Icecutter's Daughter, The

by Tracie Peterson

  © 2013 by Tracie Peterson

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6096-3

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.

  Cover design by Brand Navigation

  To the ladies

  of our Monday morning Bible study

  You are a great joy and inspiration to me.

  I’m so blessed that God put us together.

  Thank you for your friendship.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Excerpt from Next Book

  About the Author

  Books by Tracie Peterson

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  MINNESOTA

  DECEMBER 31, 1895

  Merrill Krause tucked an errant strand of hair under her knit cap and sighed. There were two things she knew to be completely unpredictable: one was Minnesota winter weather, the other was the foaling of a horse. Glancing into the birthing pen, Merrill noted the mare looked to be no further along than half an hour earlier.

  “Poor girl.” The Belgian mare whinnied softly and rolled onto her side. Merrill entered the pen and knelt by the horse’s head. “You can do it, Addie girl.” She stroked the mare’s neck, then stood to check the progress of the foal. Merrill could clearly see the first showing of a hoof as the mare contracted. “You’re such a good girl. Keep pushing, and soon your little one will be here.”

  But Merrill knew that might not necessarily be the case. Just last year when Molly, their nine-year-old Belgian, gave birth for the fourth time, the process stretched for hours after the hooves appeared. Addie had already been in the pen for over two hours, with minimal progress.

  Merrill made a face—she knew that just like watched pots hesitated to boil, watched mares seemed to be just as stubborn to deliver. Most mares preferred to give birth without an audience or assistance of humans, but because this impressive stock was an important part of their income, the Krauses tended to keep a close eye on their broodmares.

  After one more glance at Addie, Merrill continued with her other chores. Despite it being the last day of December, she couldn’t help but whistle a Christmas carol. All morning long she’d had the tune in her head, and when she reached the chorus she began to sing, “Come and worship, come and worship, worship Christ the newborn king.” They were the only words she was certain of, so she went back to whistling another stanza. After a mild fall, the winter weather had turned bitter cold, and Merrill found whistling helped her to forget about it.

  “Addie doing all right?” Her brother’s voice carried across the length of the barn.

  Merrill turned toward the sound and leaned on the pitchfork she’d just taken up. “She’s taking her time. How about Molly and Pat?” All three of their Belgian broodmares were due to foal right around the first of the month. Addie had just decided to beat them to it.

  “They seem to be fine,” Tobe said, coming into sight. “I’ve got them in the pen closest to the barn, though. No sense havin’ them give birth out in the field. Especially not with these temperatures. Pa said it could snow tonight. Said he feels it in his bones.”

  “I feel it in mine, as well,” Merrill muttered. Despite having worn a red flannel union suit under two pairs of trousers, a camisole, blouse, flannel shirt, and coat, the cold still penetrated her body.

  He nodded, picked up a couple of metal files, and headed for the door. “We’re getting the cutting blades sharpened. Pa said to tell you we’ll be in for dinner around one.”

  Merrill had already gone back to mucking the empty stall but called over her shoulder, “I’ll have a nice hot meal waiting for you.”

  With four older brothers, Merrill had been responsible for the house and kitchen since their mother died some ten years earlier. Even so, Merrill had plenty of other responsibilities that tended to rob her of the chance to show her feminine side. Folks spoke highly of Merrill’s baked goods and cooking, but she was also highly regarded for being able to handle a team of draft horses better than most men. She knew horseflesh from the tip of their tails to their velvety muzzles—something her father took great pride in. He loved having his family at work all around him.

  The Belgians were her father’s pride and joy. They were some of the best stock in the country, and with three good broodmares, he earned a nice bit of money on the side selling the offspring. Merrill spent a sizeable portion of her time with the animals, especially during the winter months. Foaling was something she generally oversaw. She also made sure the geldings were in top-notch shape for the ice harvest and other work they did. Numbering more than twenty, the animals definitely kept the family busy.

  Merrill was pushing a full wheelbarrow to the manure pile when she caught the sound of a team approaching. She shielded her eyes and saw it was Granny Lassiter’s buggy. No doubt she and Corabeth were coming for a visit.

  Frowning at her soiled and frumpy attire, Merrill knew there was no time to change. She hurriedly dumped the manure and returned the wheelbarrow to the barn. With one more quick check on Addie, Merrill felt all right about spending a few moments with her visitors. It was always nice to see Granny and Corabeth. With no other women in her family, Merrill often longed for female companionship.

  She closed the barn door and hurried across the yard as Granny brought the team to a halt at the back of the house. Merrill took hold of the team and waited for Granny to set the brake.

  “You sure picked a cold day for a visit,” Merrill quipped, and the three women chuckled.

