An Untamed Land

by Snelling, Lauraine

  Ingeborg wrestled with thoughts about Lars over the days and weeks after the wedding. She tried not to feel resentful when he started taking over things, but it was difficult for her to realize that she was no longer responsible for everything. She had done a good job running the farm since Roald and Carl had died. The only antidote she found was the one she’d always used: hard work, and more hard work. It wasn’t difficult to find plenty of that. While she preferred to be out busting sod, she now had a house to care for, cows to milk, and most of all, one crawling baby and a young boy to care for. Both of them needed meals and clean clothes and all the other things a mother usually did for her children, things which Kaaren had been doing the last months. While Kaaren repeatedly offered to help, Ingeborg stubbornly refused. After all, the newlyweds needed some time to themselves, and they had plenty to do on their own homestead.

  Lars had cut trees down at the river and sunk posts for a corral adjoining their sod barn. He had started digging them a well, and the day the Baards came over to help, Ingeborg made sure she was out working in the field, just as she’d been the afternoon after returning from St. Andrew where the marriage had been performed in the church. She still felt pangs of guilt for not helping serve at the wedding party the Baards had hosted. She knew the entire community had come. Thorliff told her all about it, whether she wanted him to or not.

  Would Agnes ever speak to her again? Did she care anymore?

  As the days passed, the load felt heavier, and the cloud surrounding her grew darker. She helped with the fall butchering, drying and storing the produce from the garden, snapping corn off the dry stalks and tossing it into the corn crib Lars had built. She filled a bin in the barn so she could shell the corn for the chickens throughout the winter.

  Cheese wheels were ripening in the root cellar, and since they now had a well, she could keep milk and butter cool in a bucket down there.

  One day she left Thorliff and Andrew with Tante Kaaren and, taking the gun, set out to shoot a deer and hopefully some ducks and geese as well. The birds had been flying in trailing Vs, patterning the skies on their way south for weeks and setting her mouth to watering for roast duck or goose. They could use more feathers for feather beds to help keep them warm during the cold winter.

  Sitting along her favorite game trail, she heard a twig snap behind her and turned to see what it was. Metis stepped from the brush into the small clearing; Wolf was pacing not far off to her right. She sat down beside Ingeborg and rested her arms on her knees. Between the two of them, they’d learned enough of each other’s language, mixed with a little English, to be able to communicate.

  “My friend not well,” Metis said after the greeting.

  “Ja, I am fine,” Ingeborg said softly so as not to disturb the game. She didn’t bother to ask Metis how she had found her. Wolf, lying under a bush and nearly invisible, would have seen to that.

  Metis gave her a look that spoke volumes of disbelief. “You need a husband.”

  “Who are you to talk? You’re alone and have been far longer than I.” Ingeborg could feel her anger stir.

  “Me old, you young. You have young sons, need father.” Metis looked at her friend out of the corner of her eye.

  Wolf raised his muzzle and sniffed the wind. Ingeborg caught his move and shook her head to signal silence. Two deer ambled down the trail, pausing on the edge of the open space. Downwind from them, Ingeborg knew that unless the deer saw the hunters, they wouldn’t detect them. She raised her rifle slowly and sighted down the barrel. If she waited a few seconds longer, she might be able to bring down both of them. One she would give to Metis.

  The deer started forward. Ingeborg fired the first shot, dropped the leader, and fired again as the second deer leaped at the sound. It, too, fell.

  “Good shoot.” Metis sprang to her feet at the same moment as Ingeborg, and together they ran to the fallen deer. One struggled to get up at their arrival, but Ingeborg shot it again while Metis slit the throat of the first to bleed it quickly.

  With each of them working on a deer, they gutted them, being careful to remove the musk glands without nicking them. Being far from home, they threw the guts out in the brush for the scavengers. Once the deer were finished, Metis removed her hatchet from her belt and cut two long sticks for a travois. They lashed some crosspieces on with willow and loaded the deer aboard.

  On the way back to the farm, Ingeborg made several detours to bring down three geese and a brace of ducks, leaving Metis to pull the travois.

