An Untamed Heart

by Lauraine Snelling

  When she woke a while ago, her first thought had been for Nils, as she had begun to refer to him. Had she sacrificed his health on the altar of her own stubbornness? Would going for Mor have made any difference? The relief that he was finally better lifted a heavy load off her mind that she’d not realized she was carrying. The feeling of lightness told the hidden tale.

  Kari and Gunlaug came down from the loft, soon followed by the others. Except for Tor, and Hjelmer, who had just gone to bed.

  “Is Tor up?” she asked Anders, who shook his head, disgust written clearly on his face.

  “Did you tell him it was time?”

  “I told him twice.” Anders plopped into a chair at the table.

  Mari tied her apron in place. “I think Tor needs water in the face.”

  “Really?” Ingeborg glanced over to see the others nodding. “And who should do it?”

  All the hands went up. “Let me!”

  “Let me!”

  Oh, such eagerness!

  Ingeborg smiled. “I see. I think it would be best if Gunlaug did it. He’ll probably get angry.”

  “Not if we are all watching and laughing.”

  Ingeborg thought a moment. This would be hard on his pride. Would the threat of it be enough? “Take water up there, and tell him that if he isn’t on his feet in thirty seconds, he gets the water. If he gets up first, no water.”

  Jon made a face.

  Ingeborg knew that Anders and Hjelmer had told Tor to leave the little boy alone several times. If she heard of it again, she would have to take Tor aside and give him the talking to he so richly deserved. Unless he straightened up, he would not be invited back next year. Shame he wasn’t more like his older sister, who was disgusted with him too. Mistreating those smaller than you was not to be tolerated.

  “With pleasure.” Gunlaug, the light of battle in her eyes, poured a cup of cold fresh water and started up the ladder, followed by the others.

  Ingeborg listened, ready to burst out laughing. Gunlaug made her threat. A grumble from Tor. The yell came right when she reached thirty. The others came laughing and joking down the ladder. Tor followed a bit later. Dressed and glowering. But he had the sense not to say another word.

  Ingeborg hid her smile. “She warned you.”

  Tor’s glare flicked from Gunlaug, who was smiling so wide her cheeks were stretched, to Ingeborg, who studied him with lifted chin. Even Tor was smart enough to keep quiet, but he did jerk his chair out at the table. He apparently thought better of crossing his arms and glaring at everyone, though. Instead he sulked, head down, while they drank their coffee, some well laced with milk, and ate leftover gorobrød.

  Ingeborg had a good idea he would try to get even. They needed to be on watch. She thought back to the young man who had worked so hard to bring Nils up out of the ravine. Where had that young man gone, compared to the glowering boy sitting across from her? But perhaps there was hope for him after all. Time would tell.

  ———

  “Ingeborg, I think that red and white cow is going to have her calf pretty soon,” Andres said later when they all came in from the morning chores. “You better go look at her.”

  “I will. When Hjelmer wakes up, we’ll go check. Is she staying with the herd?”

  They had just gathered around the table when Hjelmer came down the ladder, looking a little bleary-eyed.

  “Leave it to my brother to show up when the food is ready.” Mari pointed to his place, all set for him. “I’m dishing the porridge up right now. Big or little bowl? Silly question. Just sit down.”

  “I’ll say grace,” Kari said at the pause and led off with the old words they all knew so well. They passed the steaming bowls around the table, followed by the milk, cream, and molasses.

  “Save some for Nils,” Ingeborg reminded Mari. “This will be easy for him to swallow.”

  “I did. The bowl is covered and by the fire.”

  Ingeborg smiled. “You are getting more grown up every day. I am sure Berta wishes you were at home to help in the kitchen.”

  “Mor too.”

  After checking on her patient, who was asleep again without his coffee, Ingeborg called the dogs and headed to the cow pasture. As she thought, no red and white cow. They called her Old Boss—she used to have another name, but now she was the oldest in the herd and indeed the boss. The bell she wore announced her coming. And going. Ingeborg listened. No bell. She was either calving or grazing on the other side of the hillock.

