An Untamed Land

by Snelling, Lauraine

  “I found bleeding.” The stark words stabbed anew.

  “Has there been more?”

  Ingeborg shook her head.

  “Then you needn’t worry.”

  Ingeborg shot her complacent sister-in-law a look of total disbelief.

  Kaaren shook her head again. “I know, I know, it’s frightening. But many women show spots sometimes. You must take life easier for a time.”

  Again, the look, this time accompanied with raised eyebrows.

  The train slowed, and the women glanced out to see the brick station looming ahead of them, the tiled mansard roof thrusting above the surrounding area. A huge American flag, flying high above the flat roof, snapped in the wind off Lake Michigan.

  Bedlam broke out in the car, with children racing from one end to the other, passengers grabbing their belongings from the overhead shelves and from under seats, and a cacophony of languages, all shouting to be heard.

  Baby Gunhilde jerked in her mother’s arms and let out a wail fit to be heard above all the noise. Thorliff, returned by Carl, clutched Ingeborg’s skirts with one grubby hand and watched the goings-on from the safety of his mother’s skirts.

  “You sit right here.” Ingeborg picked him up and set him on the seat. “And don’t you move. I’ll not have you wandering off again.” The finger she shook in front of his eyes made him cower back against the seat.

  By the time they had all their belongings gathered, unloaded, and reloaded on a four-wheeled handcart with Kaaren and baby perched on the side, Ingeborg wished desperately for a cup of coffee. They had run out of food the night before, with only a crust left for Thorliff’s breakfast. Her stomach growled in protest.

  She straightened her spine by rubbing her lower back with kneading fists. At least she wasn’t throwing up, thank God for that. To take her mind off the hunger gnawing in her belly, she studied the vaulted room with its marble floor patterned in alternating square black-and-white tiles. Long wooden seats, set in orderly rows and filled with waiting passengers, took up the center space, while the ticket booths were all off to the sides of the cavernous station. If only the voice calling over the loudspeaker spoke Norwegian so she could understand what was being said. Perhaps they’d missed the train they were to take and would have to wait overnight. Would they stay here and sleep like some of the others stretched out on the hard wooden pews?

  “Carl should return soon with something to eat.” Kaaren patted her own midriff to still the growling that dueted with Ingeborg’s. “He said he’d bring coffee too. Surely he will find a loaf of fresh bread that won’t cost so dear.”

  Ingeborg snorted. Everything edible anywhere near a train station cost enough to make the angels cringe. She could tell by the look in Roald’s eyes that he hadn’t been prepared for quite such robbery, no matter how many people had warned him.

  “How long do you think we’ll have to wait for our next train?” Ingeborg asked.

  “Too long,” Roald said. “I will go and see.”

  As Roald walked off, Ingeborg studied the picture on the front of the handbill Carl had handed her. If only she could read American. Pictures of birds and plants were covered by a white scroll with words on it. She traced the letters with her finger.

  “Next stop, Minneapolis.” Roald strode back across the marble floor toward them, his boots ringing against the stone. “We won’t leave until four o’clock in the afternoon, so we might as well find a place to be comfortable.” He picked up the T-bar iron handle and leaned into pulling the cart. “I saw some empty seats over in that other section.”

  Before Thorliff could ask, Ingeborg lifted him onto the few remaining inches on the wagon so he could ride. The grin on his face more than thanked her.

  When Carl finally arrived, dusted with snow but with a bundle under his arm, they fell to the simple meal with the hunger of a twenty-four-hour fast. Ingeborg closed her eyes in bliss. Without the constant rocking and smells of the train and its occupants, the bread and milk settled in her stomach, and its contents stayed where they belonged.

  The next thing Ingeborg knew, Roald was shaking her gently. “Come, our next train is here, and we can board now.”

  Ingeborg blinked her eyes and raised herself from the carpetbag she’d nestled against. “Thorliff?”

  “He’s with Carl.” Roald hefted the remaining bags and strode over to the cart, tossing them aboard, making Thorliff laugh.

