Even the coffee tasted better, now that they were rid of that muddy residue.
Each night when she silently said good-night to the sleeping children, guilt flooded her entire being. What kind of a mother was she who gave the raising of her children over to someone else? Andrew, the son for whom she’d waited so long, went to Kaaren now when he had a bump or bruise. It was Tante Kaaren that he laughed with and followed around—not his mor. And Thorliff, such a good little boy, was still missing his far.
Just that day he had ridden out to the field on the back of Belle and followed behind her, picking up worms for fishing. When he walked up the doubletree between the horses and mounted again to return for dinner, he said with a look over his shoulder, “Do you miss Far?”
“Ja, but I try not to think about it.”
“I want him to come home. God has lots of other angels. I need my far here.” A fat tear slipped down his cheek, only to be backhanded away. The dust streaked and made him look dirtier and sadder than before.
“Me too.” Ingeborg tightened her jaw. She was too tired for tears. They had all been shed.
She wished there were something more she could do for her son. But unable to think of how to help him in his grief, she did the only thing she knew to do: she threw herself into the farm work harder than ever. She had to make the payments and meet the requirements for proving up the land—this land that one day would belong to Thorliff. She would save the land for him. That much she could do for him.
Ingeborg hadn’t spoken with Kaaren for over a week, and one night the younger woman waited up for her.
“I need the wagon tomorrow to deliver the cheese and produce to the bonanza farm. I thought you might like to go along with me. We could do the shopping for the harvest on the way back.”
“No, I . . .
Kaaren sat carefully down at the table, as if her temper might get the best of her if she moved too quickly. “Ingeborg Bjorklund, you listen to me. I will not have you killing yourself for me or for your children. If you don’t slow down before you collapse, I will take the boys and move into town. My half of the homestead can be sold or let go. I cannot farm this without you, but you look more like a bag of bones about to fall apart every day. Look, your hands are shaking so badly you can hardly eat.”
“Pounding out the plowshares is what does that. Goes away before long.”
“Inge, please listen to me. We need help. We could write home to Norway and send the money for someone to come. We both have brothers, and Carl and Roald did too. Hjelmer said he wanted to come.”
“Ja, well, he has not shown up, has he? I suppose you have planned all this without asking me, like you did the well?” Ingeborg tried to get an edge to her voice, but it took too much effort. Suddenly, the food she’d swallowed felt like a block of worms in her belly. She pushed the plate away. “Do whatever you must, but it will be months before one of them can arrive here. We have to get through the harvest now.”
“You’ll come with me tomorrow?”
Ingeborg shook her head. “I’ll plow for half the day, and then I’ll go hunting.”
Kaaren studied her in the lamplight. “All right. But I do wish you would come.”
“You’ll take the boys with you?”
“Of course.” Kaaren looked at her as if the sun must have stewed her brains.
Even “mange takk” had become difficult for Ingeborg to say. But she muttered it and turned away. Sometimes the guilt she felt for neglecting them all nearly brought her to her knees, but she didn’t think she had any other choice. Someone had to keep the homesteads going, and though both she and Kaaren were doing their part, hers was the solitary one.
Or am I at the point of wanting it that way? The thought made her stop, but only for a moment. If she stayed in one spot for too long, she’d fall asleep—standing, sitting, or lying down, it didn’t really matter.
The next afternoon, when she sat down by the game trail where she’d bagged several deer in the past, she fell sound asleep and didn’t wake until the moon rode high in the sky. Her back ached from the hard ground, and she felt as though every mosquito in the valley had used her for a supper stop. She trudged home, rifle in hand and itching until she wanted to scrape her skin with a stick. Maybe some buttermilk would help, both to drink and put on her skin.
To keep Kaaren from being embarrassed the morning the threshers were to come, Ingeborg donned a skirt with a shirtwaister and an apron. When she tried fastening the waistband, it nearly slid off her hips. With a muttered “uff da!” she tied a strip of cloth around her waist like a belt to hold her skirt in place and rolled up the sleeves of the top. Kicking the skirt out of her way, she joined Kaaren at the stove.
“I don’t know how you stand milking cows and working in the garden in these things. No wonder men can get more done than women. They are able to walk faster. Now that I know this, I’ll never go back to wearing skirts all the time.” She grabbed a knife and began slicing the smoked haunch of venison. “Just glad I milked before I put this contraption on.” Her muttering kept time with the knife.
“Well, I am grateful you dressed like you ought. Those men would have been so horrified they might not have threshed our wheat. They’d call us those two crazy Bjorklund widows.”
“Just one. You have never been anything but proper.”
“They’re here!” Thorliff came bursting through the door.
The sun had just broken the horizon when the first wave of harvesters arrived with three binders pulled by four horses each.
“Show them where the wash bucket is and invite them in,” Kaaren said, looking first over the pans of hot food crowded together on the stove and then at the table all set in readiness for the crew. They’d fried the meat, sliced the bread, fried the gelled and sliced cornmeal mush, and the biscuits were nearly done. The eggs were scrambled and set on the back of the stove to keep warm.
