An Untamed Heart

by Lauraine Snelling

  Snowflakes had just started to whirl down that afternoon when they heard the halloo that announced someone was coming. Jon and Hamme ran outside and started to jump up and down and wave as three wagons and a string of horses started down into the valley.

  “We almost waited too long,” Gilbert said as he dismounted. “When did the snow start?”

  “Just a bit ago.”

  “Can you be ready to leave in the morning?”

  “Ja, we are ready to load. We believed you would be coming any day.”

  “Nils, I have more letters from your far. It looks to me like you have recovered well.”

  “I have, and takk. I almost thought he would come up here to get me, but I am grateful he listened to reason. He is not a real lover of high mountains these later years.” He took the three letters and stuck them into his shirt. “What will we load first?”

  “Frode and I will take the cheese. Kris’s wagon over there is set up for the hogs. We will drive the rest of the animals down. All the household things will go in the wagon from here.”

  “We will pray the snow is just a warning.” Ingeborg did not look forward to this leaving, all the packing in such a hurry. She and Gunlaug would take charge of the house, and the men would take care of the cheese and the animals. They would have to leave very early in order to get home in one day. The days were growing shorter quickly.

  Did the men have the hardest work or did the women? The men had to build a chute to run the pigs up into the wagon. The chickens would be easy to crate once the sun went down. They were easier to catch in the dimness before dawn. And the wheels of heavy cheese. And so many crates.

  But someone had to pack those crates with all the bedding and household goods. The grass stuffed in the pallets had to be emptied; it would be pig food. And they must pack the things they would use for breakfast in the morning. Their last breakfast on the mountain.

  Early the next morning Mari made the porridge for breakfast again, then broke eggs into the skillet. Eggs did not travel well so she would boil what was not eaten. They poured the morning’s milk into the milk cans and fed the rest to the hogs. Everyone folded up their own bedding and stuffed their clothes into canvas bags.

  Mari doused the fire for the last time. Ingeborg didn’t allow herself time to even think—she just kept on working. They made sure all the windows were closed and the door was shut tightly. Although it was snowing and some had remained on the grass overnight, the sun was trying to come out, making the snowflakes shimmer.

  “Good thing we are getting you out of here,” Gilbert said as he climbed up on the wagon seat. Ingeborg and Nils climbed onto the wagon next to his. With four wagons, including the one they had kept at the seter, the line snaked across the valley as the cows and sheep fell in behind the wagons and the packhorses.

  When they reached the opposite ridge, Ingeborg stopped and looked back. Saying good-bye every year like this did not make it easier. Especially since she knew that looking ahead was not good either. Just dealing with today was enough, and today meant getting everyone and everything down the hill safely.

  As they dropped lower, the snow stopped, but rain made the track slippery, causing the horses to work extra hard to keep the wagons from going too fast.

  “When does the coach to Oslo come through Valdres?” Nils asked Ingeborg about halfway down.

  “Early in the morning. There is an inn in town where people often stay to be ready for the coach.”

  “Then I shall stay there.”

  She could feel her heart growing heavy. Every step down the grades brought their good-byes that much closer. While he said he would write, something inside her said this was the last time she would see him. She smiled, not willing to let him see how hard this was for her.

  When at last they reached the farm, she introduced him to Far and Mor. Nils thanked them for the time he’d spent at the seter and said he would be leaving for Oslo in the morning. His father’s letters had included money for his travel.

  Mor looked at Ingeborg with a tiny shake of the head, making sure her polite face stayed in place.

  Ingeborg walked him to the road and stepped back when he wanted to kiss her.

  He understood. “I will come back.”

  She nodded and fought to keep her smile in place.

  “And I will write. You’ll see, Ingeborg. Please trust me.”

