“Mange takk,” he said softly.
“Velbekomme.” She let herself steal a glance at him and remembered New York, the cab ride, and his gracious helpfulness to a foreigner. Her spine straightened, her shoulders squared, and her chin lifted just enough to become . . . to be . . . “More coffee?” Her English returned and with it a smile that set her heart to thrumming and her feet skimming the floor.
He held out his cup. “Thank you.”
She filled his cup and the others at his table. “More food?”
The older man to his left nodded. Ingeborg took his plate back to the kitchen, filled it, and returned with a plate of biscuits hot out of the oven.
“Thank you, that looks delicious.” The man tucked his napkin back in his vest and helped himself.
“You are welcome.” A slight nod from Gould, along with the twinkle in his eye, let her know she was doing well.
By the time the early morning rush was over, Ingeborg was well into preparing food for the dinner menu. Stuffed chickens were in the ovens baking, potatoes were in the pot and ready to boil, and another batch of bread was rising. They had baked the pies and cakes the night before, so these stood ready on the sideboard.
“Here, sit for a moment and drink this.” Mrs. Johnson pointed to the chair opposite hers and handed Ingeborg a cup of coffee. “What was it that flustered you earlier this morning? You’d of thought you stole Pearl’s beau, the way she looked daggers at you.”
“Uff da, it was nothing. The kind man who helped me find my way when I was lost on the streets of New York was here to eat today.” Ingeborg sipped her coffee and leaned gratefully against the back of the chair.
“Um-m-m.”
“He was very good to me. I . . .” Ingeborg snapped her jaw shut. She was explaining too much.
“Um-m-m, I see.”
Ja, well I’m certainly glad you do, for I don’t at all. Ingeborg rotated her head, trying to pull the kinks out. Those trays were heavy.
“Did Mr. Bjorklund get off this morning?”
Ingeborg nodded, a nagging guilt making her wince inwardly. Except for telling Mr. Gould the men had left, and after praying them into God’s hands for safe keeping, she hadn’t given them a moment’s thought. She drained her cup. “I better get back to the oven and check on those chickens. I’ll start the venison steaks too. They can simmer on the back of the stove.” When she rose to her feet, the familiar ache in her back twinged enough to make her dig her fists in it for relief.
“I have a personal question to ask.” Mrs. Johnson set her coffee cup down. At Ingeborg’s nod, the older woman continued in a soft voice meant only for the two of them. “Are you in the family way? What with your back so sore and all? I know’d you to turn green and run for the bucket a few times.”
Ingeborg nodded. “But that part seems to be over now.”
“And you’re fixing to drive north to homestead in the next month or so?”
Ingeborg nodded again.
Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “You heed my words. You need to take better care of yourself, so you can bring a healthy babe into this world of toil and tears. I seen you rubbing your back some, and I knows what it’s like.” She nodded again, her double chins bobbling with her motherly scolding.
“Thank you for your concern.” Ingeborg felt tears sting at the back of her throat. Mrs. Johnson had sounded so stern when she’d first started working here. Now, she’d become a dear friend. “I try to be careful.”
Mrs. Johnson snorted and rolled her eyes. “Ja, and I’m a German princess.”
The door to the dining room flew open and Pearl came into the kitchen, took a piece of paper from her apron pocket, and thrust it at Ingeborg. “This here’s for you. That swell you was talking to left it for you.”
Ingeborg glanced at the paper, grateful it was written in Norwegian so Pearl couldn’t read it. Please tell me what time you will be off work so we may talk before you leave for home. Sincerely, D.J. Gould.
She looked up to find both Mrs. Johnson and Pearl studying her. She could feel the heat flaming into her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said in careful English and stuffed the bit of paper into her pocket. Whatever did he want to see her for?
“You didn’t answer my note.”
“Why, you startled me.” Ingeborg raised a hand to her throat. She stepped down from the rear porch of the hotel and headed around the corner of the building. What could she say?
He fell into step beside her. “Fargo is booming, is it not?”
“Mr. Gould, what is it you want?” Ingeborg, in her forthright fashion, came straight to the point.
“I want to learn how a friend of mine is surviving in the wilds of Dakota Territory. I think of her often, and here she is waiting on my table, and I am grateful. Friends are important in life, are they not?” He took her elbow for an instant to keep her from stepping in front of a team of fast-trotting grays.
“Mr. Gould, it takes more than the little time we’ve spent together to become friends. My family is waiting, and I must hurry. My sister-in-law has been with the children all day, and she will have supper waiting.” Ingeborg looked straight ahead, walking swiftly on the board walkway.
“I will not slow you down, only visit with you as we go. Now you must ask me how I came to be in Fargo, and I will tell you that my father sent me on a trip to look over his railroad investments. Then you will say that you hope my trip is successful, and I will . . .”
Ingeborg could no longer keep the smile she felt in her heart from showing on her face. “And then I will say you are being ridiculous and thank you for walking me home, but here is where I live.” She stopped and looked up at him, her smile making her gray eyes dance. She extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Gould. It has been a pleasure to see you again, and God bless.”