After watering their horses and tying them up to the wheels of the machines, three men walked up to the door. Behind them, Ingeborg could see Thorliff scurrying about, bringing hay and grain for each animal as she had instructed him.
The men doffed their hats as they entered and took their places at the table. The meal was largely silent as they rapidly consumed the food, speaking little other than “pass the eggs” and “toss me one of them biscuits.” Ingeborg kept the coffee cups full while Kaaren refilled the bowls and platters of food. All three said “thankee ma’am, ma’am,” ducking their heads in a show of respect as they filed out the door.
“There were only three of them, but they sure could eat!” Ingeborg sank down on the bench with a cup of coffee and a slice of bread. She let Kaaren have the remaining biscuit.
By evening, the crew had cut and bundled all the wheat. Joseph Baard and the boys did the shocking and set three bundles leaning together in order to stay upright and prevent the grain from getting soaked by the dew or rain.
Ingeborg stared longingly as the men moved down the field. She would much rather be out there with them than be trapped here in the soddy where the temperature surely had left a hundred far behind. She could drive one of those contraptions as well as the men. She lifted her face to the wind. Next year, she promised herself, they’d go in partners with Baards as they did with the mower and buy their own binder. Agnes and Kaaren could feed the crew—she’d be out in the fields.
“Drinks!” she hollered loud enough for the men to hear her over the squeak and chatter of the cutting blades.
Two days later, after the oats were cut and bound, the main crew of harvesters pulled in. A twelve-up mule team pulled the steam-powered thresher into the cleared area by the sod barn. The huge metal contraption looked like something out of a nightmare, and the enormous iron wheels made enough noise coming across the prairie to scare every animal for miles around.
Thorliff’s eyes were dancing in excitement. “Just like last year, Mor?”
No, last year Roald was here to take care of all this. Ingeborg banished th
e thought and made herself concentrate on Thorliff. “What did you say?”
“Do you know how it works?”
She shook her head. “Do you?”
“Ja. You put the shocks in that end, and straw comes out another, and the wheat goes into those burlap bags.”
Ingeborg stared at her son. Amazement made her mouth drop. “You remember all that?”
“Ja! Can I help?”
“The best thing you can do is to stay out of their way. But I know Joseph will let you drive our wagon after Belle and Bob get used to this . . . this monster.” She turned back to the house. “You go pull up water for the trough. Those mules will be mighty thirsty.”
Kaaren answered the door when they heard a knock. “God dag. Ah . . . hello . . . ah . . .” She stopped in midsentence.
Ingeborg turned from the oven to see what was the matter. A man, with eyes the softness of a cloudy day and a smile to break hearts, stood in the doorway holding his hat in his hands.
“Mrs. Bjorklund, I don’t know if you remember me from last year, but I’m Lars Knutson, the man responsible for this crew. Can I ask you a few questions?” He’d obviously learned Norwegian at his mother’s knee.
“Ja, but you should talk to Ingeborg . . . ah, the other Mrs. Bjorklund.” Kaaren turned and pointed to Ingeborg.
Ingeborg could see Kaaren’s cheeks were flaming red, and her hand shook as if she had the palsy. What was going on here?
One month later Kaaren and Lars announced they were getting married that week.
Much against her will, Ingeborg helped with the preparations. Together they cleaned out the other soddy and moved some of the livestock back to the barn there. One afternoon as the young couple were in town buying supplies, Ingeborg fingered the blue silk Roald had given her that last Christmas. Would she have time to sew it into a wedding dress for Kaaren? If she and Kaaren worked together, they might be able to get it done in time. She tucked the soft fabric back in the trunk and shut the lid. She’d ask her when they returned.
Sitting for a moment in the rocker, Ingeborg thought back to the night Lars and Kaaren had announced their intentions.
“But . . . but, you’ve only known each other a few weeks. How can you think to make a marriage of that?”
Kaaren straightened, and sparks glinted from her eyes. “Life is too short and too unpredictable to waste time making up my mind. Lars says he loves me, and I knew I loved him before the threshers left our place the next day. It was as if God put a sign above his head that read ‘this is the man I have chosen for you.’ We will be fine.”
When she and Ingeborg had climbed into bed that night, Ingeborg tried to reason again.
Kaaren’s words came clipped and hard through the darkness. “I will not turn bitter and angry like you—a machine that works from long before dawn until long after dusk. Lars and I will have a good life together, and the farm will have a man again.” She flipped over on her side and appeared to fall asleep immediately.
Ingeborg could think of nothing to say, and she had turned and tossed a long time before falling asleep that night.
“Look what we bought,” Kaaren called from the wagon the next day. “Come with us to the soddy and help us move it all in.” Excitement flowed from her voice.
Ingeborg strapped Andrew into the sling she wore to hold him and joined them outside. A rocking chair shared space with a four-lid cookstove, the metal glinting in the setting sun. Sacks of flour, beans, sugar, and other staples took up more space, but the piece that drew Ingeborg’s eyes stood roped against the back of the seat for support. A lovely kitchen cabinet, with glass doors fronting the upper shelves, carved wooden ones covering the lower section, and a work space in between, took her breath away.