  I trust you, she thought, but I know how strong the influence from your parents and mine will be. “I hope school goes well for you, and you show your far what kind of man you are.” You are the man I love. The only man I will ever love. That is the kind of woman I am. She smiled again and, staring into his eyes for the last time, made herself keep her smile. I can cry after you leave. “Takk for all the work you did at the seter.” And for all of our time together. I shall never sit in front of a fireplace the same again. “Study hard.”

  He walked backward as if devouring her face. “Until we meet again, my love.” He blew her a kiss, turned, and strode off, his rucksack on his back and not a trace of a limp.

  “Good-bye,” she whispered. “God bless you.” She ignored the tears pouring down her face as she turned to walk back to the house she had grown up in.

  Good-bye.

  23

  Silently, grimly, Nils’s mor seated herself at the table. His far pushed her chair in and walked around behind Katja to seat himself. Silently, grimly, Amalia seated herself at the table, and Nils pushed her chair into place. He sat down in his usual place and tucked his napkin into his lap.

  Cook set out the roast pork, the potatoes, and applesauce. A young woman Nils had not seen before served bowls of soup to each of them. His parents did not introduce her or even, apparently, notice her.

  Dinner had commenced.

  Far studied Nils, scowling. “Since this is your first evening home, I assume you have much to tell us about your adventurous summer.” His voice was hard enough to shatter ice.

  “Other than that the summer did not go at all as I had originally planned, not much. Katja, how has your summer gone?”

  She shrugged. “I spent most of it preparing for the academy exams. I passed them.”

  Amalia picked up her spoon. “And I managed the shipping and receiving ledgers this summer.”

  Her far stared at her. This apparently was the first he’d heard of it. “I trust you are joking.”

  “No, I’m not.” She was keeping her voice quite steady. “The young man you hired in Nils’s stead had no idea how to proceed, and—”

  “When I interviewed him, he said he was familiar with our system.”

  “Familiar with it, ja. But actually making entries, nei. So I showed him how and supervised his work. He’s a bit dull, but he eventually caught on and did a serviceable job.”

  Far opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her voice, pressing on. “I also showed him how to prepare invoices. You may have noticed, Far, that receipts to date this year are considerably in excess of last year’s. That is because your clerk was quite in arrears with his work, and not all your invoices had been tendered. We caught you up. Your accounts receivable are now current.”

  Mor was staring at Amalia. “I do not permit business discussion at the table,” she said, keeping her voice steady, and it too was ice, “as you surely know. We will discuss this later.”

  Amalia nodded and dipped into her soup.

  Far studied Nils. “You rather skipped past my question. Have you a fuller account of how you spent your summer?”

  “I have been trying to decide how to articulate it.” That was not true. Instead, Nils had been thinking about the meals at the seter. No icy glares, no frowns—well, perhaps from Tor once in a while, but never like this— and happy, enthusiastic conversation. People eating heartily, be it soup or porridge or fresh-caught hares. Enthusiasm. Accomplishment. He was thinking about the value Katja would have received up at the seter instead of studying for lifeless examinations. His family was missing so very much! And that
was it, right there. His family knew so little about being a family. And he would still have been ignorant, except that he learned about family during those wonderful few months at the seter.

  The soup was all right. No hare in it, of course. Mari, not yet eleven, made soup as good as Cook’s. “My difficulty is this: I learned so much about myself and about us this summer that I don’t know where to begin. I wrote to you about the accident and my injuries. I could not be more pleased to report that my ribs and leg are healed, and I’ve not had a headache for over two months.”

  “Excellent news.” Mor dipped her head in a perfunctory nod.

  “Also, I have very nearly all my strength back after the long convalescence.” He paused to finish his soup.

  “So you got to go tramping after all.” Amalia had finished hers.

  “Not really, except toward the end, going to the upper pasture to herd the cattle. My strength mostly was restored by doing chores and cutting hay. Which gave me blisters.”

  Mor and Far did not approve of cutting hay; he could tell that in an instant.

  “Can I see them?” Katja, at least, seemed interested.