  She waved the dogs off to search and followed when one started barking. Sure enough, in a thicket where the cows had cleared out the middle, Old Boss was licking her still wet and steaming calf. The dogs came to her signal, and Ingeborg watched the calf struggle to get his hind legs straight, fall down, and on the third try stand. His mother kept encouraging with gentle nudges and soft cow words.

  Ingeborg smiled when she realized they had a female rather than a male. While they kept all the bull calves and, after castrating them, raised them for meat, a new heifer to add to the herd was always welcome. Especially so because this might be bony Old Boss’s last calf. But then they had thought that last year too. And the year before. She amazed even Far. Although dear Old Boss didn’t produce as much milk as when she was younger, she still outdid some of the young cows, and seven of her heifers, now grown into productive milk cows, were still in the herd.

  Ingeborg waited until the calf had nursed and the afterbirth delivered before moving in to herd mother and baby to the barn, where they would have a box stall for a couple of days. Old Boss shook her head and took two steps toward the human intruder. Ingeborg stood her ground and sent the dogs around to encourage the cow to move. Boss shook her head at one dog, but when the other nipped at her heels, she ordered the calf to come with her and began moving out of the thicket and up the hill toward the barn. Ingeborg trailed behind, enjoying the sun on her face. Down by the thicket she had seen enough dandelions to either come pick them herself or send some of the others down, preferably in time to cook them for supper.

  When she returned to the house, Mari told her Gunlaug had fed Nils his breakfast, and he had just fallen asleep again. “He is feeling better—you can tell. He stayed awake for quite a while. If only that cough would quit.”

  Ingeborg stopped to check on him. While he was wheezing some, he seemed to be breathing with more if not most of his lungs. When he cleared his throat, he opened his eyes and smiled at her. What a great smile he had. Now that the swelling was receding on the side of his face, he looked to be quite handsome.

  “I am even more convinced you are some special kind of angel.” His voice sounded much better too.

  “You keep right on thinking that, so when I tell you to walk, you will.”

  “You think I will walk again?”

  “Of course. Why not? You just broke your leg, not your back. Ribs always heal, and the headaches will disappear with time too. You’ll be good as new.” Now, that was a silly thing to say. Oh great, now she had that critical voice in her head again. If Mor wasn’t there to criticize her, her inner somebody managed to do a pretty thorough job without help.

  “You really believe so?”

  “I do.”

  “You do?” His voice was raspy, but when healthy, it was probably quite smooth and rich.

  “Ja.” She could tell by the glint in his eyes he was teasing her. He sure had to feel some better to do that. He didn’t have a slow-of-speech problem, like so many of the boys she knew. “We know your first name is Nils, but you do have a last name and a place to call home? I couldn’t understand when you said it before.”

  “I do. See, now you have me saying it.” One eyebrow lifted more easily than the other. “All right, my last name is Aarvidson.” He paused to cough lustily. Even his cough sounded better, foolish as that sounded. “I came from Oslo, because I would rather be in the mountains than anywhere else. I will be a senior at a college in Oslo. Do you want my pedigree?”

  “No, but is the
re family that would be worrying about you?”

  “Not yet. But the inn where I stayed is expecting me back. How long is it since I fell?”

  “I think you probably fell the day before we found you, or perhaps two days.”

  He chewed on his lower lip while he tried to remember. “I think I lay there only one night but . . .” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, you’ve been with us for several days now.” She adjusted the bags he was leaning against. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Did I hear someone say flatbrød last night? I wasn’t sure. Maybe I made it up.”

  “Ja, and you had some. Not much. Just a dab, like this. But you managed solid food. Today we’ll start feeding you real food. Not soup. If you can manage it.”

  “Good soup, though. I think. Hmm, I’m not sure of anything right now.” He yawned, which made him cough. “I might have to wait awhile. All of a sudden my eyes either see two or want to close.”