  With the team secured, Merrill quickly helped Granny and Corabeth from the buggy. Corabeth was all petite delicacy and femininity, even in the cold of winter. Her maroon wool coa
t was stylishly trimmed in black velvet, and the matching bonnet had been carefully placed so as to do minimal damage to her nicely arranged hair.

  “We had to come see you,” Corabeth announced. “Granny made you a new hat.”

  Merrill nodded her head and smiled. “Well, let’s get inside and warm up. I’ve been mucking stalls and waiting for Addie to foal. I could use a cup of coffee.”

  She led the way in through the back porch, pausing only long enough to cast aside her outer coat and knit cap. Her wild curly hair shot out around her shoulders.

  “Mercy child, you should at least braid that mess.” Granny sounded dismayed.

  “I usually do, and I will now. This morning I was in a bit of a hurry.” She knew she sounded defensive, even though she didn’t feel it. Life on the farm was different from living in town. Granny and Corabeth were used to being ready to receive visitors or go out where they would be seen. Here, Merrill was far more likely to see her brothers and father than any other woman, so her appearance never concerned her that much.

  “I do wish you wouldn’t wear those trousers,” Granny continued. “You’re never going to catch a husband looking like a young man.”

  Merrill laughed and washed her hands in a basin of water. “I’m not trying to catch a husband. At least not today. Today I’m helping deliver a foal.” She quickly dried her hands and pulled the coffeepot from the stove. “We’ve some coffee left over from breakfast.” She took three mugs down from the cupboard and poured the coffee. After returning the pot to the stove, Merrill turned to find Granny and Corabeth still standing.

  “Would you like to sit in the kitchen or in the front room? I’d prefer the kitchen myself as I’m rather muddy. But I can always throw a sheet over a chair.”

  “Nonsense,” Granny declared. “We won’t stand on ceremony. The kitchen is nice and warm, and we can have ourselves a good chat.”

  “Do you have other visits to make before you head back to town?” Merrill asked, setting the coffee mugs on the table. She hurried to retrieve the cream and sugar, knowing her guests were fond of both.

  “We thought we might see a few families on the way. Given that tomorrow is the first, we wanted to share some treats and good wishes for the new year. We’ll finish up by seeing Carl Jorgenson. Poor man has no one but himself.”

  Merrill smiled. “He’s got all of us. I can’t imagine the man goes too long between visits. Besides, his furniture business keeps him busy.”

  “Still, a man his age would be better living with his children—if he had some.” Granny gave a tsking sound, then put a spoonful of sugar in her coffee. “Seems to me he might at least hire a woman to come do the housework.”

  “Goodness, I didn’t even think to take your coats,” Merrill said, looking at the women apologetically.

  “No matter,” Granny assured. “I’m still a bit chilly. I’m just fine and so is Corabeth. Sit down here with us.”

  Merrill took a seat at the table and brushed her hair back with her hand. She began to braid the thick, curly mass into order, then tucked the end of the braid into itself and hoped it would hold. It did. At least for the time being.

  “So don’t you want to see the new hat Granny and I made you?” Corabeth asked. She took up the hat box she’d brought in from the wagon and placed it on the table. “It’s a real beauty, if I do say so myself.”

  Not wanting to seem ungrateful, Merrill nodded, and Corabeth quickly pulled the lid from the box. Without further ado, she lifted out a nicely decorated straw bonnet.

  “I found one of my old poke bonnets,” Granny said as if reading Merrill’s thoughts. “You know there are some very similar bonnets being worn these days, although the brims are much narrower. I trimmed this one down a bit, and then we went to work to make it a tad warmer. I lined it with a nice bit of wool that you can remove come spring.”

  The bonnet was trimmed in dark green ribbon and piping. The color was one of Merrill’s favorites. “It’s really pretty. Thank you—”

  “It’ll go well with your plum wool,” Granny cut in. “Be a nice bit of color, and if you trim the neck of the gown with that pretty green scarf Corabeth gave you for Christmas, you’ll see that it matches quite nicely. Match your eyes, too.”

  Merrill nodded. Granny and Corabeth were always doing what they could to “pretty her up.” She’d been a tomboy even as a young girl, but after her mother died, Merrill gave up worrying about being very girlish. Her father needed her—her brothers, too. She didn’t have time for frills and flounces.

  “Well, aren’t you going to try it on?” Corabeth asked.

  “I’m hardly dressed for putting on such a fine hat,” Merrill replied.

  “Nonsense,” Granny said. “Give it a try.”

  It sounded like an order, so Merrill put down her mug and picked up the bonnet. “I’m sure it’s the nicest I’ve ever had.” She placed it atop her head and snugged it down against her braided hair.

