An Untamed Land (26 page)

“Ja, if those two men have their way, we will see many changes here by next year. I, for one, look forward to a roof over our heads.” Ingeborg nodded toward the western horizon. “I have a feeling those clouds are carrying a bellyful of rain, and it will be here before supper. We’d better put everything under cover, especially the wood. I’m going for more.”

The rain held off until the geese were roasting on the spit, and the rabbit stew was bubbling on the coals. When it began to sprinkle, Roald and Carl hurried to unharness the horses after they’d left sod busting for the day. They hobbled them and dashed for the wagon when the downpour hit.

Kaaren poured coffee, and everyone sat in the wagon sipping the hot liquid and listening to the rain drumming on the canvas.

“We have to get those plow handles sanded down,” Carl said loud enough to be heard above the rain. He grimaced when he studied the palms of his hands. “That Mainwright certainly knew nothing about caring for his belongings.”

“Let me see.” Kaaren took his hand in hers. “My goodness, your hands look like ground beef. Roald, how are yours?”

Ingeborg groaned when her husband turned his hands palm up. Blisters, open sores, and crusted blood mingled with the dirt of the field.

Y
ou need to turn that deerskin into gloves as soon as you can.” Carl studied his sore hands. “Tomorrow I’m wrapping those handles with leather.”

“In the meantime, you get those hands scrubbed and let me bandage them. You’ll get infection if you’re not careful. Both of you.” Kaaren’s hands were planted on her hips, and the set of her eyebrows warned everyone that she wasn’t backing down.

Carl looked at Roald and shrugged. “You know how she is when she gets her dander up.”

“Can we wait until it’s done raining?” Roald raised his hands in a plea. Thunder rolled overhead, and in a few seconds, lightning flashed to the east. “The storm’s passing.” He looked over at the smoldering fire. Steam rose in billows from the raindrops drowning the blaze. The strips of venison hung dripping in the steam clouds. “When it rains here, it could put out a burning barn, let alone a cooking fire.”

The crescendo on the canvas reduced to a patter, then to intermittent drops. Ingeborg sat on the end of one of the trunks, lost in the celestial show. “Oh, look, a rainbow!” She pointed to the full arc that stretched clear across the sky.
Do you suppose God is giving us a sign too? He’ll not flood us out and will always remember His promises?
She rested her chin in her hands.
God, help us to keep our promises, just as you do
.

Thorliff leaned against her, his head on her shoulder. “The thunder woke me up.”

Ingeborg put her arm around him. “Were you frightened?” He shook his head. “Good, because thunder never hurts anyone. But we must be careful of the lightning out here on the open prairie.
There are no trees like in Norway to attract the lightning strike. Remember that lightning always strikes the highest point.”

“You must lie down on the ground if you are caught out in a thunder and lightning storm,” Roald said, joining in the conversation. “Never stand up and run.”

“But I run fast.” Thorliff caught his father’s stern look. “Yes, Far.”

“That is a good boy.” Ingeborg patted his bottom. “You can help me with the fires while Far and Onkel Carl scrub their hands.” She swung off the endgate and turned to give him a hand so he could jump without slipping. “Good thing we brought in so much wood. You go under the wagon and pull out some small sticks for me.”

Thorliff ducked low and handed her the small branches broken in short pieces. After finding some hot coals in one of the pits, they stirred them, blew on them, and added small bits of wood. Within moments, a wisp of smoke trailed upward, followed by a bright orange flame licking the bark and sticks.

“Now, how will I start the other fire?” Thorliff asked.

“Take one of the burning sticks and put it over there.”

“There?” Thorliff pointed to the pit under the dripping meat. Ingeborg nodded. “I can build the wood just right.” At Ingeborg’s nod, he retrieved more kindling from under the wagon and, after pushing the soaked firewood to the sides, laid several sticks, then inserted the tip of the burning branch.

Ingeborg nodded each time he looked up at her. “You are doing a fine job. Soon we’ll put you in charge of the fires.”

Thorliff drew a long branch from the burning fire and squatted beside the other. He poked the burning tip into the sticks and watched the flame catch. Doing just as his mother had, he added ever larger sticks until the fire burned brightly, the pitch snapping and crackling in the rising flames. Arms crossed over his knees, he stared into the fire, careful not to sit on the ground and soak his britches.

“You did well.” Carl sat on the log behind the squatting child.

Thorliff threw a smile over his shoulder and continued his study of the flames until the fire grew too hot. He retreated to the log where Kaaren had set up her bandages. After wrapping the men’s hands, she lifted the lid of the iron spider; the aroma rising from the rabbit stew mingled with the clean fragrance of newly washed air and land.