  “You need some rabbit or fish too?” Metis pulled steadily.

  Ingeborg looked at her, ready to defend herself at the implied criticism, but shook her head. Metis wore that glint in her eyes that said she was teasing. “Not today. But some rabbit pelts would make a fine coat or vest for Andrew.”

  “I make that, hood lined with fur. Keep him warm.”

  “Thank you. You will take one of these deer.”

  “No, you need.”

  “Metis, you have done many things for our families, just say ‘thank you’ and take the deer home with you. I don’t have time right now to work with two deer.”

  “You give to . . .” Metis stopped and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, disappearing into the wrinkles that grooved her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” For some reason the ever-present cloud seemed to have lightened just a little.

  But as the days grew shorter and colder, and Ingeborg could no longer take Andrew out of the house with her, her temper shortened too. Everything seemed to grate on her nerves: the wind whistling about the eaves, Andrew’s whining with cutting new teeth, the stove going out in the middle of the night, snow that didn’t come to cover the ground, and snow that didn’t quit falling for days when it did. Paws got under her feet, as did Andrew, and Thorliff looked as if she’d struck him when she told him to keep them away while she was cooking. The space that had seemed so large when Kaaren moved back to her own soddy now closed around her like a pit. At least in the barn, the animals didn’t argue or cry to be fed or held.

  When the neighbors gathered to discuss building a school and also using it for a church until they could build one, she resolutely refused to go. “I donated the land, that’s enough,” she told Lars when he came to offer her a ride with them.

  By now, the man knew the folly of arguing with her. “Suit yourself.” He shook his head, and after patting Thorliff’s head and tweaking Andrew’s nose to bring forth the belly laugh, the man left.

  Thorliff stared wistfully out the window. “Can we go to Tante Kaaren’s?”

  “No, the weather is too bad for Andrew to be out. Maybe when it warms up a bit we can go.”

  “Can I have a cookie?”

  “You know they are all gone.”

  “You could bake some more.”

  Ingeborg looked up from the harness she was mending. She pounded one rivet in place and then the next. Andrew, now walking, toddled into her legs and clung. His nose was running, and he had a bruise on the right side of his forehead where he had fallen against the corner of the trunk the day before. When he rubbed his face on her pants, she made a sound of disgust and, digging a bit of cloth from her pocket, wiped his nose and then wiped the smear off her clothing.

  “Uff da,” she muttered and picked up the child. He was soaked again, so she changed his diaper, using the next to the last clean one. She hadn’t taken time to wash any for several days. She set him back down in the middle of the bed.

  “Come play with Andrew while I haul water,” Ingeborg said to Thorliff. How could I forget such an important thing? Every woman knows babies come first. But lately, it seemed that everything needed to be done first. She was falling more behind every day.

  Lars stopped by Ingeborg’s soddy on his way in from the fields one day. “Kaaren wants you and the boys to come for dinner today. She’s made something special for Thorliff’s birthday.” Lars stood on the rug by the door so his boots wouldn’t drip snow on the dirt
floor.

  Ingeborg looked up from the bread dough she was kneading at the table. “I have too much to do.” She pointed to the boiler on the stove where she was washing the never-ending diapers and nodded at her bread.

  “Surely you could come for an hour or so. You haven’t been to our house for weeks.”

  “Please, Mor, can’t we go?”

  “I better not take Andrew out in the cold. He had the earache again last night.”

  Lars sighed. “Well, can Thorliff come? He doesn’t have the earache, or the stomachache, or any other complaint, does he?”

  Ingeborg ignored the irony in his voice. “Yes, he can go with you.” Her shoulders and back ached from chopping wood this morning and the cramps from her monthly didn’t help any. She kept up the steady rhythm of push with the heel of the hand and fold the dough over on itself. She could feel the man’s studious gaze, but she refused to look up.

  Andrew set up a wail when he saw Thorliff putting on his coat. How wonderful it would be to send the baby too. A few hours with no demands would be bliss.

