Ingeborg shook her head. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything. Now they would be more stubborn than ever about leaving in a week.
“I’ve heard it said that spring storms can be most vicious here. They were talking about the weather today at the hotel, among other things.” She wrapped both hands around the cup of coffee. This wasn’t going the way she had planned. “They told some terrible tales of travelers trapped in whiteouts, even after the grass had sprouted.”
“Ja, tomorrow night we will go look at those horses Mr. Probstfield told us about.” Roald continued talking as if he’d never heard his wife or her concerns. “If we wait too long, there may not be any horses for sale either.”
What would it take to make them listen to her? Ingeborg studied the dregs in her coffee cup. She could feel her anger straighten her backbone, give it the iron it needed. It was now or never.
“A man came into the hotel kitchen tonight to see if his boy could work there so he would be fed.” Her words came out clipped and sharp.
The men turned to her with questioning looks.
“Ja, so?” Roald asked.
At least she had their attention.
“The man said he was selling out and going back east somewhere. He has horses and machinery also. I believe he will take any reasonable offer.”
Roald stopped and turned to look at her. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? We can go see him right now. What is his name, and where do we find him?” He rose to his feet as he spoke and headed for the door. “Come on, Carl.”
“You can find his son Daniel at the hotel. I’m sure he will show you the way.”
“You could have told me sooner; look at the time we’ve wasted.” He reached for his coat and scarf, the weariness of a hard day’s work gone from his face. “We will do what we can.”
Ingeborg bit back the answer. She had tried—they just didn’t want to listen.
“But you haven’t had supper yet.” Kaaren put down her knitting.
“We can eat anytime. You go ahead, and don’t wait up for us.” Carl waved as he followed his brother out the door.
Ingeborg could feel the anger leaving as fast as it had come. She and Kaaren ate their soup in silence. Even Thorliff left off his normal chatterbox ways and kept yawning between bites of the bread and cheese.
Ingeborg bid her sister-in-law a quiet “good night” and tucked little Thorly into his pallet bed. Together they folded their hands and began their prayer. “Nu lukker seg mitt øye, Gud Fader i det høye, i varetekt meg tag, og takk for denne dag. Amen.” Thorliff drifted off before the amen.
Ingeborg sat with her back against the wall and her arms around her raised knees. She rested her cheek against the wool fabric of her skirt. Father in heaven, please protect Roald and Carl on their way tonight. I know they are impatient to find our land, and I am too, but here we are safe from the wind and snow, and our money is being replenished. Is it wrong to want to keep them safe? She paused in a rare moment of introspection. Was it because they were earning more money than any of them dreamed possible? Was she putting money and safety above owning their own land? She scraped her cheek back and forth on the fabric, comforted by the warmth. Thank you for all you have given us. Amen.
The cold from the unheated room seeped through her clothes, making her shiver. She’d not started the stove because she knew they would be in the other room. Now she wished she had done so, or that she could take her pencil and paper in the other room and write the long overdue letter home. Had Kaaren written? If so, that letter would have been passed around to all the relatives. She’d ask tomorrow. With a sigh she undressed and crawled under the quilts. She could have brought in a warmed brick to put by her feet. But before she could make the effort, she’d fallen asleep.
When Ingeborg awoke in the predawn chill to get ready for work, she reached beside her and panicked. The place beside her was empty and had not been slept in. Where was Roald?
What had happened to Roald and Carl? Ingeborg threw back the covers and grabbed her wrapper from the bottom of the bed as she shoved her feet into her slippers. When she entered the other room, Kaaren and the baby were still sleeping.
Had she slept only a short time and something had awakened her? But the room was chilled and the fire nearly out, so it must be morning. Where were the men?
God in heaven, protect them. Her mind played the phrase like a litany without end. She tiptoed out of the room and back to her own. She had to be at work, and there was no sense letting Kaaren worry longer than necessary. Ingeborg dressed quickly with the lamp on dim and, picking up Thorliff’s slate and chalk, wrote Kaaren a message.