  Ingeborg struggled to get her bearings. She must have slept for hours. How could that be? She licked her dry lips and smoothed her hair back into the coronet of braids that had needed rebraiding for the last two days. She had wanted to use the necessary in the station to get herself back into some semblance of order, but now it was too late.

  She thought of the unfinished letter in her reticule for the families left behind in Norway. She’d started it at the boardinghouse in New York and planned to finish it on the train to mail in Chicago. One thing for certain, she had plenty of exciting news to share. She would have to write later, that was all.

  “Are you coming?” Roald returned to her side.

  “Of course.” Ingeborg got to her feet, only to feel the queasiness in her middle join forces with the dizziness in her head. She took the cup of cold coffee he handed her and sipped, hoping the liquid would settle her stomach. Where was the necessary? Could she make it to the passenger car and use the one there? If only she could read the signs.

  By the time they found Carl, who was stowing the remainder of their baggage above two facing seats, Ingeborg felt her knees buckle. She clamped her fingers around the back of the seat with the force of a drowning victim around a life preserver. She would not collapse here in front of all these strangers.

  So much for force of will. When Ingeborg came to, Kaaren was wiping her brow, and Ingeborg was lying on a seat padded with their own quilts. If she hadn’t felt so terrible, she might have appreciated the comfort more.

  She reached a trembling hand out to Thorliff, who looked as if he’d been crying and might burst into tears again at any moment. “It is all right, den lille, Mor will be better soon.” The whisper rasped on the raw surface of her throat. She smiled as reassuringly as she was able and let her eyes drift closed. This must be one stubborn baby, she thought, to be causing such an uproar.

  When they reached Minneapolis, they would have to change trains again. Ingeborg awoke to hear Carl and Roald discussing the move. The thought of solid ground under her feet made her cautiously lift her head.

  “Good, you are awake.” Kaaren leaned forward from across the seat. “Here, I have some flatbread for you. A woman several seats up said if you eat this before you move, it will help the sickness.”

  Ingeborg looked at the offered treat. At this point she would try anything. Is this what Kaaren had felt like on the ship? No wonder she’d moaned about turning around and going home to Norway. Ingeborg nibbled on the dry bread, gratefully keeping her eyes closed and her mind off the bustle of passengers preparing to disembark. She should be helping, not lying here like an invalid.

  “Don’t even consider moving.” Kaaren leaned forward again. “It is our turn to care for you.”

  Ingeborg felt so much better, she smiled in return. “You will make a good schoolteacher someday. Who could not do what you say when you sound so stern?”

  “Please, God, that I may.” Kaaren shifted the baby in her arms and, getting to her feet, placed the sleeping infant beside Ingeborg. “Here, if you must feel useful, mind Gunny. Then I’ll have my arms free to carry something.”

  For a change, Ingeborg did as she was told. As she cuddled her tiny niece to her breast, she closed her eyes to better experience the joy of it. Soon she would have her own baby to hold, to nurse, and to love.

  Dawn had barely tinted the gray sky when they pulled into the station at Minneapolis. By this time, each station on this halt-and-hurry journey had run into the next in her mind, all of them a dissonance of huffing trains and human misery.

  As soo
n as they entered the vaulted waiting room, she looked around for the necessary.

  “Over there,” Carl pointed, correctly interpreting her distress.

  “Mange takk.” Ingeborg pushed Thorliff toward his uncle and told him to hang on to Carl’s hand. By the time she found the necessary after traversing a long marble-floored hall, she also found fresh stains.

  Panic returned with a vengeance. So easy it was for others to say that if a babe didn’t go full term, surely the loss was God’s will. So easy to say—except when it is your own. A son that your husband has dreamed of, counted on. A son to inherit the land they were striving for, crossing continents to discover, and giving up home and family for the chance at a new life.

  All these thoughts passed through her mind as she unpinned her hair and let the braids fall to their full waist length. The thoughts continued to thunder through her mind while she unplaited the golden ribbons, brushed out the waves, and rebraided her hair. By the time she pinned the coronet back in place, the thoughts and fears had calmed to murmurs, and except for the ache in the small of her back, she felt more like herself than she had for days.

