An Untamed Land

by Snelling, Lauraine

  A yell from baby Gunny made them all look at her. She sat with a dish towel tying her to the chair, a gummied crust of bread in one hand and a spoon in the other. She banged the spoon on the table and yelled again.

  Carl leaned over and untied the knot. Gunny tangled one fist in his beard and whacked at him with the spoon. “No you don’t. Little girls don’t hit their far.” He swung her up in the air and yelped when she didn’t let loose of his beard.

  Kaaren laughed with the rest of them, untangled the baby’s fist, and laid her hand on Carl’s shoulder as if reassuring herself he was real and not an apparition. “That will teach you to throw a girl around.”

  Gunny waved her fat little fists and shrieked in delight when Carl tossed her gently in the air. Looking down at him, she drooled and chortled some more.

  “If she can’t beat me, she spits on me. What kind of child do we have here?” He brought her down and cuddled her in his arms. “Thank the good Lord and His angels for bringing me home.” He sent Ingeborg a smile of gratitude.

  “It was just the spider lid.” She looked over at Thorliff. “Besides, the one you heard ringing is sitting right there. He kept it up for you.”

  “Ja, I know. Bet you haven’t been called an angel before, huh, Thorly?”

  Thorliff shook his head. “Tomorrow we will ring for Far.”

  Just before she fell asleep that night, Ingeborg reminded herself of the pact the two men had made. To be safe, she again committed her husband to God’s keeping.

  A quiet, white world greeted them in the first light of the morning. The rooster crowed from the barn. The cow mooed.

  “Now this . . . this is the day to go elk hunting.” Carl made the announcement when he returned from the barn.

  “Not again.” Kaaren ladled ground cornmeal mush into a bowl. The cream and molasses were already on the table.

  He ate quickly, kissed his wife goodbye, and after bundling up for the cold, he took the rifle down from its pegs and out the door he went.

  “Men!” Kaaren sat down at the trestle table Carl had made and cupped her hands around the mug of bitter brew.

  Ingeborg served herself some mush and joined Kaaren at the table. While the children slept, only the snapping fire broke the silence. Ingeborg drizzled some of the precious molasses into her imitation coffee and spooned the mush slowly. She knew why Carl went hunting. If he hadn’t said so first, she would have volunteered. Outside was crisp, cold, bright, glorious. Inside was dark and smelled like dirt. Good dirt to be sure, but dirt nonetheless.

  While Kaaren set the water kettle boiling to wash diapers, Ingeborg took out the deer hide and, laying it over the table, set to working the life back into it. She rubbed it back and forth over the edge of the table, a handful at a time, moving around the skin. Slowly, the stiffened hide became soft and pliable.

  Kaaren fed the children, and as soon as he finished eating, Thorliff ran outside to play in the foot-deep snow.

  Ingeborg’s back began to ache from the way she was sitting and from pulling the hide up and down. She rose up and kneaded her lower back with her fists. “I heard the Indian women used to chew on the hides to make them soft.” She made a face. “Can you imagine that?” She smelled her hands. “Ugh.”

  Kaaren took the clean diapers out to hang on the clothesline Carl had strung up for her. She and Thorliff were laughing about something. Ingeborg could hear their happy voices and wished she were with them. Pull and pull. She stopped for a moment, listening intently at a distant sound. Chimes? Bells? Jingling harness!

  She leaped to her feet and flew out the door. Belle and Bob were within sight. Ingeborg and Thorliff jumped up and down, waving and shouting. The boy tore across the open field and met the wagon. Roald stopped and helped his son up, then let him drive the rest of the way up to the house.

  “You were not worried, were you?” While he tried to frown, Ingeborg could tell he was as glad to be home as they were to have him. When they shook their heads, Roald wound the reins around the brake handle and climbed to the ground. Reaching behind the seat, he grabbed a white bag and hefted it high. “Coffee beans.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “And a letter from Norway.” He looked around. “Where is Carl? Did he not make it home last night?”

  “Oh, he made it home, thanks to Ingeborg, but he went elk hunting again this morning. Said tracking would be easy and the elk did not have a chance.” Kaaren sounded a bit put out. “So, I will make the coffee, and he will have to do without.”