“When the men return, ask them to let me know they are all right.” She set the slate just inside the door and hurried out into the darkness.
Her litany for their protection kept time with her feet as she headed toward the hotel. Had they found the farmer? Did they stay there because it got too late? Were they lost on the prairie? Oh, dear Lord, be with them. The black sky, pinned in place by a myriad of stars, brought a cold comfort of its own; at least there hadn’t been a snowstorm to trap them. To the north, the aurora borealis flared and subsided in a dance of celestial splendor, all the colors of the rainbow more brilliant against an ebony sky.
Ingeborg kicked the snow off her feet outside the back door of the hotel kitchen and gratefully stepped into the warmth that penetrated even out into the enclosed porch. “Good morning.” Ingeborg pronounced her greeting in English carefully. But she had to revert to Norwegian to ask the question burning in her mind. “Is the boy Daniel here?”
Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “And to think I trusted that young whelp. Here it is the first morning, and he is already gone.”
“Nei, it is not his fault. Roald and Carl took him back out to his father’s farm last night so they could talk to Mr. Mainwright about buying his horses. They have not returned.”
Mrs. Johnson stopped in the act of adding more coal to the firebox in the larger of the two stoves. “Oh, land.” She finished what she was doing and turned to Ingeborg. “You needn’t worry. There was no storm. It probably got late, and so they spent the night. Mark my words, they’ll be by here on their way to the bridge. Those men of yours wouldn’t miss a day’s wages less’n they were dead or nearly so.”
While the words were meant for comfort, Ingeborg didn’t need a reminder about the alternative. She clutched the message of hope to her breast and tied her apron around her waist. As her mother had always said, “Busy hands keep the mind at peace.”
Soon the bread was in the oven and more set to rise; a large pot of oatmeal simmered on the back of the stove, and she was slicing thick slabs of ham when the door banged open and Daniel burst through.
“Please, I am sorry I weren’t here to start the fires. My pa said we was to spend the night so the Bjorklunds and me wouldn’t freeze to death on the way back to town. We started way before daylight.”
Ingeborg listened with surprise and a sigh of relief. Last night the young fellow hadn’t said one word.
Right then Roald stepped in behind him. “I’m on my way to the bridge. Carl has gone to tell Kaaren we are safe.” He nodded to Mrs. Johnson. “God morgen.”
Worry died as soon as Ingeborg saw her husband’s face. Questions bubbled like the porridge on the stove. “Mange takk, did you . . . ?”
“I will tell you tonight.” He touched a mittened hand to his cap. “Goodbye.” With that he was gone out into the silvering blackness.
Ingeborg shook her head. He was not a man to waste words, that one. But she had to know how they fared. Would asking Daniel be discussing their private business with strangers? As if Mrs. Johnson was a stranger, for that matter.
“Here, have something to eat and warm you up before you start your chores.” Mrs. Johnson handed Daniel a thick slice of bread and butter, which seemed to disappear into the boy’s mouth in one bite.
As if sensing her curiosity, Daniel continued. “Mr. Bjorklund, he bought t
he horses offen my pa and said he’d take the wagon too, after my pa kin haul everything to town. My pa said those Bjorklunds are sure good men.” The words were a bit difficult to understand, mixed as they were with half-chewed bread, but it was enough.
Ingeborg heaved a sigh of joy and relief and gave the oatmeal an extra vigorous stir. The men were safe, Roald now had his team of horses, and . . . and they would leave any day for the north to find land. Her relief was short-lived at best. She straightened and dug her fists into her lower back. Here the morning had barely started, and already it was aching something fierce. Did she really want spring to come?
When she arrived back at the boardinghouse that night, the men had just finished eating and were sitting at the table enjoying their final cup of coffee.
“You are home early.” Roald greeted her.
“Ja, that young Daniel, he made the clearing away go so much faster today.” Ingeborg hung up her scarf and coat on the peg near the door. “Is there any coffee left?” She crossed the room to rub her hands over the heat of the stove.
