Be Still the Water

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Be Still the Water Page 31

by Karen Emilson


  I told him that I needed to spend the day alone, then blurted out what had happened.

  “Bensi came here,” I said. “He looked all around inside the house. I hid but didn’t tell anyone.”

  Bjorn was shocked. “That is strange, even for him.”

  “I know,” I said. “And then he came yesterday.”

  It took me a few minutes to formulate the words, to explain what I didn’t fully understand myself. “Bensi came with his wife and their visit caught us all by surprise. Bensi’s wife handed Mother a dish. Bensi shook Pabbi’s hand. I am not sure what it was, the shock of seeing him standing in our kitchen or the look of remorse in his eyes, but every one of us was teary, except for Leifur who went upstairs.”

  “Bensi wanted to see her?” Bjorn asked.

  “He went into Amma’s room then returned to the kitchen a few minutes later. The visit lasted less than ten minutes. Has Amma said anything to Magnus about what happened in Iceland between Pabbi and Bensi before we came?”

  “All I know is what J.K. told Father, that Bensi took advantage of Pjetur causing him to lose his farm,” he said. “Why? Do you think there is more to it?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “It was the oddest thing.”

  Bjorn listened carefully as I continued.

  “I think he was truly sad to see her like that,” I said. All the encounters with him over the years flipped through my mind. “It doesn’t make sense considering the terrible things he said about her.”

  “Maybe he is tired of fighting with everyone. He must have some regrets by now. Especially after snitching on Frimanns.”

  Bjorn picked up a handful of stones and started side-arming them up the road.

  “Stefan told me he confided in you,” he said. “He believes his dreams foretell the future and that his life will be short.”

  “Amma has similar dreams, but I doubt she saw this for herself.”

  Our conversation was winding its way back to the beginning. I thought of Amma. If I expected to be a competent nurse, I needed to learn how to control my emotions. I dug into my skirt pocket for a handkerchief. It was still damp but I managed to find a dry spot to dab my eyes.

  “I am sorry,” he said wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

  I shook my head, sniffled, words stuck in my throat.

  “What I am trying to say is that Stefan knows how to make the most of every day,” he said. “It is a good lesson for all of us. I have decided to forget about the past and hope you can do the same.”

  There was still awkwardness between us. He gripped my shoulder with his hand, gave it an easy shake. He told me that he needed help in the store and that he’d offer a fair wage.

  We’d strolled far enough by then so we started back. Another flock of geese flew over, honking loudly.

  “I have already decided I will stay here to take care of Amma,” I said. “I won’t be going to Winnipeg after all.”

  “What do you think Finn will say?”

  “What do you say?” I asked.

  “Me? I would be disappointed if you went, but I would accept your decision.”

  Bjorn waited in the democrat and I went inside.

  “I know of a place where they do rehabilitative work,” Bergthora said. “A hospital in Minnesota. People with Freda’s condition go there. Many regain their speech and some even learn to walk again.”

  Pabbi and Mother listened carefully.

  “But she would have to go away,” Mother said. “For how long?”

  Bergthora tilted her head in thought. “Four months,” she said. “The doctors would have a better idea once she is assessed.”

  “We will think about it. Thank you,” Pabbi said.

  He followed them outside where they talked for a few moments. Pabbi and Magnus went around to the back of the democrat and together they lifted a high-backed, invalid chair to the ground.

  “If cost is a concern, Pjetur, I want you to know that you needn’t worry. Freda has been a good friend to me and I have the means.”

  Pabbi reached out to shake Magnus’s hand.

  Magnus climbed into the democrat, took the reins, and turned the horses down the road, stirring up a cloud of dust.

  Hours later I looked out the window to see Pabbi sitting on a chair under the tree. Setta’s head rested on his lap. They stared off to the west, Pabbi stroking Setta’s neck, running his hand down her back. He slumped forward, lay his head on Setta’s back, and his shoulders started to heave.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  One should not ask more than would be thought fitting.

  —Króka-Refs Saga

  That night I told Thora my decision to nurse Amma. She understood and said she’d been expecting it. Finn said the same thing in his next letter. Truer friends didn’t exist.

  “I would like to help,” Thora said. “It will be good practice for us both.”

  Bergthora rode up the next morning to instruct me in the proper procedures to care for a bedridden patient.

  “You are fortunate to have Asta,” she said to Amma before she left two days later, bolstering my confidence probably more than I deserved. “I will return to check on you both in a few days.”

  Each morning I went to Amma’s room and pushed back the drape. “Another lovely morning,” I would say, or “It is starting to snow.”

  I described every detail of what the day held for everyone as I wiped her face and hands with a warm cloth. Once a week I washed her hair and bathed her. Uncomfortable that her private parts needed to be dealt with in a not-so-private way, I was thankful that she still had mobility in one arm and leg, that she was able to help. I removed her undergarments if they were soiled but if they were not, quickly helped her to the toilet that Pabbi had built in the corner of her room.

  “Leifur can hardly wait to start fishing. Setta misses you. I think we should go outside today.” I’d help her to the edge of the bed to dress. I would place her arm over my shoulder then swing her into the wheeled chair Magnus gave us, which was a true Godsend.