  Roald raised an eyebrow. “Thanks to Ingeborg?”

  Ingeborg shook her head. All she could think was how glad she was to see this stern-faced man. “I will tell you later.” She clutched the precious bit of paper to her bosom. They would read it this night when they were all together, if she could wait that long.

  The sun had started its afternoon descent when Carl puffed his way to the door, dragging the haunches of an elk on the hide. “I strung the rest up in a tree,” he said as he collapsed on the bench in front of the fire. “It’ll be frozen solid by tomorrow, but I couldn’t drag any more and make good enough time. Sure wish I’d had one of the horses.”

  “He must have been a giant,” Thorliff said.

  “Wait ’til you see the head. I will carve you a special spoon out of one of his antlers.” Carl looked up to take the cup of hot coffee Kaaren handed him. “Mange takk. What do you want me to do with the meat?”

  “We can cut it up and let it freeze. We’ll use it all by the time it warms up again in the spring.” Ingeborg stroked the thick pelt. “This one would make fine boots.”

  “Or harness leather,” Roald added. “But I think we should keep it for a robe. We’re going to need more to keep us warm this winter.”

  “There are plenty more where this one came from. If I didn’t spook them too badly, they’ll stay in the wooded area along the river. There are signs of them everywhere.”

  The thought gave Ingeborg a deep sense of security. They would have plenty of food and, with extra hides, some of the other things they needed. God was indeed good. After reading the letter and talking of the family news, she had more to thank her God for.

  With the snow now covering the ground, their days and evenings fell into a pattern. While the men spent much of the day in the barn at the forge, repairing harness, or building the many things needed on the farm, the women kept busy cooking, caring for the children, working the hides, washing diapers—a never-ending job it seemed—and sewing or knitting to keep everyone in clothes. When Thorliff got restless in one place, he was sent to the other.

  The evenings were spent together in the soddy, with the men carving on bits of wood they declared were secrets. Thorliff carefully saved all the shavings for starting the fires and spent hours at his slate, forming the letters assigned him by Kaaren.

  One evening Ingeborg looked up from her knitting. The children were already in bed, sent there when the adults grew weary of their noise. Roald held a length of wood in his hand, shaping it with his knife, then smoothing it with the elk horn. Carl was putting his piece away.

  “Would any of you like a cup of coffee and a piece of bread before bed?”

  At their nods, she tucked her needles and the sock she was forming into the basket at her feet. “Good. I certainly do.” While the wind moaned outside, she hooked the coffeepot on the tripod and swung it over the flame. While it heated, she sliced and buttered the bread. Taking a hunk of cheese from the larder, she sliced that and laid the pieces on the bread. The act filled her heart with gratitude. Such riches: a snug house that kept out the storms, food in abundance and variety, and one another. She shook her head. She hadn’t been too appreciative of some of the others earlier in the day. Thorliff and his questions, Gunny whining with her teething, and . . . she sighed and called the others. The coffeepot bubbled over—it must be hot enough.

  As the days passed and Christmas arrived, it seemed to Ingeborg as though the holiday had already been celebrated when Roald brought su
pplies from St. Andrew. But Christmas presents were all handmade in secret and brought out after the roast goose had disappeared in lightning fashion. The special moment of the day was the peppermint sticks Roald had bought and hidden. Thorliff sucked on his with such delight that Ingeborg felt guilty. While there hadn’t been much money in Norway either, at least there they had a large family and small treats for the children.

  When each had received a present, Roald and Carl winked at each other, got up, and left the room.

  “They’re going for the . . .”

  Carl swooped back, clapped a hand over Thorliff’s giggling mouth, and took him outside with them.

  Ingeborg could hear his shouts of laughter above that of the men. What was going on?

  “I don’t know.” Kaaren shook her head and shrugged at the same time.

  “Close your eyes,” Carl shouted through the closed door. The women shared a look of excitement.

  “More presents?” Kaaren whispered.

  “Are your eyes closed?” Roald pounded on the door.