  “I’ll bring him back later,” Lars said, opening the door.

  “Ja, mange takk.” She heard the door slam and Paws yip around them as they strode off for the other soddy. Andrew raised his wail to a shriek and pounded chubby fists on the door. Finally he sank down, leaned his head against the wood and stuck his thumb in his mouth, the tears still trickling down his cheeks as he sniffed.

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Ingeborg scooped him up as soon as she had set the bread by the stove to rise. She tied him on a chair with a dish towel and gave him a crust to chew on while she dished up soup from the kettle simmering on the back of the stove. She sat down beside him and, blowing on each spoonful until it cooled, fed him his dinner. When he refused any more, she changed his diaper and put him in the trundle bed for a nap. “Sleep now, and when you wake up, brother will be home.” Lashes drifted down over his blue eyes, more like his father’s every day. Ingeborg pushed herself to her feet again and went to wring out the diapers. If only she could lie down like that and fall asleep without a care. But, tired as she was, she feared she’d never wake up.

  She looked longingly at her knitting needles. It had been so long since she’d picked them up, because when she did she either fell asleep or thoughts of Roald returned with a vengeance. She had had nightmares of him in that last blizzard, lost and calling for her to find him. One night she awoke with her voice hoarse, as though she had been screaming. She’d shuddered at the words of anger she remembered from the dream. What was the matter with her? Was she going daft in the head? Why, oh why . . . ? She cut off the thoughts before they could go any further. She would use this time the baby slept to fork straw in for the cows and sheep. When she was outside working, the voices in her head didn’t scream so loudly.

  What could she give Thorliff for his birthday? What kind of mother was she to forget her own son’s birthday? And then to not go over there when Kaaren had prepared something special. A thought that had been recurring more and more often of late surfaced again.

  Maybe I should ask Kaaren and Lars to take the children. They would give the boys a good home. Much better than I am giving them.

  Christmas of 1883 brought little cheer to the soddy on the prairie. Ingeborg made gifts for Andrew and Thorliff, but for no one else. She turned down invitations to Kaaren’s and the Baards’ and only glared when Lars said he’d bring the wagon by, now outfitted with runners, to take them all to church. Service was being held at the Baards’ new house.

  All the other neighbors had participated in the house-raising, but Ingeborg couldn’t force herself to go. She pleaded a sick child, but that was only half right, since Andrew seemed to have a runny nose much of the time.

  She couldn’t help thinking back to last year. It was just one year ago that the blizzard that destroyed their lives had struck the Red River Valley. She had kept her mind off the memory as much as possible, but when things grew quiet—when the children were asleep, or she had her head butted against the warm flank of a cow and milk was streaming into the bucket—it was there. And each time, the load grew heavier.

  If only Roald hadn’t felt responsible for everyone around them. If he’d just taken care of his own family and his brother’s family. If he’d waited to be sure the storm was over. If he and Carl hadn’t gone into town and contracted the influenza. If . . . if . . . if. Such a simple little word to hinge a life upon.

  “Mor?” Ingeborg dragged her thoughts back to the present. She felt as though she were swimming up through a murky cloud that threatened to suffocate her.

  “Ja?”

  “Andrew is crying.”

  Ingeborg turned toward the sound she should have heard and hadn’t. Poor Thorliff. He deserved better than this. He had lost his father, and his mother couldn’t keep her mind on the moments at hand.

  “There, there.” She picked up the soaking wet child and made a face at the smell. He’d been wet and dirty for some time. No wonder he was crying. After changing him, she propped him on her hip in the curve of one arm and fetched a loaf of bread to fix them something to eat. She needed to get out to the barn, and Thorliff had better luck keeping Andrew content if he wasn’t hungry. She’d heat up soup for their supper when she got back in.

  “Here, let’s take Andrew to the barn with us. The bin is low on oats, and he can play in there while we do the chores.”

  The look of relief on Thorliff’s face sent another pang through her heart.

