A New Day Rising (36 page)

ingeborg forced her gaze to the man across from her, but she really wanted to admire the lovely furniture, the rugs, the pictures on the walls. Such wealth. Managing a Bonanza farm must be very lucrative.

"Mrs. Bjorklund, before my mother returns there is something I would like to ask you."

He rubbed one finger over a knuckle on the other hand. "I ...

ah ... I know it has been some time now since your husband died, and I was wondering if ... that is ... could you ... would you be willing to let me call on you?"

"Call on me?"

"Yes. Maybe we could go for a buggy ride, or-"

"Mr. Carlson, my farm is a far piece to go for a buggy ride."

"Ah, here we are." His mother took her seat at the table and pointed to the place in front of her for the maid to set the tray. "Thank you, Hannah. Now, Mrs. Bjorklund, I hope you enjoy this cake. I know your sister-in-law makes an egg cake that knows no parallel, but many visitors have told Cook how tasty this one is." She passed the rich spicy cake on a china plate to Ingeborg and followed it with a cup of coffee. Tiny purple violets trimmed both the plate and cup. "You take it black, if I remember?"

"Ja, mange takk. Ah, thank you." Ingeborg couldn't bring herself to look George in the face again. Did he mean he wanted to court her? Or was he planning to purchase more supplies from them at the farm? Why ever would he want to take her on a buggy ride?

The time passed swiftly, and knowing the distance home, Ingeborg refused a third cup of coffee and pushed back from the table. "Thank you for the cake and coffee. I must be going now. I will return in a few weeks when the next cheeses are ripe."

George and Mrs. Carlson rose, too. "Oh, I wish you could stay longer, my dear. I'm sure those boys of yours are about full grown by now. When you come next, please consider bringing them to visit. This house needs the sound of children's laughter." She took Ingeborg's hand in hers. "Now you take care of yourself and tell the other Mrs. Bjorklund hello for me. I hope she is happy in her new marriage."

"Oh, she is, and by late fall there will be another little Bjorklund living on our farm."

"That is such good news. She has been through so much, and you, too." By this time they'd reached the door, and while George escorted Ingeborg out, his mother stayed inside, waving from the door.

"Good-bye." Ingeborg turned again to wave. "Your mother is such a fine woman."

"My mother would like nothing more than for me to fill this house with small children. You heard her subtle hints."

"Subtle?" Ingeborg raised an eyebrow.

"About as subtle as a charging buffalo. But she means well." He helped her up into the wagon. "I can come calling, then?" He looked up at her, his brown eyes serious under the brim of his tan felt hat.

"I ... I don't know. Let me think about that, please?"

He nodded and stepped back. "Until I see you again." He touched the brim of his hat and stood still while she drove the team out of the yard. When she looked back, he waved.

Now what have you gotten yourself into? Did she want him to come calling? He was a fine figure of a man, to be sure. But what did he see in her? The thought made her chuckle. Talk about a radish blooming in a rose garden. That's what she would be. She slapped the reins on the horses' backs. "Giddyup there, Belle, Bob. We've got a long way to go before dark."

She stopped at The Mercantile and got Kaaren's order and the things her own house needed as quickly as possible. Then tucking a precious letter in her pocket, Ingeborg headed for home. It would be dark or close to it by the time she got back.

The boys were already in bed when she entered the soddy after leaving off the supplies and the letter from home at Kaaren's. She'd read it herself on the way. Bridget had asked about Hjelmer, if he arrived yet or if they'd heard from him. ingeborg hoped he felt guilty as sin for not writing in all this time.

"I'll go take care of the horses." Haakan met her at the door.

"Mange takk." She sighed when the musty smell of the dirt walls closed in around her. That lovely home across the river, with shiny tables and tall windows that let in all the light, made the soddy seem even smaller. She placed her hat on the peg reserved for it and her shawl next.

"Mor?"

"Ja, Thorliff, I am home."

"Did you see the surprise?"

"No." She crossed the room and bent over the bed. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise." He turned over and went back to sleep.

he discovered them in the morning. Nodding bluebells surrounded the base of the wild rose bush.

"Haakan dug them for you." Thorliff looked up to watch her face.

Ingeborg rolled her lips together and blinked back the moisture that gathered behind her eyes and at the back of her throat. She knelt down and touched one of the delicate blue blossoms with a trembling finger.

"He thought you might like them. He said I had to keep the rose bush, the bluebells, and the cottonwood tree you planted by the corner of the house watered. Is it okay, Mor? Do you like them?"

"Oh, Thorliff, my son, I don't just like them, I love them and you too. I know you had something to do with this." She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close.

"If you love them, why are you crying?"

"Because I'm so happy.-

Thorliff put his hands flat on her cheeks and looked deep into her eyes. "Mor, sometimes you make no sense."

"Ah, Thorliff, sometimes beauty just makes me cry. Good things make me cry. It's all right." She pressed her hands over his. "It's okay."