Kaaren handed her a half-filled mug. “I could put some water in it. Most likely it is pretty strong by now, anyway.”
Ingeborg shook her head. Questions about the men’s trip the night before warred for first place. She turned to smile at Carl. “I heard the two of you made life easier for that poor man and his family last night.”
Carl nodded. “Ja, Roald made sure everyone came out ahead on that deal. I never would have thought of a plan like that.”
“Like what?” Kaaren asked the question Ingeborg had been dying to ask.
Roald gave a faint shake of his head, as if discouraging the discussion, but Carl ignored him and went on.
“We went out there to buy the team, you know, and perhaps some other tools and such if they were in good enough shape.” He leaned back in his chair, ever the storyteller. “Well, we got there, thanks to Daniel’s guidance. We never would have found the homestead without that young man, since it was already dark and all. Probably would have gotten lost and frozen to death.”
“Carl, get on with the story.” Kaaren grinned back at her husband. They all knew how he could stretch out a good tale. Roald snorted and shook his head.
“Ja, ja, I’m getting there. Mainwright invited us into his soddy, and you’d of thought they were animals living in a burrow. No wonder the man can’t wait to get them out of there. But at least they’d had some supper that night; we could smell the beans he’d cooked. Daniel admitted they were nigh unto starving to death.”
Ingeborg clutched her elbows in both hands and stepped closer to the stove. Here in Fargo they had heat and food. Who was to say such a thing couldn’t happen to them? She shivered and leaned forward, wishing Carl would hurry.
“Ja, it was bad,” Carl said with a nod. “Can’t blame the man for wanting to move back east.”
Roald bent over and fished his sack of carving tools out from under the table. He drew a half-formed piece of oak from the sack and, knife in hand, began to shape the ax handle he’d been working on the last few days.
“First, he showed us his horses,” Carl continued. “The team needs some feeding up, but they look sturdy. His wagon will need a good bit of repair, and some of the equipment . . .” He wrinkled his forehead in thought. “There was a plow in bad shape but fixable—come to think of it, no wonder that man didn’t make it as a homesteader. He didn’t keep up his machinery. Right, brother?”
“Ummm.” Roald nodded and eyed the curve of the ax handle that was taking shape.
“So what did you do that made such a good deal for everyone?”
“We bought all he had,” Carl said matter-of-factly.
Ingeborg felt her body reel as if struck by a giant hand. Where would the money come from?
Carl smiled from one woman to the other. “But we only paid him a hundred dollars now, and we will pay the rest when he is ready to leave. For now, he will keep his wagon to load the things he plans to keep. We will have the horses for our trek north, and when we get back, we will hitch them to the loaded wagon and haul what’s left of his family to the train. He has food and money to pay off his debts, we have the horses when we need them, and everybody is happy.”
“Pity you didn’t buy the cow and chickens, too.” Ingeborg couldn’t resist the jibe.
“We would have, but they’d already eaten them all.”
“Not to worry, Inge, we will still have some money to start with. And Mr. Adams on the bridge assures us that getting a loan at the bank in Grand Forks will not be difficult. Not once we have land to prove up. Credit is easy here, he said. Mr. Probstfield said the same.”
Ingeborg shuddered. She could hear her father’s voice as if he stood in the room. Owe no man but the debt of love. What were they getting themselves into?
“I thought the land here was free.”
“Ja, homesteading is. But we will need seed and oxen. And if we pay a portion, the land will be ours sooner.” Roald spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a wayward child.
That is why I think we should stay here longer; we need more money. The thought never made it to the door of her lips. Squelching thoughts was a habit she’d developed years ago.
The warming weather held, and the following Sunday, Roald and Carl took the sacks of food Kaaren had packed for them, tied rolled quilts across their backs, and swung aboard their heavy-footed mounts. The two horses—one bay and one white—snorted in the predawn cold, sending clouds of steam into the air.