  She could hear her mother’s voice as clearly as if she stood right behind her shoulder. This too shall pass, Ingeborg. What she would give for her mother’s wise presence right now.

  “Are you all right?” Kaaren came up behind her and laid a hand on Ingeborg’s shoulder.

  “Ja.” Ingeborg kept the fearful secret deep in her heart. She’d have to trust the baby to God’s will, for Kaaren didn’t need any more to worry about than she already had. Their gazes met in the mirror—two women trying with all their strength to endure an arduous journey that sent weaker sisters screaming for home. Or just plain screaming.

  Ingeborg raised her hand and, with gazes locked in the mirror, patted her sister-in-law’s comforting hand. “We will make it. The end of the journey isn’t too far off now.”

  Sitting on the wooden seats in the waiting room, Ingeborg took out the letter. Maybe writing would keep her mind off the queasiness in her stomach. She reread the page she had already written. Yes, she had told them of the difficulties of the voyage but made light enough of it that others wouldn’t be too afraid to come. A smile quirked the corner of her mouth at the recounting of her adventure in New York. Mor would be scandalized, but it made for a good story. She dipped her pen in the small inkpot and continued the tale of their adventures so far.

  “We are in Minneapolis, Minnesota, now, and the end of the journey is in sight. Roald is anxious to find our land so we can begin planting as soon as the snow is off the ground. Our good news is that we will have another member in our family come fall next year. Of course, Roald plans on our having a son.

  “I miss you all terribly”—Ingeborg felt the tears fill her eyes—“I cannot tell you how much. Greet each one for us, and please continue your prayers in our behalf, as we do for you daily. Your loving daughter, Ingeborg.”

  She blew on the ink and folded the flimsy paper carefully, inserting it in the envelope she had already addressed. If only she had the money herself for the postage, so she wouldn’t have to ask Roald for it. He had already made it clear that letters to home were a luxury.

  She sighed.

  “What is it?” Kaaren looked up from nursing the baby.

  Ingeborg held the letter up.

  Kaaren reached out and took it. “Say no more. Carl will mail this for us. You know that all of our families will pass it around until the letter is worn out.” She called Carl over and explained what she wanted.

  Carl looked up with a smile and a wink. Both of them warmed Ingeborg’s heart. He slipped the envelope in his pocket and strode across the marble floor to ask a question of the man behind the ticket window.

  Thank you, God, for that man who goes out of his way to make the journey easier for us.

  Roald was nowhere in sight.

  Later that afternoon, with snow still falling, they boarded the St. Paul, Minneapolis & Manitoba Railway for Fargo, Dakota Territory, by way of Glyndon, Minnesota.

  Carl and Roald settled their families in the facing seats and excused themselves to join a group of men gathered around the stove in the rear of the car. Most of the men spoke Norwegian and were comparing the weather outside to the storms back in the old country.

  “You think it will turn into a blizzard?” asked one of the men, a wad of snoose ballooning his cheek. He sent a stream of amber liquid toward the brass cuspidor at the base of the stove. Most of it landed in the right place.

  “The way I hear it, blizzards in Dakota Territory make any others look like mild snow flurries. The winds come down from the north, and there’s nothing to stop them.”

  Roald nodded. “Ja, that is what I hear too. But we came through some heavy snows before Chicago, and we did just fine.” He scratched the side of his nose with one finger. “What have you heard about land in the Red River Valley?”

  The discussion continued for a time, but when no new information was forthcoming, Roald excused himself and returned to his family. Ingeborg sat staring out the window, gently stroking the curls of the little boy who lay asleep with his head on her lap. She had some color back in her cheeks and looked to be about half asleep herself. Kaaren and her babe both slumbered in the seat facing him.

  Roald lifted Thorliff, so he now held the sleeping child in his lap. After nodding to the question on Ingeborg’s face, he lay his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. Like Ingeborg, Anna had been ill with their second child. Would Ingeborg suffer the same fate? He shuddered at the painful memory and jerked his eyes open. He turned to study the profile of the sober woman beside him. Where had her smile gone? With a pang, he realized he missed it.