  “Ja, closed tight,” Ingeborg answered.

  “You go see,” Carl said as he pushed Thorliff in the door.

  “They are.” The little boy ran to the women and then back to the door.

  Ingeborg could hear shuffling, something being set down, and the door closing.

  “Open your eyes.” Thorliff grabbed Ingeborg’s hand. “Look what Far made.”

  Ingeborg clasped her hands to her breast. “A spinning wheel!” She reached forward and stroked the delicately carved spindles on the wheel, the way the joints met so perfectly on the wheel itself, the pedal to make it spin. After each minute stroke and discovery, she looked to Roald, her heart in her eyes. “Mange takk is far too small a word.”

  “You like it.” His deep voice raised the statement into a question.

  “Like it? Like it?” She rose from her chair and wrapped her arms around his waist. He had given her his heart, carved in golden oak and turned black sod. Beneath her cheek his heart thudded its steady rhythm while his hands found each other around her back. She raised a finger to smooth the pulse that pounded in his neck. So hard he worked to keep his feelings inside. “Mange takk.”

  “Tante Kaaren, you are next.” Thorliff left his mother’s skirts and went to pull on Kaaren’s hand. “Come and see the . . .”

  “Nei, do not say it.” Carl stopped the boy again. “Close your eyes.”

  “Again?” Kaaren pleaded.

  “Ja, for only a moment.”

  Ingeborg kept one arm around Roald’s and a hand on the spinning wheel.

  “Open them.”

  Kaaren couldn’t talk. Tears took the place of words. She, like Ingeborg, smoothed the carved wood, this time of a rocking chair. At Thorliff’s urging, she sat in the chair and set it to rocking.

  “Gunny will like it,” Thorliff said, head cocked to one side. “See the arms. I helped smooth them. Onkel Carl said I am a good woodworker already.”

  “Yes, you are.” Kaaren stroked the silky wood. She wiped away the tears and reached up to hug her husband. “You two and your secrets out in the barn all those nights when you wouldn’t tell us what you were working on. Hutte meg tu. Such men.” She looked at Thorliff standing right beside her. “You think this beautiful chair might hold the both of us?”

  He nodded vigorously.

  “Good, then you come right here, and we will read the Christmas story from the Bible Gunny’s bestemor sent.”

  When Kaaren finished reading, the men got to their feet. “We will do the chores now.”

  “Ja, and we will clean up the dinner things.”

  “So we can eat again.”

  “You are hungry already?”

  Thorliff nodded. “I know we have a good dessert.”

  “Then you bring in the wood while we take care of the animals.” The two men went out the door as Thorliff was shrugging into his coat. Silence fell for a few moments.

  “I know we should be thankful we have plenty to eat, but . . .” Kaaren said softly under the sounds of washing dishes.

  “But you miss home, just like we all do.” Ingeborg dried and put away the china plates she had brought from the old country. This was the first time they had taken them from the trunk and used them. Roald promised to build a shelf so they could be enjoyed between special occasions.

  “Think how wonderful it will be when we have a church nearby. I think I miss the services as much as I miss our families.” Kaaren’s face wore the dreamy expression she usually kept hidden. “The hymns with so many voices; when I remember, I am sure it sounded like angel choruses.”

  “We can sing the songs when the men come in from chores.”

  Kaaren sighed. “I know.”

  “And we will have julekake with our coffee.” Ingeborg had hoarded the cardamon, the spice that made the fruited bread taste so different from everyday loaves. She had made the bread, ignoring the twinges of guilt over using the precious sugar for such a luxury. Next year, they would have a real Christmas.

  After supper and the singing of several carols, Carl motioned them all to put on their coats and follow him outside. “Sh-h-h.” He put a finger over Thorliff’s questioning mouth. “Listen.” He pointed to the north where the northern lights danced in unearthly splendor. When they all held their breath, it seemed they could hear an ancient song by the lights snapping and sizzling on the frigid air.

  Ingeborg slipped her hand under Roald’s arm. This time next year, she would bring their baby out to see the lights.

  Thorliff leaned against her side. “So pretty. What makes them?”

