her travels of the morning. “But I must know, did you injure yourself in the slip?” he persisted.

  Ingeborg shook her head, making her hat bounce alarmingly. As the black brim tipped slightly forward over one eyebrow, she wished for a pit of quicksand beneath her feet, rather than the icy, rounded cobblestones.

  “But you talk like an Amerikan.” Ingeborg ignored the voice of her mother echoing in her ears, the voice that warned her against speaking with a man to whom she’d never been formally introduced.

  With a gentle hand on her arm, the tall stranger drew her back out of the melee of rushing pedestrians and against the protection of a brick wall. “I am an American, but my nursemaid was a fine Norwegian girl, straight from the old country. By the time I could talk, I spoke either language easily.”

  As he talked, Ingeborg tried to unobtrusively push her wayward hat back in place. The stubborn thing tipped even farther, and the feather, of which she’d been so proud, now tickled the end of her nose. She batted it away with one impatient finger, all the while trying to stifle a sneeze. Failing in that effort, she sneezed hard enough to splatter his lapels. Instant mortification stained her cheeks. She could feel the heat as if she’d just stuck her head over a bubbling wash boiler.

  “Bless you.” He whipped a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her.

  “Mange takk.” Was that all she could say? Between her hat, her now throbbing ankle, and his handkerchief, the earth opening up and swallowing her could happen none too soon.

  “Mange takk, again. And for your kind assistance.” She started to hand him back the used handkerchief, but better sense prevailed. How could she possibly return a dirty handkerchief? Where were her manners? If only she could run down the street and hide in a doorway. But if she started to run, where would she stop? And how would she ever get back to the boardinghouse? Visions of Roald roaring through the streets looking for her made her chin start to quiver.

  She smiled bravely up at her savior and thanked him once again. Then turning on her right foot, she tried to make a graceful exit. And failed. Or at least her foot did. Walking was extremely difficult, if not impossible, for a sharp pain sliced clear to her knee. She bit back the groan but failed to hide the flinch.

  “You are hurt.” Instantly he appeared at her side again.

  “It is nothing. I am fine.”

  “It is more than nothing, and it is my fault. I bumped into you.” He tucked her arm in his. “Now, you must tell me where you are going, and I will take you there.” As he spoke he waved at a passing hansom cab.

  “Nei, nei, you mustn’t.” Ingeborg tried to draw back but, as in everything else so far this day, failed miserably. Before she could protest any further, he had lifted her into the still swaying cab and stepped in after her.

  “Now, where do you need to go?”

  Ingeborg knew an angel when she met one. She just didn’t expect to see one wearing a rich gray topcoat and a black beaver hat. She gave a sigh of surrender and told him all that had happened since their arrival.

  “. . . and so I came out to pay the grocer and lost my way.” She clasped her hands in her lap and raised her gaze to meet his. The genuine concern in his warm brown eyes made a lump form in her throat.

  “Would you recognize the place if you saw it again?”

  She nodded. “I feel sure I would.”

  “Good. Then we will return to Castle Garden and proceed from there.” He leaned forward and gave what Ingeborg assumed to be instructions to the driver. Not understanding the language was proving to be a greater barrier than she had ever dreamed it would be. As the driver clucked to the large black horse, she made herself a promise. She would learn the language sooner rather than later. All the reports they had received in Norway had said that immigrants could live in this new land without taking time to learn to speak Amerikan. But Ingeborg now knew differently. All that had happened since they stepped off the boat had proved that. She would learn Amerikan, and she would learn it well.

  As the horse trotted down the street, she leaned back against the leather seat. She could hear Roald, like her mother, saying she must get out immediately. Who knew where this stranger was t
aking her? After all the admonitions she’d heard about immigrants being robbed and suffering other unthinkable things, here she was riding the streets of a bustling city in the company of a man whose name she did not even know.

  What does one do? The thought nagged at her sense of propriety. In all her life, she’d never done such an outrageous thing as this. What would Roald say?

  He’s not going to know. The thought flitted through her mind and lodged securely in a corner as though made for that place. And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. She raised her chin and straightened her spine. So I will enjoy every moment, for such a time shall never come again. She watched out the window as the round stone fort filled her vision. She could go inside and find Mrs. Amundson. Surely she would be able to help. She would remember where the grocer’s fruit stand was located.

  But something inside Ingeborg rebelled at the thought. Would she forever be needing others to help her accomplish the slightest thing? That wasn’t why she had braved a turbulent sea and homesickness to come to the new land.

  “Let me see, I’m sure it must be up that way.” She pointed to a street angling off from the one on which they approached the Battery. Her escort gave the driver instructions, and off they went. What is this man’s name? Who is he? Would it be too forward to ask?

  She gave a tiny shake of her head, sending the hat into its final dislodgement. The contrary thing slid forward and completely covered one eye. She sneaked a peek at the man sitting across from her, hoping against hope that he was looking out the window rather than seeing her discomfort.

  He averted his eyes politely, but the smile that tugged at the corner of his shapely mouth didn’t hide quickly enough.

  Ingeborg could imagine what she looked like. A bedraggled kitten wouldn’t be too far off, she knew. She tried to ignore the hat, the close confines of the cab, and the handsome man close enough to touch with her knee. She tried, really she did. But it was too much. A giggle stole past her iron will.

  One look at her escort and they were both laughing like children let loose at recess. When the hat gave up entirely, she raised her arms and unpinned the silly thing.