  “Here, I’ll tie the ribbon, and then you can go see how nice it looks,” Corabeth announced. She got to her feet before Merrill could protest and quickly fashioned the ribbon into a bow. “There. It’s perfect. You look so pretty.”

  Pretty wasn’t a compliment Merrill usually heard. She had been called a handsome woman, but never pretty. That was a word reserved for the smaller, dainty ladies who wore more fashionable gowns and carefully styled their hair.

  Merrill got to her feet and went to take a glance in the only mirror they had in the house. A small, simple framed mirror had been hung next to the front door by Merrill’s mother when they’d first built the house. As the story went, Mother wanted to make certain she would look her best when greeting visitors, so she would pause by the mirror, adjust her hair, and recite the words of Hebrews thirteen, verse two: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

  Looking in the same mirror, Merrill felt a bit closer to her mother. Her father often said Merrill favored her. But where Merrill was tall like her father and brothers, Edeline Krause had been small. Her mother had always been a great beauty, or so Granny had often told her. There had been more than one man who’d hoped to marry Edeline Crowther, and the suitors had competed fiercely for a chance to court her. Bogart Krause, however, had captured her heart and won the prize. They’d married when Merrill’s mother was only seventeen.

  Merrill touched her hand to the bonnet and felt a strange sense of pride. She looked quite smart in the hat. Almost as feminine and stylish as any other woman might. If she didn’t look down at the rest of her attire.

  I’m almost pretty. She reflected on her image for only a moment longer, then hurried back to the kitchen where Corabeth anxiously awaited the verdict.

  “It’s very lovely,” Merrill declared. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so nice.”

  Granny and Corabeth exchanged satisfied smiles, and Merrill took her seat. “You really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, though. I know you both worked hard to make all those gifts you handed out at Christmas. Goodness, but everyone at church is still talking about how generous you’ve been. Making all those scarves and hats . . . oh, and the mittens . . . for those in need. Why, that must have kept you busy most every night.”

  “It did consume quite a bit of time,” Granny admitted, “but it was the Lord’s work. We were doing it unto Him, and He always has a way of multiplying the time and reducing the effort needed.”

  “So you really do like the bonnet?” Corabeth asked. “You aren’t just saying that to make us feel better?”

  Merrill looked at her friend and shook her head. “I’ll admit I seldom have time to concern myself about such things, but I will make good use of this bonnet. It’s very pretty, and I feel like a different woman wearing it.”

  Corabeth clapped her hands, then wrapped them once again around her mug of coffee. “I’m so glad. You can wear it for the church winter party in February.”

  “Maybe if you wear it to se
rvices sooner, you’ll have someone ask to escort you to the party,” Granny suggested with a gleam in her eye.

  “I think it would take more than a pretty bonnet,” Merrill said. “My brothers have scared off just about any fellow who showed an interest in getting to know me.”

  “Well, if a man can’t stand up to those brothers of yours,” Granny replied, “you needn’t even consider him. A man ought to be able to hold his own with his wife’s family. You don’t want any mealymouthed ninnies to come calling.”

  “No, for sure I don’t,” Merrill replied. But it would be nice if someone came calling, she thought.

  “Well, I think Granny is right. You should wear the bonnet for church on Sunday. It makes you look quite lovely.”

  Merrill touched the rim of the hat. “I suppose I might,” she said.

  “Merrill! Merrill Jean, where are you?”

  Merrill hurried to the back door just as her brother Zadoc came bounding through. She barely managed to sidestep his advancing bulk. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Addie. The baby looks to be stuck. Leg’s bent. You’re gonna have to help me. I had just come back for a vise and . . . well . . . come see for yourself.”

  Merrill didn’t even bother to take up her coat as she ran across the back porch. They couldn’t afford to lose either mother or baby. She raced for the barn, easily keeping stride with Zadoc.

  In the birthing stall, she saw the trouble immediately. Addie was lying on her side, panting in misery. One of the foal’s legs appeared to be bent back. Instead of a hoof presenting, Merrill found the bend of a knee. “We’ll have to push it back in and try to maneuver the leg straight. Secure Addie’s head, and I’ll do what I can.”

  Zadoc didn’t hesitate. He immediately went to the panting mare and took hold of her bridle. Merrill, meanwhile, rolled up her sleeves as best she could. “Now when she rests between contractions, I’ll go to work. She won’t like it, but hold her fast and keep her down.”

  Her chance came within moments, and with a quick twist and shove, Merrill pushed the foal back into Addie with all her might. She could tell the leg was still bent, though. Merrill felt the horse contract against her, the pressure numbing her arm and hand. It was almost impossible to move her fingers.