  “I will bring it whenever you are ready.” Ingeborg gave him the fever test and smiled as she turned. Very little fever, if any. Such good news. She crossed the room to where Gunlaug was stringing the larger of the two looms. “Where will we put the smaller one?”

  “Over where our patient is sleeping, I imagine. Shame we don’t have an open lean-to off the house we could put the looms into, since it is only for the summer. We could store wood in it while not weaving.”

  “When do you plan to start?”

  “I will start on this one tonight if I get it all set up.”

  “What about Bible verses?”

  “I can coach them while I am weaving.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I did not realize how handsome our young man is.”

  Ingeborg smiled at the words our young man.

  Gunlaug got that look on her face again, dreamy with romantic thoughts. “I think he has had a far different life than we have. Do you think his family is very wealthy?”

  Ingeborg shrugged. Money helped buy things, but it hadn’t helped him keep from falling. Or being in a serious accident earlier. She had a feeling they would soon hear fascinating stories of his life in Oslo. He was most likely a good storyteller too. In college, no less. She wondered what classes he was taking, what books he’d read. Oh, to have a selection of books to choose from! Ever since she’d finished school, she had dreamed of shelves full of books to read, like a picture she had seen in a book one day. In that picture, floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed with books, and there was even a sort of ladder on a track to reach the highest ones. She seemed to remember it was from somewhere in England.

  Gunlaug kept her voice low. “He calls you Angel. Did you notice that?”

  “Silly. He asked if he’d gone to heaven when he woke up at the creek and I was tending him.”

  “You know, Ingeborg, that is very romantic.” Gunlaug clasped her hands at her chest. “I wish someone would call me Angel.” She opened her eyes again. “Do you think Ivar would ever call me Angel?”

  Not if his mor was around, that’s for sure. But Ingeborg just shrugged. “Don’t make something out of nothing.” Ingeborg had to smile just a tiny bit inside, though. Yes, it was romantic. Perhaps charming was the better word.

  A charming, intelligent man? Imagine that!

  “Ingeborg, the cream is ready to pour into the pans.” Gunlaug’s voice. “Did you set them up in the springhouse?”

  Ingeborg sat bolt upright in her chair. She had fallen asleep! In the middle of the day! Like some small child! Honestly! “No, sorry. I forgot.” She scooped up the mending that had collapsed into her lap.

  “I washed them.”

  “Tusen takk. I’ll do that right now.” Ingeborg stood up, stretched, and plopped her mending down on the chair seat. “Ask Kari to help you carry the pots out there.”

  The kitchen was warm and inviting. Ingeborg had become a bit chilled during her nap. Three tall pots of cream were heating near the coals in the fireplace. Each held two and a half gallons. That would make about eight pounds of cheese.

  “I can carry one.” Mari’s chin came out and her eyes darkened.

  “I am sure you can, but Kari is bigger and stronger.” She didn’t say and older, since that should have no bearing on the fact anyway. But Mari always got a bit pugnacious if she felt someone was saying she couldn’t do something because she was so young.

  Mari huffed into silence. Ingeborg gave her a one-arm hug around the shoulders. “Besides, you have done more work than anyone else today. You can sit down for a change.” You might even take a nap, like your foolish older sister just did.

  Ingeborg hastened to the springhouse and laid the setting pans out across the bench. They probably should build another bench. With several more cows, they had a lot more milk this year. Kari came out lugging a pot. Ingeborg helped her steady it as they poured the cream into a pan. Gunlaug brought the next, handed it to Ingeborg, and returned to the kitchen for the third. Kari held the pot as Ingeborg had done, steadying it for her as the silky cream flowed into the pan. Ingeborg was strong enough that she needed no one to help steady the pot, but the gesture delighted her, and she said nothing. Kari was learning well. She would be a fine cheese maker.

  Kari and Gunlaug left, but Ingeborg paused, studying the pans, thinking. Daydreaming was more like it.