They shook hands, with Gould bowing slightly over hers. “God bless you, my friend. Even though I leave on the morning train, I will see you again, I promise.”
Ingeborg climbed the stairs and turned at the top. He tipped his hat to her and strode up the street, a cheery whistle floating back over his shoulder.
“Who was that?” Kaaren asked as soon as Ingeborg entered their rooms.
“The man from New York, remember? I was pouring coffee in the dining room, and there he was.” Ingeborg hung up her coat and reached down to hug Thorliff, who’d thrown himself against her skirts as soon as she crossed the threshold. “How’s my Thorly? Have you been a good boy for Tante Kaaren?” She stroked the curls back from his forehead and patted his cheek.
“Ja, I been good.” He eyed the pocket of her coat.
“Then, Mrs. Johnson sent you a treat.” Ingeborg pulled a napkin-wrapped square from her pocket and laid back the white cloth corners.
“Cake.” Thorliff looked up at her, his eyes dancing. “Mrs. Johnson is a nice lady.” He took the sweet with a whispered “mange takk.” Crossing his legs, he sank to the floor to devour every crumb.
When the train left in the morning, it rattled the dishes as usual. Knowing Gould was heading west on that train rattled Ingeborg’s heart, but only for a moment. After all, friends did not need to be together to remain friends. Later she would send prayers after him, but right now she had breakfast to put on the table.
She took a few minutes after the noon rush was over and, taking Mrs. Johnson’s mail with her, headed for the post office. She told herself today was the day they would hear from home. Here it was March, and they’d not had any letters from family back home. Surely between the three families left in Norway, there must be someone who had written.
She stamped the slush from her shoes on the steps and entered the post office. “Hello.” She spoke her English carefully. “Is there mail for Bjorklunds?”
The man behind the counter looked over his half spectacles and nodded. “Came in today.” He reached behind him to the wall of small cubbyholes. “Ah, here it is.” He handed Ingeborg a thin envelope with a postmark from Norway.
She blinked ra
pidly, the film on her eyes making reading difficult. “Mr. and Mrs. Carl Bjorklund.” Did she dare open it?
“Ma—thank you.” She turned and nearly skipped out the door. With a deep breath, she settled herself back down to a more ladylike fashion and hurried back to the hotel. The letter gave her wings for the remainder of her day. Dark had long blanketed the earth when she reached the boardinghouse they called home.
“Kaaren, a letter.” She burst through the door to find her sister-in-law laying a sleeping Gunny in the cradle loaned them by the house owner. “For you and Carl.”
“What does it say?” Kaaren met her in the center of the room.
“How should I know, silly? It’s your letter.” Ingeborg handed the precious missive over, dreaming that she could smell the pine-scented air of home on the envelope.
Kaaren carefully slit the envelope with a knife from the table and withdrew the paper with trembling hands. She looked up at Ingeborg, fighting to keep the tears inside.
“Read it.”
Kaaren wiped one eye with her finger and began.
“My dearest Carl and Kaaren,
Greetings also to Ingeborg and Roald, and hug the children for us. We miss you so dreadfully and were relieved to receive your letter and know you are all well.”
Kaaren sank down in the chair by the table where the light was better. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped both her eyes and nose.
“How glad I am to know you and the baby are getting stronger. Your tante Gunhilde is so pleased that you named your first child after her.”
Ingeborg stood next to the stove, elbows cupped in her palms. As the words created familiar pictures of home and family, she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She, too, wiped her eyes. It was as if life in Norway existed in some other time and space. When she thought of the distance they had come, home truly was on the other side of the world. Would this flat land with its never-ending wind ever become home?
Kaaren finished the letter and laid the pages in her lap. “I miss them so.”
“Ja, I know.”
“Gunny will never know her bestefar and bestemor. I remember when . . .” As she told the story of her grandparents, her voice softened and a smile returned. She finished and looked up at Ingeborg. “Do you really believe this is all worth the struggle? That this land will become home to us?”
Ingeborg started. Was the younger woman reading her mind? What could she say? She knew what Roald would answer. But were those words hers also? Those thoughts and dreams? She gave herself a mental shaking.
“Yes, it will.” She paused and nodded as if she needed convincing as well. “It will.”
The days flew by, and each night Ingeborg and Kaaren tried to figure out where the men were on the simple map Roald had drawn for them. One thing they knew for certain: if they stood on the top of the Moorhead Flour Mill, they could probably still see the two men on their horses; the land was that flat.
Each night Ingeborg thanked her Father in heaven for the warming weather and the absence of blizzards. On one hand, she was grateful for the melting snow, and on the other, stories of the morass of the roads as soon as the ground began to thaw had her also praying for cold. It was a good thing God did what was best rather than listen to His foolish children, she decided one night.
One prayer was always consistent. “Please God, let Roald find the place for his heart, the perfect land that will make him happy.”
When the horrible blizzard blew through, she and Kaaren prayed together that the men had found shelter.
By now, Kaaren was helping the landlady with the baking and with cleaning the rooms of the male boarders. She kept Gunny, as they called the baby, slung in a shawl and tied to her chest. Thorliff ran errands up and down the stairs or played quietly at her feet. He often sat with his slate and drew the English letters that the landlady taught him. Kaaren learned along with him.