Thorliff studied her intently. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." Ingeborg got to her feet. "Now, I hear Andrew waking up. Let's get him and have some breakfast."

" 1 need to take the sheep out." Thorliff danced in front of her.

`Ja, as soon as you're done eating." Ingeborg took one more look at her bluebells, then up to the blossoms on the rose bush. Such beauty at her doorstep, and both were gifts from two fine men. How rich her life. She sent the Father another thank-you when she picked Andrew up from where he knelt in the middle of the bed.

About the man who planted your bluebells, a voice inside seemed to ask.-Do-you love him?

Well of course, she could hear herself answer. He is a relative, of course I love him.

But is your love for him more than that for a relative? Aren't you in fact in love with him? That was a question she was not ready to answer or even admit to the possibility. After all, he was leaving in the fall. A gentle voice whispered, He could always return in the spring.

She finished pulling Andrew's dress over his head and tied him onto the chair for breakfast. If not tied, he slipped away, always determined to find Thorliff.

Thorliff took the other chair. He extended his hand, flat on the table and palm up for Andrew to play slap-and-get-grabbed. Every time the little one got his hand away in time, he let out his belly laugh that set the bluebells to ringing.

Ingeborg set thick slices of bread covered with heavy cream and dotted with choke cherry jelly in front of them. She tied a dish towel around Andrew's neck, cut the bread in small pieces, and handed him a spoon. Lately he'd been adamant that he should feed himself.

She turned away so she couldn't be appalled by the mess he made. She should have waited to dress him until he was done eatipg and she had stood him in the dishpan and washed him down. The sheep bleated from the corral by the barn, pleading to be let loose for their morning feed. Paws sat right by Andrew's chair so he could catch any spills before they decorated the hard-packed dirt floor.

Ingeborg listened to the boys' prattle with one ear while she quickly finished the morning chores, all the while listing in her mind the things that needed to be done that day. She needed to finish drying the venison, scrape the putrefying meat and tissue from the hide, and salt it down to remove the hair since this was spring and the coat was still blotchy with unshed spots. Once tanned, she would turn the hide into gloves, or-she paused and kept her smile carefully concealed. She would make a leather shirt for Thorliff, much like the one that Metiz had made for Baptiste. Wouldn't he be thrilled?

She turned to look, to truly look at the boy at the table. Suntanned skin and peeling shoulder tops told of the hours he spent outside without a shirt on. The freckles on his face ran together to form a darker bridge across his nose and cheeks, and now with his second teeth grown in, his smile looked different, too, like he still had some growing to do to catch up with his mouth. He'd outgrown his boots that thankfully lasted until he could go barefoot, and there wasn't a shirt in the house with long enough sleeves.

The next time she went to The Mercantile, she'd need to get him pants, but the boots would have to wait for Lars to make, or she would buy him a pair in the fall. She studied the baby beside him, also growing like the proverbial dandelion or the sunflowers that nodded by the trail to the Baard's house. He, too, would need boots in the fall and pants and shirts cut down from some of Thorliff's garments.

Too much to do. Always too much to do. What she really wanted was to continue plowing and breaking the sod that needed to decay over the summer. Instead, as soon as she and Andrew were ready, she would take him to Kaaren's and take the extra team over to the Baard's to help bring the hay in to stack by the barn. One or two more days, and they would start to stack here on their own fields. From the looks of the thick windrows, they would have plenty of hay, even if she bought more stock. And, if the rains fell right, they might get a second cutting.

"Bye, Mor." Thorliff had his hat on his head and his dinner of bread, cheese, and dried venison in a sack over his shoulder.

"Me go, Mor, me go." Andrew struggled against his bonds.

"You have enough for Baptiste, too?"

"Ja, and he brings some."

"I know. If you come home before we do, go on over to Kaaren's."

"I could start the chores." He shifted from foot to restless foot.

"Ja. Mange takk, Thorliff."

"Or I could go fishing." His eyes lit up.

"Fishing, me fishing." Andrew slammed his spoon down on the table.

"When you get big." Thorliff darted out the door, ignoring the wails of his little brother.

Hjelmer glared at her when she showed up in her britches.

I'd like to see you out here in skirts, you pompous young pup. Ingeborg restrained herself from commenting, but it wasn't easy. Who does he think he is, anyway? She'd seen the lowering looks he'd been directing at Haakan lately, too, especially whenever Haakan asked the younger man to do something. If one wanted to dignify him with the title "man." The thoughts made her want to go over and shake him.

Instead, she helped hitch the team to a wagon tongue and pulled the empty flat wagon back out in the field to be loaded again. The men had constructed wide, flat beds for the wagon frames, with a tall rack in front so the driver had something to brace against as the wagon filled. They had three wagons running so the men in the field were kept busy forking hay onto a wagon, while others at the barn forked hay from the wagon to a stack. The younger children did their part by tramping the hay down. The tighter it was packed, the less chance there was for spoilage.