  But by the time they’d finished forking in hay and straw, fed and watered the oxen, cows, sheep, and chickens, and had milked the cows, the baby had gone from fussing to screaming to finally falling asleep, completely worn out with the waiting. As it was, Ingeborg didn’t take time to clean stalls or take the oxen out for some needed exercise. They’d be so soft come spring they wouldn’t be able to work half a day at first. She needed to check on the ewes. Lambing would begin in less than a month, and she needed to build a separate pen for the rams.

  Maybe Kaaren should take the boys, at least during the lambing season.

  January seemed to last clear through to the next December. Ingeborg could never remember a longer month in her life. Every day she promised herself she would spend time with Thorliff on his reading and numbers, and each night she tucked him in bed wanting to apologize for her lack. Andrew clung to her skirts, when she wore them, whining and crying, “Mor, Mor.”

  “What is it he wants?” Ingeborg lifted the fretful child up and settled him on her hip. “How can you understand him, when I can’t?”

  “He wants a piece of bread.” Thorliff looked up from his slate where, for a change, she had written a few sums for him to do. “A cookie would be good.”

  “We don’t have any. There’s corn bread left. I’ll put syrup on it for johnnycake.”

  Within minutes Andrew wore syrup from the top of his curly hair to the soles of his knit slippers. It kept him quiet for a good half hour, and the grin on his face made the mopping up worth it all. While he’d babbled at Thorliff, Ingeborg had wrung out diapers and brought in another bucket of water.

  The storm hovered on the horizon like a hawk ready to swoop down on its unsuspecting victims. But Ingeborg knew to read the signs. She checked the rope she’d restrung to the barn, brought in extra wood and water, and made sure all the animals had a good drink and extra feed. The thin gold of twilight lay restless over the land—and over the woman who watched the joining of land and sky.

  The blizzard struck like the howl of a train bearing down on a station. Safe and warm in her bed, Ingeborg listened to the roar and shuddered in spite of the warm covers around her. It was too much like a year ago. Nightmares stampeded through her mind, many repeated from previous nights and added to new, more ferocious horrors. In all the dreams, she was lost and alone, attacked and left for dead.

  She awoke exhausted, and the day went downhill from the start. Andrew fretted and whined until she felt his forehead and realize
d he was burning up. Terror struck her heart like the wind striking the soddy. She tucked him into bed, making sure he drank cool water, and bathed his feverish forehead and flushed cheeks. Ingeborg dug through her packet of herbs, pulling out willow bark to make a tea drink for him. Should she put a mustard plaster on his chest? All the lore she’d learned from her mother and Metis seemed crowded into a place in her mind that was guarded by a closed door. She couldn’t think what to do.

  Pray first, and then do. Her mother’s words echoed faintly in her mind.

  “No!”

  “What is it, Mor? Are you all right?” Thorliff stood at her elbow. “You didn’t answer me.”

  How long had she been gone? It felt like hours. Where had she been? Was she losing her mind? She had no answers, and the wind just howled more wildly. Andrew whimpered in his sleep, rolling his head from side to side. When he scrubbed his ear with a fist, she knew that his ears hurt again.

  “You take care of Andrew. Wipe his face with a cold cloth and get him to drink. I’ll get the chores done as quickly as I can. Put several potatoes in the oven to bake, and when one is done, wrap a cloth around it and put it under his ear. That will help the pain go away.” Ingeborg put on her outside clothes as she gave the instructions. “Make sure you keep the fire going. I have a feeling it is going to get terribly cold tonight.” She wrapped the long wool muffler over her lower face and pulled the knit hat down until only a slit for her eyes remained. “Make sure you keep melting the snow so we have water.” She raised the bar on the door and leaned against it to keep it from slamming against the wall. Snow had drifted halfway up the door, but she couldn’t take time to shovel it now. “Make sure you drop the bar in place or the door will never stay closed. I’ll pound hard when I get back.” She picked up the two full buckets of water and stepped out into the swirling snow. Locking the rope under her arm, she followed it to the sod barn. She knew she’d never have made it without the guide. She couldn’t see down to her feet.