  “We should help Mama bake buns later, what do you think?”

  Then we’d roll into the kitchen for breakfast.

  “Good morning, Amma,” everyone said. She’d mumble a reply. Mother permanently moved her chair so that Amma could be wheeled up to the end of the table.

  “Do you want bread this morning?” I’d ask, and wait until she bowed or shook her head. I’d prepare it exactly how she liked it. “Eggs?”

  Everything was minced into bite-sized pieces. She said the same word every time I tried to feed her and it sounded like “self.” At first it was sad watching her shake the spoon up to her mouth, but we grew accustomed to it. Into her coffee cup I stirred a bit of sugar then after it cooled, handed it to her. She could no longer manage the saucer.

  I learned quickly what not to do. The first time I tried wiping her chin at the table she hissed and thrashed her hands, so I never did it again. Instead, I gave her a cloth or washed her face in private.

  Her mornings were spent in the kitchen watching Mother. This gave me time to empty the bowl under the toilet, make her bed, launder her clothes and sheets if needed.

  After dinner I took her back to her room for a nap, then helped her out of bed again so she could spend the afternoon in the front room. She listened as I studied out loud, and watched Lars dart back and forth playing games. If it was warm enough, he’d help wheel her outside.

  “Look, Amma,” Lars would say, standing on the chair footrest with his hands in the air, showing off how well he could balance. Amma seemed to like this so he did it often.

  When Freyja and Solrun returned home from school, it was mandatory they sit with Amma for at least five minutes.

  “Think about what you want to say while walking home,” I told them.

  Freyja often protested, mostly b
ecause she was feeling sorry for herself since Pabbi had begun limiting the amount of time she spent with Stefan.

  After supper I would cover Amma’s lap with a blanket and everyone would listen as I read out loud. Mother blew out the lamps. I pushed Amma to her room. Another visit to the toilet, then I would call Leifur because by then Amma was wrung out so I needed his help getting her into bed. Leifur would leave, then, before putting on her nightdress, I’d rub the tender spots on her hips with a salve Bergthora gave me. Once her nightdress was on and she was comfortable, I’d pull up the covers.

  “Good night.”

  She always tried to say it back.

  All winter, every week without fail, Magnus and Bergthora visited. They came in the evening and Bjorn often tagged along. Sitting with our legs crossed on the front room floor, we’d play chess as everyone visited around us. Mostly he would win, but occasionally I would squeak out a victory. Many nights J.K. and Gudrun would show up and a game of whist would break out on the kitchen table. Leifur would sit beside the wheeled chair to play Amma’s hand with her.

  Spring hesitated that year. Usually the melt began in March, but temperatures remained well below freezing until the third week of April, when the temperatures soared and the wind shifted, bringing warm air from the south. Combined with the sun’s heat during the day and above-freezing temperatures at night, the ice was off the lake in record time. The melt came fast and, with it, word that the north was still under deep snow.

  “Asi predicts it will flood,” Magnus said one evening in early May during their weekly visit. He explained that the water flowed into our lake from the Waterhen in the north and the Assiniboine in the south when it overran its banks. All the rain didn’t help. A storm was brewing in the west, but we had no way of knowing this until its arrival two days later.

  “A letter from Finn,” Freyja interrupted, dropping an envelope on the chessboard. Bjorn and I were sitting with the game between us. We were finding it difficult to concentrate with all the talk about flooding.

  “Freyja,” I scolded. Not only had she knocked over my rook, but she’d picked up the mail two days ago.

  “I forgot.” She shrugged.

  Bjorn didn’t seem to mind pausing the game while I tore open the envelope.

  I always scanned Finn’s letters, mentally flagging the sentences to skip before reading out loud:

  April 30, 1913

  Dearest Ásta,

  “Oooooh,” Freyja teased.

  “Hush,” Mother said.

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  I imagine it must be flooding there as it is starting to here. The rivers have risen up, threatening the homes along the banks of both the Red River and the Assiniboine. Fortunately, they predict it will not rise as high as in 1861, but it makes me think twice about building along either river. So far the Burroughs house is safe. I hear the situation can become dire here in the city during wet years.

  This of course delights our professor who has challenged us to present ideas how the city can plan to mitigate this in the future. I have a few theories but do not want to appear foolish so I will wait until I have thought carefully.

  My professor favors the idea of re-directing water but I disagree. Father’s hired man would tell the story of the beaver, and I saw for myself the problems they cause with their dams. He would say that water flows where it is meant to, and eventually it will find a way. But nobody here cares what the Indians think.

  Father would enjoy it at the University where he could debate all day long. He told me that people here are well-educated but not necessarily more intelligent than us, especially when it comes to the lake. He is right.

  I received a letter from Stefán. I suppose he decided to write after carrying everyone’s letters to and fro. His handwriting is terrible but I have decided not to tease him. He says that he and Leifur have trapped more muskrats this year than all the other years combined. That is not something I ever cared to do. As you know, I am not much for killing. But I wish them well. Why did you not tell me that he and Leifur plan to start a fish and fur buying company?