  But the Bible says women are to suffer in bearing children; that is their lot. He sighed. He wanted sons so badly, strong sons and beautiful daughters. Lord God, keep this woman of mine safe. And our babe. He stroked Thorliff’s leg and his shoe. And thank you for this fine son I have.

  Roald placed his hand palm up on the seat between them. He watched as Ingeborg looked at him, glanced down at his hand and back to his face. A ghost of a satisfied smile touched her pale lips, and she placed her hand in his. Roald curled his fingers over hers and squeezed them gently.

  Roald glanced back when peals of laughter burst forth from the keepers of the stove. Carl straightened from inserting another chunk of coal, and the laughter on his face told Roald who it was that was entertaining the small gathering of men. Unclasping her hand he laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder but put a finger to his lips when she looked up at him with a question on her face. For a change, those around them were either sleeping or knitting. One grizzled man leaned over a growing pile of shavings, industriously carving and smoothing a handle for a hand tool.

  I should be doing the same, Roald reminded himself, thinking of the carving tools his father had so carefully shined and sharpened before packing them in the flat wooden box. Chisels and knives, rasps and planes that had belonged to his father before him. All things that he could eventually pass along to his own second son, since the land always went to the first. Roald glanced out the window. He could see nothing but driving snow, so dense that it made the interior of the car darken like night.

  The conductor pushed open the rear door and began lighting the lamps—a large one swaying from the overhead hook and smaller ones on the walls between the windows. The bite of lighted kerosene added to the already ripe odors of unwashed bodies, drying wool, and wet babies. Someone had brought Limburger cheese, its strong smell rising above the others.

  Roald felt his stomach rumble at the odor of cheese. If only they had some of their good gammelost left from home. As soon as they owned a cow again, Ingeborg could save some of the milk and make cheese. She made such good cheese that surely they could sell the extra and perhaps pay for a second cow. He rubbed the side of his nose with a cracked finger. So many things to buy and do. And here they were slowed down by the snow again. Surely their pl
ans of being on their own land by the first of March were as elusive as summer clouds hugging the mountaintops above the fjords of Norway.

  The train ground to its first halt well before midnight.

  “All you strong backs get bundled up. We’ve got some shoveling to do.” The conductor stopped and threw another chunk of coal in the fire, then turned to address the women. “Make sure the coffee stays hot and the fire keeps burning extra smart to warm these fellas up when they come back in. It’s cold as the arctic out there.”

  Carl and Roald staggered to their feet, shrugged into their heavy coats, and wrapped hand-knit scarves around their necks, ready to pull up over their faces to protect their skin and lungs from the biting cold.

  The wind pummeled them and sucked their breath away as soon as they slid open the door. Snow pellets stung their exposed skin even as they wrapped their scarves tighter. They took snow shovels from the train attendant and plodded in a single line through drifting snow to the front of the train, broken into the semblance of a trail by the three men in front of them. Roald could see one of the men, but the two five feet in front of him had disappeared into a swirling white wall.

  “Better rope up.” A man at the head of the engine screamed to be heard above the screeching wind and puffing train. Carl and Roald dutifully tied the ropes around their waists and stepped from behind the protection of the huffing black engine. The wind caught them and tried to hurl them back against the steel cow catcher on the front of the engine.

  Roald said something to Carl, but the words were ripped from his mouth and flung to the far reaches of the icy prairie. Instead, he pointed ahead and dug his shovel into the waist-deep snow. He had a feeling the drifts would only get deeper the farther they went.

  He dug until the bitter air sent his lungs into a coughing frenzy, and then he threw his weight into the shovel and dug some more. Hoarfrost beaded on his heavy brows and blocked his vision—what little was left from the snow swirling and driving in front of his eyes—until it was easier to dig with them closed. A shout beside his ear and a tug on his rope told him they’d finally broken through the first drift.