An Untamed Heart (27 page)

After Christmas Ingeborg received another note from Nils. He would leave Oslo on the twenty-ninth and be in Valdres on the thirtieth. He was looking forward to seeing her even for a short time.

“You are getting your hopes up in a hopeless situation,” Far said, shaking his head. “You need to find someone in our station and start your own family. You are getting to be an old maid, you know.”

“There are always widowers looking for someone to help raise their children,” Mor added. “That will be a most likely choice for you, since you disdain the young men of our area.” Mor had to get a snide remark into her advice. She shook her head while she spoke, her face long and sad. “But look at Katrina, how happy she is. And expecting their first child. Isn’t she just beautiful?”

“She is,” Ingeborg agreed. Her sister had found a man she could love. Ingeborg knew she had done the same, but the man who stole her heart was said to be beyond possibility. One side of her understood that. Another side insisted on dreaming of a life with Nils. Perhaps if they went to Amerika . . . The thought made her catch her breath. In Amerika, no one cared about stations and traditions like they did in the old country. Someone had read a letter from one of those who had gone to Amerika and moved to the middle of the country—they said the land was free for something called homesteading. Or one could purchase land. In Norway there was no land to purchase.

It was too late to write Nils a letter with this news, for his letter arrived the day before he planned to arrive. But he was coming to see her. A thought made her pause. Mr. Aarvidson expected his son to take over the family business. That did not include a move to Amerika and a farm on the free land.

“I am going to meet Nils at the coach in the morning.” She didn’t ask permission. She just named her intentions gently. “Do you want me to bring anything from the store?”

Her mor just sniffed and shook her head. Her far looked up from the farming magazine he had borrowed from a friend and shook his head too.

Berta and Mari whispered with Ingeborg that night in the dark. At least someone was excited for her. “You are going to ski into Valdres?”

“Ja. How else would I get there?”

“How will you ever sleep tonight? I am so excited, and I
am not the one going to meet the man I love.” Mari giggled. “I heard him tell you he loved you.”

“You did not.”

“I did so. I was awake and I heard him—and you too. I could hardly breathe, I was so excited.”

“Mari, you are too young to think about love yet.”

“But I am almost old enough.” Berta’s voice sounded dreamy through the darkness.

“Do not be in a hurry.”

“I think Jens likes me.” The same tone.

“Gilbert is the one we need to be concerned for.”

“Oh, you were not here. He took Asti on a picnic last summer.”

“On a picnic? Just the two of them?”

“Ja, and he was gone all the rest of the day. Got home again just in time to do chores.”

“There were not any cows here to milk.”

“I think he felt guilty and used that as an excuse.”

“That does not make sense.” Ingeborg heard a giggle and realized she had joined in. It was she who had introduced Gilbert and Asti. She took Asti to be a very nice young woman. Ingeborg knew her but not very well. She laughed a lot.

“What did Mor say?”

“‘Well, it is about time.’” Berta sounded just like their mor.

Ingeborg tried not to laugh out loud, she really did, but choking was not good either. She muffled her laughter in the pillow. “Good night.” This was one of the things she missed at the seter. Darkness that could harbor secrets and time with her sisters. Berta had told her all about the wedding, and Katrina looked so happy. Ingeborg had heard people say that
women were even more beautiful when they were pregnant, and Katrina would prove the point.

When she woke, she was surprised that she had fallen asleep at all, let alone right away. She could hear Gilbert and Hjelmer stirring, so she knew it was time to milk the cows. She caught herself humming as she dressed. Today she would see Nils again. She could not get through the chores fast enough. It seemed to take forever to milk and feed the cows, spread grain for the chickens, and fork hay in for the sheep. They would be going up to the seter to bring back more hay pretty soon. With all the animals they had to feed, hay disappeared like a magic trick. It was a good thing they cut so much up on the mountain.

After breakfast and Far’s reading the Bible lesson for the day, she buckled on her skis and poled off to the village. And to Nils.