“Oh my.” She touched the white paint with a reverent finger. It had been a long time since she had seen such a fine piece. Roald’s father built wonderful furniture in the old country, but here, in America, they had been much too busy working their homestead to think about grand furnishings. Ingeborg ran her fingers over the smooth surface again. “How beautiful.” A decal of pink flowers with vines and leaves graced the carved trim on the top. The counter space of speckled enameled metal begged for a cook to roll cookies there.
“See the bins for flour and sugar.” Kaaren leaned over the edge of the wagon to point them out. “Have you ever seen anything so fine?”
“No, never,” Ingeborg said, shaking her head.
“And look at this.” Kaaren unwrapped the corner of a soft package. “Blue and white dimity. I hoped we could make my wedding dress from it. Will you help me?”
“Ja, of course.” Was it relief she felt, or regret? Ingeborg wasn’t sure.
Thorliff climbed up in the wagon. “Look, new plowshares and a bucket.” He heard a funny noise and, after looking up at Kaaren for permission, climbed over the sacks and opened a box that had holes in the sides. With a squeal of delight, he picked up a brown puppy with white spots on its back and chest. Both front feet sported white toes, and to the laughter of all, one eye was ringed in white. The puppy licked the boy’s chin with a pink tongue and peed down his shirtfront.
“Put him down to do his business,” Ingeborg ordered. Why hadn’t she thought to find a puppy for her son? The look on his face told her she should have. She would have to remedy that.
Thorliff set the fat ball of fluff on the ground, and it immediately whined to be picked up again. “He already did his business”—he held his shirt away from his body—“on me.” When he picked the puppy up again, he got a nose lick that set him giggling.
“Do you like him?” Lars stroked the puppy’s soft back.
“Like him?” Thorliff hugged the little dog. “Like him?” His voice squeaked.
“Well, we thought as how you’ll be watching Andrew more of the time, you might need a helper. And this little feller’s mother and father are good sheep dogs. He’ll help you round up your flock.” He turned to Ingeborg. “That is, if it is all right with your mother.”
“Mor?”
The hopeful, pleading look on her son’s face would have melted a heart of Norwegian granite. “Ja, that is a fine idea.” Ingeborg reached for the puppy. “You will have to come up with a good name for him.”
“Paws.”
The three adults looked at the little boy in astonishment. “Paws?”
Thorliff held up the two front feet. “The spots, see. I don’t want to call him Spot or Shep, but Paws fits.”
“It surely does.” Ingeborg held the squirmy body up to her cheek, which also got a quick swipe. “He will be a good watchdog and sheepherder.”
Andrew babbled at them and reached for the puppy with a pudgy fist. His belly laugh at the quick doggy kiss made them all smile.
“I found a farmer who has a mule to sell, so we will have three teams again. And Baard said he wanted to buy a binder next fall with us. I saw something today, Ingeborg, that you will like. A plow you can ride on, like the hay mower. They said you can plow two acres a day with it instead of one, and it’s easier on the team.”
Ingeborg raised an eyebrow. “What is this world coming to?”
“You should take a trip with me to the bonanza farms. You wouldn’t believe the different kinds of machinery I saw in my threshing days. Some say we will be doing all our field work with steam engines one day soon. Horses, mules, and oxen will become obsolete.”
Ingeborg snorted. “I have a hard time believing that.”
“Wait and see.” Lars swung back up on the seat. “Jump on back, and we’ll go unload all this.”
“I have supper ready,” Ingeborg reminded them.
“Good, then we can come back here to eat. Are the chores done yet?”
“Mor and me, we finished them already.” Thorliff held the puppy close to his chest. “I have to show Paws the way to your house.”
“You better wait ’til he’s a bit bigger, or he’ll get lost in the grass. You ride along.”
Ingeborg sat with her feet dan
gling over the edge of the wagon. Don’t be selfish, she ordered herself. It is a man’s place to take over the charge of our farms. But part of her mind whispered, But you’ve been running things just fine. We don’t need a man around here. What if he tries to take over everything?
“Oh, Ingeborg, I nearly forgot.” Kaaren dug in her reticule when they reached the other soddy. “Here’s a letter for you. I was hoping for one from Norway, but not to be.” She handed Ingeborg the crumpled envelope. The return postmark said New York.
While Kaaren and Lars hauled their supplies into the soddy, Ingeborg leaned against the wall and read her letter.
Dear Mrs. Bjorklund, I think of you often and wonder how my friend is doing on the Dakota prairies. I learned of your tragic loss and want to tell you how my heart aches for you. I know that our God is watching over you and keeping you safe and strong. Ingeborg looked up at the cloud puffs so white against the cerulean sky. Mr. Gould thought of her. Wasn’t that a miracle? She continued reading.
My biggest news is that I have married in the last year. My wife’s name is Elizabeth, and we have known each other since we were children. My father is very pleased with the union, as Elizabeth is of a fine family. He closed with, Please accept our condolences. Your friend, David Jonathan Gould.
Ingeborg put the letter in her pocket. She would read it again later.
When she answered it a few days later, she wished Gould well in his new life and thanked him for his concern. The long-overdue letter to her mother was much more difficult to write. In the end, she kept it brief also, knowing that her mother would read between the lines.
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