By the end of the second week, Ingeborg began watching for the men. Each night she hoped to see them around the table when she entered the room, and each night she sighed with disappointment when she got home and saw their chairs empty. Roald had said not to worry or expect them back yet, but she couldn’t stop hoping.
At day eighteen, Ingeborg admitted to herself that she was worried. Were they all right? Had they been trapped in the blizzard? How far did they have to travel? Was there no land left? The questions buzzed through her mind like angry bees and kept her turning in her bed. “God, Father, please keep them safe.” She couldn’t think what else to pray. She knew Kaaren was worrying the same, but both of them kept their thoughts to themselves. It was as if saying the words out loud might cause the unthinkable to happen.
If only the men had had money for the train to and from Grand Forks, at least.
Kaaren read Bible verses to them the next night. Her verse said, “Faith is the knowledge of things hoped for, the assurance of things unseen.”
“We must have faith.” Kaaren closed the book in her lap.
“Ja, we must,” Ingeborg acknowledged. But waiting is so difficult.
Two days later, Ingeborg was busy peeling potatoes when Daniel came in with a load of firewood. “Mrs. Bjorklund, someone outside wants ta see you.”
Ingeborg took one look at the dancing Daniel and dashed out the back door. Roald and Carl sat on their horses. Carl had a big grin on his face, while Roald wore his normal solemn demeanor but with the light of victory in his eyes.
“We found our land.” Roald swung off his horse and grunted when his feet hit the ground. He held Ingeborg’s gaze. “It will be good land.”
Ingeborg clasped her hands to her breast. “Thanks be to God.”
Roald nodded. “Ja, that too.” He glanced around at the bare patches of dirt where the snow had melted. “We must be on the road as soon as possible. The land up there is not surveyed yet, so if we do not hurry, someone else may stop upon it.”
At the question on her face, Carl continued. “We cannot file a legal homestead claim until the surveyors go through. But if we are there, then we will be able to pay the survey fee and file on our land.”
“So we must hurry.”
“Ja, we went to Mainwright’s already and will take the horses to him tomorrow. He says he can be ready as soon as we get there.” Roald stroked his hand down the horse’s nose.
“Have you been to see Kaaren yet?”
Both men nodded. “Now we’ll go see if someone has a span of oxen for sale. You haven’t heard of anyone else wanting to leave the country, have you?” Grinning, Carl raised an eyebrow, and Ingeborg knew he referred to her earlier discovery.
“Sorry, no. Just many people coming in. Mr. Adams of the railroad came by and asked when you’d be back. He said anytime you want a job with him, you will have one.”
“That’s good, but we will be farming our own land.” Carl slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Won’t we, brother?”
Roald winced and nodded at the same time. “God willing. But for now we must find another wagon and a team of oxen, and then tomorrow begin the repairs on Mainwright’s wagon.” He remounted and leaned forward slightly. “You will tell Mrs. Johnson that you are leaving?”
“Ja, but since we are not sure of the day yet, I will work as long as I can.” Ingeborg felt the familiar knot in her chest. Saying goodbye to people she’d come to care about was never easy. There had been too many goodbyes this year.
“Hopefully we will be leaving by Saturday,” Roald said.
As the two men rode off, Ingeborg returned to her labors with a heavy heart. She thanked the Lord they’d made the trip all right and found land they were pleased with, although how they could tell it was good when it was covered with snow was a puzzle to her. Was it a good idea to start out before the snows were all gone? Was it even safe?
“Please, God,” she muttered as she picked up a knife to slice potatoes.
“So, you will be leaving in the next few days?” Mrs. Johnson stopped by Ingeborg’s cutting boar
d. “I almost kept hoping they wouldn’t find anything this season and would be content to come back to Fargo to work on the railroad.”
Ingeborg agreed, but loyalty to her husband kept her mute. “Working here in Fargo was just a temporary measure. I told you that when I first came to work for you.”
“I know you did, but then I didn’t know what a marvelous cook you were, or that I would come to depend on you so much. Hard workers like you are few and far between.”
“Mange takk and more.” Ingeborg forced herself to switch to English. “Thank you. I like it here, and . . .”
“And we better get this meal out before both of us are salting the stew with our tears.” Mrs. Johnson leaned over and, opening the oven door, checked on the simmering roasts. Her face glowed bright red from the heat when she stood again. “These railroad men go through more food—you’d think I was feeding an army.”
During the next few days, Ingeborg was grateful she worked at the hotel instead of having to help organize the rapidly growing mound of supplies for their trip. The major thing still missing was the yoke of oxen. No one had any to sell.
“We’ll have to keep the load to one wagon and look again in Grand Forks,” Roald said one night after Ingeborg returned home.
“But you already have two wagons.” Ingeborg felt like collapsing on the bed. Her back ached more than usual, which had made the day seem longer and the work more difficult.
“We will sell one. We’ve already done enough repair on it that we should be able to make a few dollars on it.” Roald paced the narrow confines of the room.
“I wish we . . .”
An Untamed Land Page 14