  “Ja.” Nils held his palm toward her. “Can you see them from there?”

  “Oh, ja! That’s terrible!”

  Amalia turned his hand over to see his pink blister scars. “I wouldn’t wish blisters on myself, but your summer actually sounds like fun.”

  “It was!” Nils served himself some pork and potatoes. “And satisfying. You look out across the field at the end of the day, all the hay you scythed piled into a great stack, and you feel a sense of accomplishment. You know, you don’t just pile hay up in a big mound. You have to arrange the top two feet just so, just exactly, or rain will get down into it and rot it. Cows can still eat it if that happens, but moldy hay can kill a horse.”

  “Really! And here they say healthy as a horse. They’re that delicate, ja?” Amalia was smiling.

  Mor and Far were not.

  Nils paused for a mouthful of pork. Then he speared a bit and waved it. “There’s a great deal of skill involved in raising good pork. And you should see how fast piglets can grow. Double their size in less than—”

  “I believe we’ve heard enough farm stories for now.” Mor glared at him, the storm cloud black.

  “Baby pigs!” Katja exclaimed. “They must be so sweet. I want to hear more.”

  “Some other time. Filthy pigs are not a satisfactory mealtime topic.” Mor’s tone of voice closed the conversation with a slam. And yet, Nils thought, there’s part of a filthy pig on your plate.

  “This Saturday,” she continued, “there will be an interesting soiree. You, Nils, will accompany me. There will be a young woman there I want you to meet.”

  Nils tackled the applesauce with gusto. He did like applesauce. “By that I assume you mean she is a marriage possibility.”

  “We could go so far as to say ‘marriage probability.’ Her family is nicely situated, and she is well educated. She speaks French, Spanish, and Dutch. Her father owns an extensive parcel of timbered land, good for at least ten years of intensive logging. Your far and I met the family at a formal dinner and were quite impressed with the girl. They are equally impressed with your credentials, particularly your love of schooling.”

  Love of schooling? More matchmaking games. Nils asked, “A timber baron? Join the two houses, and Far, you would have a fine arrangement indeed. You ship his timber; he provides a ready shipping market. Particularly in Spain, where they’re starting to run low on harvestable forests. He can have his daughter translate correspondence. So what about Ingra Grunewald? Is she out of the picture?”

  “Her family recently announced her engagement.” Mor sounded disappointed.

  “Then there will be no union of the two biggest shipping firms in Oslo.” Nils finished off his dinner.

  “Your snide comments are unwelcome.”

  They finished their meal in a rigid, cautious silence and rose to leave.

  Mor glowered at Amalia. “We will repair to the parlor for tea.” It was a command, not an invitation. Nils almost cringed at the tongue-lashing he knew his sister was about to receive. Meddling in men’s business affairs? Unthinkable.

  Far glowered just as darkly at Nils. He did not have to say Come. Nils followed him to the study, telling himself as they walked down the hall, Stay calm, Nils, no matter what. But he doubted he would be following those instructions.

  Far marched toward his desk, wheeled suddenly, and roared, “You deliberately disobeyed me! I provided for your return, and you deliberately disobeyed!”

  “That is true.” Stay calm.

  “Your promises that you would try harder and become the person you ought to be—hollow!”

  “Not true.” Serenity. Remember gently sloping pastures with sheep grazing peacefully.

  “And exactly what would you call it if not disobedience?” His voice roared no less ferociously.

  Nils managed a peaceful—he hoped—smile. “I could take refuge in a lie and say I was not yet well enough to ride down the mountain on a horse, but I will not. I was well enough. I was ready to travel but not ready to leave. I have learned important lessons this summer.”

  “Of course you have! How to stack hay. How to count pigs! You are a disgrace to this family!”

  Calm flew out the window and over the porch rail. “Stop!” Nils realized he was screaming. Screaming at his far! “Stop listening to your own delicious rage and listen to your son once! Just listen. Hear me out, I beg you. Can you not do that?”

