An Untamed Heart (30 page)

Ingeborg stopped breathing.

“—we believe that she should be allowed to have a say in this. So we have decided that if you can convince her that she should marry you, then you have our full permission to
court her. I know you feel you need a final answer right now but, but we just cannot do that.”

“I see.” Mr. Bjorklund studied the crumbs on the tablecloth and then looked up at Ingeborg. “Will you write letters back to me when I write? And I will come see you again.”

If you are no better at corresponding than Nils, I will have no trouble with this.
She nodded. “Ja, I will do that. But remember, I leave for the seter in a few weeks, and we do not have regular mail service there.”

“Then I shall come and see you at the seter.”

She nodded, as he had not asked a question but made a statement. What kind of summer was this going to be?

It was just over a week later when the first letter arrived.

Dear Miss Strand,

You did not give me permission to call you Ingeborg so that is why the formality. I too know how strange this is, and if there were any way I could undo the last two months, I most assuredly would. But since I cannot and you cannot, we will go forward with what is.

I would like to tell you a little about my family. There are four boys and two girls in our family. I am the second son. Johann is the oldest and has inherited the farm, or will when our far decides not to farm any longer. There is not enough work for us here all year around, so the rest of us find work elsewhere. Sometimes we have gone out on the fishing boat with an onkel.

Carl, who is emigrating with me, is married to Kaaren. They are looking forward to owning land, as am I.

Sincerely,
Roald Bjorklund

Ingeborg wanted to pretend the letter never arrived, but since Hjelmer announced to the entire world that she had a letter, she would answer.

Dear Mr. Bjorklund,

Thank you for your letter. We are preparing to leave for the seter. Does your family have one too? I love it up in the mountains, more than any other place on earth. I also like making cheese. We planted our garden early this year.

Sincerely,
Ingeborg Strand

There, she finished that. He would probably not write again, but at least she did her duty to politeness.

A black cloud hung over the preparations. Since they would not have as many cows this year, there would be far less cheese to make. They sheared most of the sheep the week before they were ready to leave, so that would be easier too. But still, without the usual full complement of helpers, the work would be hard. Gunlaug. She sighed.

Tor and Kari were excited to be going with them again, and since their younger brother was now old enough, he would come along too.

A week later, another letter arrived.

Dear Miss Strand,

Thank you for writing so promptly. I hope you receive this before you leave for your home away from home in the mountain valleys. Your mor said you are also an expert on the spinning wheel. I wish we could take ours
to Amerika, but I will build another when I get there. They say there is plenty of wood to be had for the cutting. Wood of all kinds.

Have you ever driven a yoke of oxen? Farmers in Dakota Territory use oxen instead of horses. Mules are very popular too. A family from our valley sent a son over there, and his letters are very educational. Will there be a place for Thorliff and me to sleep when we ride up to the seter?

Sincerely,
Roald Bjorklund

Ingeborg had to admit the man wrote a good letter. And he spoke well, so he had had an education. She wondered if he liked to read. A couple of nights before they were to leave she wrote back.

Dear Mr. Bjorklund,

Yes, there will be a pallet for you to sleep on. Unless you would rather sleep outside. We leave the day after tomorrow, so we are loading the wagons in preparation. My sister Berta wants to come up this year, but Mor insists she stay home to help with the garden and food preservation for the winter. Katrina, our married sister, will be having a baby sometime soon, so that makes Mor happy.

Does Thorliff play with the lambs at your family farm?

Sincerely,
Ingeborg Strand

If only she could at least say good-bye to Gunlaug. But she could not. The day came and the wagons waddled out across the track. Why did she not feel the anticipation this year that she had felt last year? When they started up the mountain, Ingeborg missed Gunlaug even more. All the things they had done together . . .

Kari walked with her behind all the cows and sheep. “I miss Gunlaug already.”

“Me too. And Anders and Hamme. This has left such an empty place in my heart.” Ingeborg was surprised at herself. She had not said much to anyone other than her immediate family all winter. And since Tor and Kari lived in a town another valley over, there was not much contact there either.

They arrived at the seter without incident and unpacked the wagons. They spread out to clean the house and settle the animals, all the things that always had to be done. Hjelmer found a bird’s nest in the top of the chimney, on the cover they had put over it to keep this from happening. But at least the babies had already flown.

“You know, Hjelmer, you have really gotten taller this year,” Kari said that evening with a grin. “They cannot call you shrimp any longer.”

He grinned back, ignoring the red creeping up his neck.

Ingeborg tapped him on the head when she went by. “He is almost as tall as I am now. You watch, by next year he’ll be hitting his head coming in the door.”

Gilbert and Far stayed an extra day to help get more wood cut, since they had not brought a load up the day before, mainly because that was something Onkel Frode always supplied. So there were a lot of adjustments this year.

Ingeborg stepped outside as the sun was nestling itself in behind the mountains. She stood looking over the valley and the snow-clad peaks beyond and prayed for the calm the scene always brought her. She turned to go back inside and almost bumped into Kari.

“I could not wait to get here, just to make sure this was all still here.”