The sun glinted on the snow so bright she kept her eyes only half open, and still they watered. She waited outside the inn for a time but finally accepted Mrs. Fiel’s offer to wait inside. And waited.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Mrs. Fiel asked. “There is no charge.”

“Takk, but not now.” Maybe later, after the coach arrived, she and Nils could come inside and enjoy a cup of coffee before she needed to leave for home. Dark came too quickly, already hovering.

“I cannot believe the coach is so late. They must have had a breakdown or something.” Mrs. Fiel moved her curtain aside to peer out.

By now Ingeborg had removed her outer garments and sat on the bench. Two people were waiting to board the coach and decided to listen to Mrs. Fiel’s suggestion to have something to eat. Ingeborg hoped they liked the cheese, since the inn was one of their regular customers to purchase cheese.

Dark slithered in and took over. Still no coach.

“Your mor and far will begin to worry that you have fallen.”

“The moon will be up soon. I will wait for that.” But she knew she could ski home. The snow reflected the slightest light, and tonight the northern lights would assist to show her the way.

She heard a man talking outside and recognized Gilbert’s deep voice. He had come to make sure she was all right.

When he walked in through the door, he looked all around. “He is not here?”

Ingeborg shook her head. “The coach has not come.”

“They must have had a breakdown. They would not travel now anyway.” Gilbert warmed his hands at the fireplace. “Come, we will ski home together.”

Ingeborg stood, feeling stiff from sitting so long. Usually when a coach broke down, they had it repaired and ready to leave again before long, but of course it depended on where it broke down and how much repair was needed. She knew that, but the sorrow at not seeing Nils today wore heavy around her shoulders.

“I will return in the morning. If he arrives before I do, please tell him what happened.”

“Oh, I will, Ingeborg, I will.” Mrs. Fiel patted Ingeborg’s shoulder. “I don’t know what could have happened.”

Immediately after chores the next day, she skied back to the village. And waited. A coach arrived at about the usual time, although a day late. The driver climbed down, shaking his head. “There was a terrible accident, so bad that some people even died, partly because it was so cold. I do not know any more than that, but none of those passengers was able to continue their journey. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings.”

Ingeborg thanked him and turned away. How could she find out more? If Nils were able, he would have sent her a message. That horrible foreboding feeling she had felt when he left returned with a vengeance. She was never going to see him again.

She skied home and put her skis away. Without a word, she went up to her bed and crawled beneath the covers, there to lie dry-eyed until she eventually quit shivering and fell asleep. Only to have a terrible nightmare that woke her, screaming.

“Ingeborg, what is it?” Berta knelt beside her and took her shaking hands.

“I . . . I do not know. But a dream . . .” She licked her lips and shook her head.

Berta’s voice came gently through the darkness. “Shall I light a candle?”

“Nei. I will be fine.” But she knew, deep inside, she would never be fine, not like she used to be, ever again.

“I have to know more.” Ingeborg mopped at the incessant tears that she fought to hide. She did not need another sermon on the foolishness of her love and her dreams. Mor and Far were both experts at dispensing those lectures, usually at her inability to control the sorrow that threatened to drown her at any time.

Something whispered that perhaps he was alive and terribly wounded and could not write to her. But in that case, surely Amalia would write a letter for him. Did she dare write Amalia a letter and ask? Nei. Perhaps he had not told his family about her; perhaps he had not even been on that destroyed coach, and was going to college and doing what his parents decreed that he do.
Perhaps
was an ineffective word at best. And right now, nothing was best. If Nils was indeed dead, his family would be suffering terribly. They would not want to hear from her.

One side of her mind tried to pray for strength, but it was time to get over the silliness of childhood and trusting that God would indeed live up to His Word, that He cared about
His children. There was probably not even a God, but then she would have no one to be so angry at.

Furious was a better word. If God was who He said He was, then He could have kept an accident from happening that would leave families grieving and heartbroken. But He didn’t! What had she or Nils done that was evil or even bad enough to warrant a punishment like this?