“Now, you are not to worry,” Carl reminded his wife for the third time. “We will return as soon as we can, but don’t begin to look for us before ten days have passed.”
“Be careful.” Kaaren clutched her elbows with both hands. “Go with God.”
Ingeborg looked up at Roald, who, like Carl, rode bareback with a wool blanket for saddle. “You have extra socks now?” She knew he did, for she’d tucked them in herself, but the question hid the words her heart wanted to say. Words she knew he’d not appreciate. Words such as “come back soon,” “I love you,” and “wouldn’t it be better to stay right here and keep adding to our savings for a while longer?”
She stepped back, pasted a smile on her mouth, and waved goodbye. She refused to think about the possible dangers that lay ahead for them. As they trotted up the street, Ingeborg turned the opposite direction and headed for the hotel as Kaaren hurried back inside to check on the sleeping children. Someone in this family had to be earning money.
“Ingeborg, you’ll have to help Pearl in the dining room today,” Mrs. Johnson said a few hours later. “Amelia just went home sick; we couldn’t have her contaminating the food.”
Ingeborg swung around from the stove where she’d been turning out flapjacks as fast as she could flip them. She needed to make new batter, too. Everyone in town must have come to the Headquarters Hotel for Sunday breakfast.
“But I can’t speak English well enough,” Ingeborg made excuse.
“You will deliver the food to the tables, and Daniel will clear away. We are short handed and will have to make this work.” Mrs. Johnson broke eggs into a large bowl to make more batter. “You’d best put on a clean apron and wipe that smudge of flour off your nose. I knew I should’a hired another girl when I had the chance.”
For a while there was a lull in the arrival of customers, allowing Ingeborg to keep up with her cooking. She put two hams in the oven for the noon meal and set Daniel to washing the pots and pans. But it wasn’t long before she was dishing sausage, eggs, and pancakes onto the plates as fast as she could flip the eggs in the pan.
“You help serve now.” Mrs. Johnson took over the position at the stove. “Table three.”
Ingeborg lifted the tray full of plates of food and backed out the kitchen door into the dining room. She turned and headed to the right, where four men sat around the cloth-covered table, all wearing shirts and waistcoats that spoke of the East. She carefully placed a plate in front of each guest, then loo
ked up to find a pair of familiar brown eyes studying her.
“Mrs. Bjorklund?”
“Ja.” She felt her heart leap within her breast. “Mr. Gould!”
The weather held clear for the trip north. Roald and Carl followed the well-worn trek up the east side of the frozen river. The first night, they reached Georgetown and asked at the livery if they could sleep in the hay in the barn. Rolled close together in their quilts and covered with hay, they slept comfortably through the night.
In the morning, they ate cold bread from the sack Kaaren had packed and welcomed the hot coffee the livery owner had brewing on the back of his forge. Thanking the man for his hospitality, Roald and Carl gathered their things, mounted, and headed out.
Long before the sun reached its zenith, the men dismounted and walked for a time, both to warm themselves and to save the horses. The wind kicked up snow granules to sting their faces even as the sun warmed their backs.
When they mounted again, Roald let his thoughts return to Ingeborg. Would he ever understand her, or was it man’s lot to . . . he shook his head. She sure had gotten her dander up. All she had to do was tell them about the Mainwrights when she first walked in the door. Would have saved a heap of time. He looked over at Carl, who appeared half-asleep. Keeping their eyes closed enough to not become snow blind and yet stay awake took some doing.
They stopped that night in an abandoned soddy. “Why you suppose these folks left?” Carl asked when he came in from caring for the horses.
Roald blew on the bit of flame he’d finally coaxed from his flint and the pile of tinder he’d shaved so carefully. He added other sticks and gradually some larger pieces they’d broken off a tree. Soon they had a nice fire crackling. They both held out their hands to the heat.
“Maybe they got sick or just didn’t want to work hard enough. Like Probstfield said, not everyone is cut out to prove up a homestead in Dakota Territory.”
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