  The lion’s roar shook the earth. “You dare shout at me? Your far? Leave the room! This instant!”

  “No! We’re not done here yet. I changed, Far! I’m not the Nils who left. I can—”

  The door opened and Janssen walked in, balancing his silver tray with the brandy and snifters. He paused, considered, and started to back out.

  Nils threw up his hand. “Stop, Janssen! Come back. Serve the brandy, please.”

  The gentleman’s gentleman glanced at Far, hurried over to the desk, and set his tray down. He poured, handed a glass to Far, then one to Nils. With a swift, stiff bow, he hurried out.

  The brandy in Nils’s glass was jiggling; he was shaking that hard. He forced his voice down to normal. Almost. “Have I ever before shouted at you, Far? Or opposed you? Even once?”

  The man scowled.

  “Will you take that as proof enough I’ve changed? That I must reach you. Tell you.” He took a deep breath. Several of them. “Your opinion that I was a spoiled child was absolutely correct. Your opinion that I was not adequately applying myself to my studies was also absolutely correct. You believed I had no heart for the company, and you were right. Then my accidents. Both of them. I nearly died, Far. Twice. I spent weeks lying on a pallet or sitting in a chair, unable to walk or climb a hill. I had a great deal of time to think about my life and the direction I want to go.”

  Why would his far not sit down? The man stood rigid, but at least he seemed to be listening.

  “I was rescued by women and children who work like men seven days a week—even the small children. Working for their family. Family is that important to them. And I realized you have done exactly the same. You did not receive your company on a silver platter. You began with nothing and worked tirelessly to build your company. And you built it up in order to provide well for Mor and us children. There is no sacrifice nobler than that.”

  The man relaxed slightly. Only slightly.

  “Now you offer that precious company to me, your son, as my inheritance. You want me to be ready to receive it. And I was behaving shamefully. I am not just saying this to mollify you. I mean it.”

  The corners of Far’s mouth lifted slightly.

  “I think I more clearly see how much our company means to you. It is your life. And how much you want your children to prosper as you have prospered. And I am beginning to see that becoming a shipper—a businessman—is not so bad a lot.” He took a deep shud
dering breath. “So yes, Far, I will apply myself better this year. I will graduate honorably. For the first time in my life, I want to succeed. And I will make certain I am ready to take over, that you can entrust your life’s work to me.”

  The man was studying him. Not glowering. Studying. He too took a deep breath. He turned and walked over to the globe in the corner. He came back and stood near Nils but not in front of him.

  “Your promises in the past were all broken. I can’t trust you. But we shall see.”

  What had he expected? Full acceptance? Nei. In fact, this was more than he had hoped for.

  “Takk, Far. Takk.”

  “Oh, Nils, she was mad! Beyond furious,” Amalia said the next day as she shifted the heavy basket on her arm and continued down the street.

  Nils would have carried it for her—after all, it was filled with his belongings—but his own arms were full. They were on their way to his new rooms near the university.

  She continued, “My behavior was unacceptable. She said it over and over. And finally, like you, I lost my temper. My patience. I told her, ‘I saved Far all that money just by doing the books more efficiently than his fancy clerk, and I trained his new hire so that the man can do what Far needs doing, and you say my behavior is unacceptable?’ And then she really got mad.”

  “This sounds pretty weak, but they mean well. They want the best for us.”

  “The best for you, maybe. For me, they want someone who looks good at a soiree.” She shifted her basket again and stopped. “Why are we suffering like this? Hail a hansom. Are you going to go with Mor to that social?”

  He chuckled. “Ja, I’ll go. The bomb will drop soon enough.”

  “What bomb?”

  “I am in love with a farmer’s daughter. She is everything I want in a woman, and she’s sweet, tender, gentle, good-natured. . . . She knows as much about treating injuries as any doctor, knows as much about farming as any man, she’s an expert spinster—an expert everything. And she is beautiful.”