Skiing seemed to be the only outlet where she could scream at the heavens if she so desired. But skiing in the middle of a snowstorm was not a good idea. So she wrote out her pain, leaving ink blots and tear washes on all the pages. She longed to talk with Gunlaug, but that too had been taken from her.

What are you trying to do, God? If destroying my life is in your plan, you are well on your way.
How could one feel so alone in a family like hers? But she did. She must have been crying in her sleep one night, because she woke with Mari whispering her name, patting her hand, and singing the soothing words that their mor used to use to comfort them. At Ingeborg’s invitation, Mari crawled under the covers and stroked her sister’s hand and face until they both drifted off to sleep.

January 1879 had not an auspicious beginning. And the darkness of winter did nothing to contribute to feelings of strength and fortitude. More and more, Ingeborg found herself wanting to hide under the covers. Instead, she spent hours at the spinning wheel. At least something good was coming of this. The skeins of yarn multiplied. The song of the spinning wheel reminded her of those days when she would spin and Nils would lie there, or sit there, and watch.

The thing that surprised and saddened her even more as the winter continued was her anger at Nils. Why was she angry at him? Because he’d left her. As if he had any say in the matter. If only he had not been coming to see her. He might still be alive; that is, if he was truly dead. The not knowing was driving her ever deeper into a black pit that she could only label despair.

What if something terrible was happening with Gunlaug, with the cousins, at their house? When Ingeborg allowed herself to think about that, she added Far and Onkel Kris to her angry list. Because they were acting like spoiled children—well, at least Onkel Kris was. All of the rest of them were miserable.

But in spite of her wish to hide or die and be away from her thoughts and her tears, life continued around her. Mari and Hjelmer went to school. The animals were fed and watered. Good smells came from the kitchen, and the woodbox was kept full of both wood and peat, since wood was at a premium. Hay brought down from the seter was feeding the animals; food brought in from the cellar was feeding the family. The romance between Gilbert and Asti was one bright spot in a dark world.

When Gilbert admitted he was going to ask Asti to marry him, Berta and Mari wanted to help plan the wedding. What date?

“I have not asked her yet,” Gilbert said, his face growing red. “I will tell you what she says.”

“She is waiting for you to ask,” Mari advised.

“How do you know that?”

“We girls have ways of gaining knowledge that you men know nothing about.”

Ingeborg felt a giggle arising, an astonishing thing. “Good for you, Mari.”
You tell him.
Her face nearly cracked in a smile from lack of practice.

Mari ran over and threw her arms around her big sister. “You are coming back,” she whispered in Ingeborg’s ear.

“Perhaps I am.” Ingeborg threw more wood on the fire and returned to her spinning. Even the song of the wheel sounded different. She looked out the frosted window to see sun glinting on the crystals and water dripping from the icicles. Was this February’s promise of spring? Spring was so needed, not only in the world around her but in her soul.
Takk, oh Lord
, she whispered in her heart.

That afternoon when he came home from school, Hjelmer had a letter for her. When she gave him a questioning look, he shrugged. Nils’s handwriting was not on the envelope.

She took it in to sit by the fire and in front of a window so she could read it. As she opened the packet, a newspaper clipping fell into her lap. She read the letter first—straight, elegant handwriting in a fine hand.

My dearest Ingeborg,

By now you will have heard the news concerning my brother, your Nils. I fear you may not have received details, so I am enclosing the Oslo newspaper’s account of the accident that took his life.

Please allow me to address you as Ingeborg rather than as Miss Strand. Although we have never met, I feel I know you intimately, for Nils spoke so often and so highly about you. Oh, he was smitten! He was absolutely determined to court and marry you, even though my sister and I tried our best to dissuade him. And, we see
in retrospect, his course was the right one. A love like his would have overcome any adversity, and your strength and character would have won over any objectors.

He told us about his time at the seter, his forays into farming and livestock husbandry, his often humorous attempts to become a man of the soil, if only for a short while. Those weeks on the mountain changed him, Ingeborg. You changed him. He climbed your mountain a spoiled dilettante and came down the mountain a greatly matured man, determined to do well and make a difference.