“Oh, Kari, that is just the way I feel. I can almost hear God saying, ‘Look up to the mountains.’ Only the power of God can build mountains and make the creeks sing and bring spring back around again.”

“How will we do it all without the others?”

“We’ll just have to work harder. We only have five sheep to shear, so that will be easier. I guess Tor is going to have to learn to milk cows.”

Kari snorted. “That will be a sight to see.”

“Your brother learned so much last year. You wait. At the end of this summer, you will not recognize him.”

“If that is a promise, I will indeed be watching.” She looked out over the valley once again. “We all will have to learn to herd sheep, that’s for certain. And we will all have to help with the cooking so Mari can help with other things. We will manage. I know we will.”

Ingeborg loved the way Kari used the word
we
.

Kari grinned at Ingeborg. “And this year we will not have broken legs and blisters and . . .” She breathed deeply, as though she had not had air like this to breathe for a long time. “I am so glad to be here. This year I want to learn more about making cheese, if you do not mind.”

“Oh, not at all.” Ingeborg draped an arm over the girl’s shoulders. “Someone needs to get that loom talking too.”

“You string it, and I can go from there.”

“We will string it together so that you learn how.”

The two walked back around the house and saw the cows lining up at the barn. Some things never changed.

With two trees sawed into fireplace lengths, Far and Gilbert split wood for a while the next morning before heading down the mountain. All those staying at the seter waved good-bye and returned to their cleaning and other chores.

“Something sure stinks in here,” Mari said after checking over all the supplies in the storeroom. “Do you smell it?”

“I know. Are all the cupboards washed out?”

“I think so. Where else can we look?”

They started going through each of the cupboards and soon found a dead rat in the very back of one of the lower shelves. “Eee-ew.”

Ingeborg gagged as she hauled the carcass outside and heaved it as far from the house as possible. Let one of the wild animals find it if they could stand the stench. They scrubbed the cabinet until the stench was gone and left everything empty to dry.

“How do you suppose that happened?”

“I think it died of old age and did not have the grace to do so outside.”

Mari laughed. “Another experience we learned at the seter. How about a cup of coffee with fresh cream?”

Two weeks later they had the sheep shorn, two calves had been born, one of the hens was already broody, and the first batch of cheese was in the presses, with more in various stages, just as it was supposed to be. The seter did not feel
quite the same as usual, and the work was heavy, but all was going smoothly.

Ingeborg was back in the cheese room rearranging wheels when a “Halloo, the seter!” echoed across the fields. Hjelmer came running into the cheese house. “Someone is coming, and I have no idea who it is.”

Ingeborg hastened out and followed him to the front of the house. “I do not know.” But when she realized that a small boy was riding in front of a man, her mouth dropped open. “It’s Mr. Bjorklund and Thorliff.”

“All the way up here?” Hjelmer looked from Ingeborg back out to the rider. “Did you know he was coming?”

“He said he was, but I did not realize he’d be here so soon.” She looked at her brother and shrugged. “Maybe he will want to split wood. At least we can hope so.” The two of them walked out to greet their guests.

Mr. Bjorklund didn’t just split wood. He milked cows, fed the pigs, and did anything else that he saw needed doing. When Mari told him the rat story, he laughed. All of the children made sure Thorliff was kept safe and close at hand, which wasn’t a problem, because he followed Hjelmer around like a shadow.

On the third morning at breakfast, Hjelmer announced, “The grass is not up yet in the high country, but we can move the sheep to that lea above the bluffs. Can Thorliff come with me herding today?”

“If he wants,” Roald said, “and if I can go too.”

Ingeborg watched as they led the sheep out and off to a higher pasture.

That evening after the sheep were back in their fold, she found Roald sitting on the bench, Thorliff sound asleep in
his lap. He smiled when Ingeborg came around the house. “I will never forget this.” He nodded to include all of it. “Can you sit down for a while?”

Ingeborg did, but somehow she could not lose herself in the beauty like she so often did.

“Call me Roald, I beg you. May I please call you Ingeborg?”

“Ja, Roald, I believe you can.”

“I am sorry I have to leave in the morning.”

“You have been a big help. Tusen takk.”

“You made us feel welcome. Takk.”

She waited for him to say more, but he did not. His attention seemed to be taken by the snow-capped peaks across the valley, as they turned first to a soft yellow, then to orange, then to a flaming pink. So beautiful. Was he rapt in their beauty too? She hoped so.

After milking and feeding the next morning, the guests departed. Ingeborg stood in front of the house watching Roald and Thorliff ride down the track. Did she feel any of the emotions, any at all, that she had felt as she watched Nils depart? Nei. Not a bit. Did she love Nils? Oh ja! Did she feel the same for this man?

Nei.

She went inside and settled herself at the loom, the one that last year Gunlaug wove upon. She sighed as she picked up the rhythm. Soon her feet were working the treadles just right, the fine wool slipping through her fingers, the flyers spinning, and she let her mind wander.

Roald Bjorklund was a good man. She was pretty sure he was smarter, more profound than he’d first seemed. His
letters indicated that. Too, he did not talk a lot. That was not to his detriment. She knew many boys who loved to hear themselves talk. And prattled. Bah!