  As soon as the rennet-laced cream curdled and firmed up, they would cut the curds and drain them as much as possible. Then the cheese presses would squeeze the remainder of the whey out. Once the rounds of cheese were solid, they would wax them and set them on the shelves in the cheese cellar to age. From now on, some step in the cheese-making process would go on every day—at least one step, and often more than one.

  Ingeborg started back toward the house. With the setting of the first cream, their summer labor took on more meaning. Some of the cheese would be sold and some of it kept for use at all three houses. Since Onkel Frode was not married and had no children to share the work, he had paid for Kari and Tor to live at the seter and purchased most of the food supplies. In July they would all hay together, and in the fall, harvest the grain crops. There was a comfortable predictability to it all. Ingeborg felt secure with predictability. She liked productivity too, making something of use.

  “Come on! Let’s celebrate.” Ingeborg waved them all toward the house.

  “How?” Anders thunked his ax into the splitting spool and headed in.

  “Mari made a sort of lefse substitute without the potatoes. We’ll have that and pour up some of the buttermilk. We can toast this year as the year of the best cheese ever.”

  Hjelmer met them at the door. “You say that every year.”

  “Well, sometimes we have cider to drink, but not this year. Anders, did you bring your concertina?”

  “You think I would leave it at home?”

  “Tor, have you ever played a gut bucket?”

  Tor looked at her blankly.

  “Hjelmer, show him what we mean.”

  Cackling, Hjelmer brought out a washtub with a hole in the bottom, a piece of light cotton cord already knotted at one end, and one of the walking sticks. He threaded the thin rope through the hole in the tub so the knot held on the inside of the tub, turned it over, and tied the other end to one end of the stick. The other end of the stick was notched.

  “This is how you do it, Tor.” He put his foot on the bottom rim of the upside-down tub to brace it and set the notched stick in the raised rim on the other side. Holding the stick with one hand, he pulled outward to tighten the cord and plucked it with his free hand. The noise sounded more like a thud than like any kind of music. But when he pulled the stick back even farther, the tone changed. He plunked out a four-beat rhythm.

  Anders came down the ladder with a leather bag and pulled out a round, aged concertina, its bellows worn and faded. He tested it, pushing a few buttons and drawing the sides out and in. He grinned. “No leaks! I was afraid the bellows might have cracked. It was my morfar’s.” For sure he knew
which pegs to push on the round wooden sides to make music. “My grandfather was really good on it. He taught me how to play.”

  “I wish I had brought my harmonica.” They all looked at Tor.

  Mari cried incredulously, “You play the harmonica and you didn’t bring it?”

  “Sorry. No one said to. I almost did.”

  “We should make him go back home and get it.”

  Ingeborg raised her hands. “We can use one of the kettles and a wooden spoon as a drum. We can sing and even dance if we want to.”

  With their impromptu band in place, Tor began thunking out the rhythm, happily working his gut bucket. Hamme took over the kettledrum, and the music began. Mari handed Jon another wooden spoon and a kettle lid. Every band needed a cymbal.

  “You use the handle like this,” she said and showed him how to add to the clamor—er, music. The rest of them sang along, with Gunlaug’s lovely soprano leading the tunes. Ingeborg sang harmony and was astonished at how good they all sounded together. Why, they had their own choir right there.

  She glanced over to see Nils clapping in time. When he smiled at her, she caught her breath. What had just made her heart do a funny flip? What was happening?

  15

  Ingeborg smiled at everyone around the breakfast table. “You are all working so hard, once shearing is over and if the trout are biting, we are going to go on a picnic and hopefully eat fresh fish.”

  Jon’s smile gave him an angelic look. “We have had a lot of dried fish.”

  Mari shook her head. “You’ve not been eating dried fish. I’ve been soaking it and making it as good as new.” She smiled at their reactions. “Well, we do our best. At least you don’t have to chew on real dried cod.”

  “Or herring either.” Ingeborg drained the remainder of her coffee.

  “When do we start shearing?” Hjelmer asked as he reached for another biscuit. “Mari, your biscuits are good as Mor’s.”