When the constable came to the door with the awful news, our parents could not immediately accept it. My father had despaired of Nils ever becoming worthy to take over Aarvidson Shipping. But he saw the profound change in Nils. Far is a cautious man, a demanding man, and he did not immediately acknowledge that change or his new trust in Nils. Yet, as the holidays approached, he grew more relaxed, became much happier, if you will. He was seeing his most fervent dream come true at last.

Nils saw another world and it made his life, short though it was, richer for the experience. I wish that one day I could meet the woman who made such a difference. I think I want to be more like you. I do so love working in my father’s business, but my mother is adamantly saying that is not proper for a young woman like me. But thanks to my brother’s courage, I will step outside the bounds of society and into the world of business. I am good at it, like you are good with so many things.

If there is any good thing that has come of this tragedy, it is this: My brother learned to love not just a woman but a whole family, and he showed us how to love each other. Our family has become more caring and has drawn closer together in these last few weeks.

See! This letter has rambled on and on. But I wanted you to know how very much you have given us, yes, we who have never met you. You gave our son and brother happiness. And through him you gave us love and one another.

With warmest love and my deepest condolences,
Amalia Aarvidson

With her eyes wet and burning so that she could barely see, Ingeborg laid the letter aside and unfolded the newspaper clipping. Amalia had penciled the date in the margin.

Tragedy struck when the weekly circuit stage serving the villages of Nes and Valdres, continuing to Voss and Bergen, overturned, plunging into an adjacent stream, which incident resulted in four deaths. According to statements by survivors, the coach lay partially submerged among large rocks, and the passengers inside, four men and two women, were able to assist one another in escaping to shore. Two men continued up the road into Valdres to summon assistance while the remaining four managed to build a fire, maintaining it by breaking up wood from the coach and wheels. Rescuers arrived at dark and escorted the survivors to safety. In addition to the six persons inside, the coach carried on the roof three passengers and the driver. All four perished.

The deceased:

Hanni Holstrum, 43, driver

Hermann Schneider, 19, student

Alvald Thorvaldson, 12, blacksmith’s apprentice

Nils Aarvidson, 22, student

“At least now I know.” She laid the letter in her lap and stared into the fire. And suddenly, as ardently as she had wanted to know, now she did not. Before, there had been the tiniest flicker of hope that he had survived the accident, that he was not on that coach at all, that he had forgotten Ingeborg and found another. Anything. Just that he was still alive.

Nils was gone. He would not be coming back. She felt like a door was closing on that part of her life. She now knew what love—deep love—felt like, and she would always treasure the memory of that young man who said he loved her. And was sure she had changed his life. Amalia confirmed that.

Takk, Lord God. I asked to know for sure and this arrived. That door is indeed closed. Amen.
She folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket. She thought of throwing it into the fire but left it in her pocket. It might serve some good one day.

A week or so later, her mother came in to sit and knit in front of the fire. “I have a situation where I can use your help.”

Ingeborg looked up. “Ja, what is it?”

“I have two mothers due at the same time. If by chance they go into labor at the same time—this is a slim chance, as you know, but I want to be prepared—I want you to come with me, and I will leave you with Mrs. Hanson. This is her
third, so she is an old hand at having babies, and I will go on to Mrs. Larson. This is her first, and there might be a chance of difficulties. You will come with me?”

Ingeborg nodded, her heart smiling. “Ja, I will. Takk.” She thought a moment. “Mor, have you been able to talk with Tante Berthe at all?”

“Nei, and it breaks my heart. I heard from someone else that Kris is drinking even more than usual, and a mean streak is emerging. I am so afraid they are all suffering under this edict. He even removed his children from the village school. So no one sees anything of them. As if they moved far away.”

“Are they going to a different church too? They never came to ours.”

“I doubt they are going to church at all.”

Ingeborg’s heart ached for Gunlaug—all the others too, but losing her was almost as bad as losing Nils. “How easy it would be to hate Onkel Kris.”

“No, do not say that. We cannot hate those of our own family.”

“I know Onkel Frode did not want something like this.”