  Ingeborg looked up at her husband. Together they said, “God does.”

  After a mild blizzard in January, the weather stayed fairly clear. The Baards and the Bjorklunds took turns having the school at their houses. Agnes taught everyone to speak English; Kaaren taught the children to read and do sums.

  “I wish we could meet every day,” Kaaren said on the way home one afternoon.

  “Ja, well, Roald and I will have to learn our English from you in the evenings. Both of us need to be down at the river cutting wood, not just one of us at a time. In the spring, those steamboats will take every cord we can cut.”

  “Ja, so we can pay off our debt at the store.” Ingeborg still felt a stab of resentment that Roald had put so much of their supplies on credit. The shopkeeper had taken the wheels of cheese, butter, and eggs in trade for some of the staples. Next year they would buy more cows, and she would start supplying the bonanza farm across the river.

  “Will the Baards always come to our house if you are cutting wood?” Thorliff asked, sticking his nose out of the pile of quilts on the hay in the back of the sled.

  “No, you can take the team over there. Your mother and Tante Kaaren know how to drive the horses,” Carl answered the boy’s question.

  “Oh.” They could almost hear him thinking, I could drive the team.

  “When you are bigger.” Carl slapped the reins. “Come on, Belle, Bob. Pick up your feet a little faster. It’s getting cold up here.”

  Ingeborg cuddled Thorliff against her side in their nest in the wagon bed. “You will drive the team soon enough. Now, show me what book you brought home today.”

  Thorliff dug under his coat and handed her a tattered copy of A Wonder-book for Girls and Boys. “In English. I will read it to you when we get home.”

  The clear weather held, and since they were no longer dependent upon the men, the families met every day.

  Until the snowstorm arrived. With all of them trapped in the soddy, each day seemed to last longer than a week.

  “Can you not make the baby quit crying?” Carl asked for the third time.

  “She has the earache. What can I do?” Kaaren put a warm cloth on the baby’s ear and continued to rock her.

  “I’m going to work in the barn.” Carl took his woodworking tools, the wooden chair pieces, and stalked out the door. Roald had pleaded the need of forge time al
ready.

  With the men gone, the room seemed larger.

  “Can I go with?” Thorliff begged. “I’m tired of the house.”

  “Ja, me too.” Ingeborg looked up from her knitting. If only she could go hunting, but the continuing snowfall made that impossible. The weather could turn into a blizzard at any moment. After what had almost happened to Carl, it was too risky. She wondered how Metis was in her cave by the river. They hadn’t seen her for weeks. The baby’s fretful crying grated on her nerves, making her want to scream. The poor thing, it wasn’t her fault.

  “Thorliff!” Kaaren barked. “Watch what you are doing.”

  “I . . . I did not mean to.” The boy stared at the cup shattered on the stone hearth.

  “Why can’t you be more careful?”

  “Don’t yell at him like that. It was an accident.”

  “That’s the last china cup. How could you be so clumsy?” Kaaren shook her finger at the child’s nose.

  “Kaaren, leave him be.” Ingeborg’s tone cracked like the trees shattering in the cold.

  “Don’t you tell me what to do.” At the sound of their yelling, Gunny let loose with a shriek that rattled the pots. Thorliff’s tears turned to wails.

  It was all Ingeborg could do to keep from screaming herself. She grabbed her coat off the peg, stuffed Thorliff’s arms into his and, slamming the door open, fled.

  What had gotten into them all?

  No one said anything that night. Ingeborg tossed on the bed, and each time she rolled over, the ropes creaked and the corn shucks rattled. She could hear the same sounds coming from the other bed, along with snores that matched Roald’s. At least the men slept. But then, they would sleep through anything.

  Ingeborg clenched her teeth and her mind against the unwelcome thoughts. God forgive her, but right now she would gladly toss someone out in the snowdrifts.

  Gunny whimpered. Kaaren rose and, taking the baby, went to the fireplace, where she had a potato in the spider keeping warm. Putting it against the baby’s ear helped more than anything else.

  Ingeborg finally fell asleep to the creaking song of the rocker. And even that made her growly.