  With Helgi selling out to move up north, it is a good idea. Stefán says the new owners at The Narrows don’t have nearly the stock that Helgi carried and their prices for the pelts are not nearly as good. This must bode well for Björn’s store. Maybe ‘Frímann and Guðmundsson Fish and Furs’ can work out an arrangement with him?

  How is your Amma?

  We can talk about everything more when I am home in two months, less by the time you receive this letter.

  Finn.

  “Will you be at church on Sunday?” Bjorn asked as they were getting ready to leave. “Any chance I can persuade you to a rematch?”

  I was still basking in the delight of beating him twice in a row.

  “Bergthora says it is time we host all of you,” he said. “As soon as it stops raining, Father and I will build a ramp. It should be done by Sunday.”

  That night, I lit the lamp on the night stand and took the letter from my pocket before crawling under the blanket. The wind was howling outside and the rain beat hard against the window. I thought of Bjorn riding home in the rain.

  I opened the letter again, skimming until I came to the parts I’d left out:

  It is admirable how you care for your Amma, but the time will come that you will need to get on with your life. From what Mother says it does not appear that Freda will get better. Thora says she has offered to help, but so far you have refused. I am asking you to not be stubborn because you are sometimes.

  Please consider applying to Nurses College. Sacrificing your life for someone else, even someone you love, will only lead to regret later.

  We can talk about everything when I am home in two months, less by the time you receive this letter. I can barely stand it until the day I can take you in my arms and kiss your sweet lips. I love you, Asta, more than anything.

  Lovingly, Finn

  Two days later I sat in the back of the wagon holding on as the wheels sloshed through four inches of water. Pabbi fervently coaxed the horses who despised stepping on soft ground. He focused on where he knew the trail was, holding the reins tight to let them know who was boss.

  Everyone gasped at the sight of the lake which had risen so high it was only 50 yards from J.K.’s house.

  “Has it come this high before?” Pabbi called out.

  J.K. was on the verandah, staring out over the water.

  “Not since we’ve been here,” he said. “Asi says it was like this in 1882.”

  Pabbi led the horses up onto the yard where it was still dry, pushing down on the wheel brake. We climbed down then stood, turning in all directions, seeing for the first time what Asi had meant when he talked about the ridge. Water pooled in all the low spots making their house look like an island on the edge of a glistening sea.

  “How high will it come?” Mother asked.

  J.K. frowned. It was the first time since knowing him that I saw worry.

  “Hopefully it will crest soon,” he said. “If we expect to make our living here along the lake, we cannot fight the water. We must learn to work with it.”

  Gudrun greeted us at the door. Thora was standing at the counter making pönnukökur. I helped her roll the crepes and sprinkle them with sugar.

  “Asi was here yesterday and told Father to prepare for the worst,” Thora whispered. “Hayland is mostly underwater.”

  “And the mill?” I whispered.

  “The house is high enough,” she said. “But water is creeping in from the north so they are re-stacking the lumber on higher ground.”

  “The store?”

  Thora shrugged. “He said Bjorn is moving everything to the highest shelves.”

  The whole time we sat visiting, drinking coffee and licking the melted sugar from our fingers, everyone kept glancing o
ut the window. When it came time to leave we stood in disbelief on the verandah.

  “It looks higher already,” Leifur said, taking off his shoes. J.K handed him a knife and we watched as he sloshed to the fence post J.K. was notching every few hours. Leifur dug the knife into the post then hurried back.

  “An inch above the last notch.” He shivered.

  That evening the storm arrived.

  The last thing we wanted was to spin wool and knit, but once the evening chores were done and the bickering started, that is exactly what Mother made us do.

  “You could go out to pick stones,” Pabbi said above our complaints as rain pelted the windows. Everyone groaned. Picking stones from a freshly ploughed field was a miserable job and it seemed that every year Pabbi turned up more acres.

  Leifur had started knitting after Pabbi said it would make him a better hunter.

  “It improves how well your eyes and hands work together,” he’d said.

  Occasionally Pabbi went to the window, reporting that all he could see in the darkness were the treetops bending in the wind.

  The next morning as we sat eating breakfast, a wet fist pounded on the door. We all looked at one another. Pabbi went to the door. J.K. stepped inside. He looked like someone had tried to drown him.

  “The lake surged up in the storm,” he gasped. “I need help.”

  Pabbi grabbed his coat from the lean-to hook with Leifur on his heels.

  “Tell Gudrun and the children to come here,” Mother shouted after them.

  Freyja and I hurried to the window to watch them slosh down the trail to the lake.

  “Why is the lake doing this to us?” she cried.

  I tried my best to reassure her, to explain what I barely understood myself. Apparently there was a mathematical equation that estimated how much run-off it took before the rivers in Winnipeg overflowed their banks, but more important to us was the amount that came in from the north-west.

  “Asi said it won’t rise much higher if it stops raining,” I said.

  “Go upstairs for the blankets,” Mother said when we saw Gudrun urging the horses through the bush trail. Mother held open the door as Gudrun helped J.K.’s mother down. Everyone ran inside. Thora looked frightened as a mouse who’d just clawed its way out of a water bucket.

 

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