Ingeborg saw the look Thorliff sent his father.
Why can Roald never tell the boy he’s done well? It would take so little
. But Roald’s
gaze appeared locked to the strip of cloth wrapped and tied around his hand.

“Uff da, the bread wasn’t baked enough before the fire went out.” Kaaren turned the fallen loaf out of the lidded iron pot and onto the wagon endgate. Using the hem of her apron as a pot holder, she broke the round loaf into pieces. “We’ll just have to eat fallen bread tonight. Sorry, Inge. I know you were so pleased to bake real bread.”

“That is the least of our worries.” Ingeborg stepped back from turning the cooking geese when the smoke blew in her eyes. “We would do well to dig a long trench and make racks for drying the meat. Like the ones we had at home”—she corrected herself—“back in Norway, for drying the fish.” She wiped the tears and sniffed. “But right now, we all need to eat.”

“We’ll take the deer and hang it from a tree branch first. We don’t need visitors tonight.” Roald rummaged in the wagon until he found the rope they’d brought. “One of these days I’ll have pulleys carved, but a tree branch will do for now.”

“Can I help?” Thorliff leaped eagerly to his feet.

“No, you stay here. Come on, Carl.” Roald hoisted the deer hide and head, the rope, and the ax. “You take the deer.”

Carl shot Ingeborg an apologetic smile and followed his brother into the deepening dusk.

Ingeborg kept the frown she felt from showing on her face.
It would take so little
. She reminded herself that Roald
had
let the boy ride on the workhorses.

By the time the men returned from their task, dusk had long since deepened into night.

“When you are ready to cut off more strips of venison, Carl or I will lower it for you.” Roald took the plate Ingeborg had prepared for him and sat down on what had become his favorite spot on the log.

Tired from the long day and hard work, they ate supper in silence and then went to bed.

During the night, Roald moaned in his sleep every time he rolled over on the hard wagon surface. Ingeborg lay and stared at the canvas above. Her shoulders and back ached as though she’d been beaten with the handle of the mattock rather than turning the ground with the heavy tool. And when Roald groaned, she knew he must be in pain, whether he would admit it or not. Toward the front of the wagon, Carl snored. The baby whimpered, and Kaaren settled her for nursing. All were sounds she’d heard many times before—
and knew she would for months to come. She turned on her side and pillowed her head on her bent arm. Now she could see the bright stars out the back of the wagon.

She rose for the second time and added wood to the fires to keep the meat drying. No sense in waking anyone else when she couldn’t sleep anyway. She shivered in the predawn cold. While spring was blossoming during the day, night seemed to want to stay in winter. She had the coffee hot and ready when the others climbed from their beds.

“Mange takk,” Carl said, accepting the steaming cup. “Did you not sleep at all?”

“Ja, but”—she carefully schooled her face—“all of you were sleeping so peacefully that I decided to take care of the meat myself. It was nothing.”

“It was more than nothing to me. I needed the sleep, in spite of the hard bed.” Carl stretched his arms over his head and rotated his body, trying to stretch out the kinks. “We worked so long on the railroad and then on the trip coming up here, I thought all my muscles were strong enough. But bucking that plow uses different ones, all right.”

“How are your hands?” Kaaren propped the baby on one hip and inspected the wrapped hands of both men. “You said you’d wrap the handles with leather for now?” At their nods, she glanced at Ingeborg. “How long will it take to tan the deer hide? That’s not something I’ve ever done, but I can make gloves when the hide is tanned.”

“It depends on how much time we can find to work it.” Ingeborg stretched her shoulders up and down. The mattock had done for her what the plow had done to the men. “Breakfast will be ready by the time you harness the horses.”

“You want first shift or afternoon?” Roald asked Carl, his mouth full of mush, flavored with roast goose.

“You start, and I will clear a trail down to the river. That will make it easier to get water. Then I’ll work on the garden if I have time,” Carl responded.

Roald nodded. “Perhaps by next week I can go to St. Andrew and see if anyone there has a team of oxen to sell, or knows of one. If not there, we’ll have to go back to Grand Forks.”

“That’s a three-day walk.”

“I know.”

“How far is St. Andrew?” Ingeborg took her usual place on the log.

“Depends on how high the Little Salt River is running.”

“Is there a ford?”

Roald shrugged. “We didn’t go there when we were scouting. Just heard about it.” He rose to his feet and, after handing Ingeborg his empty bowl, headed for the horses.

Walking in the opposite direction, Carl shouldered the ax and took one of the buckets for water. Ingeborg carried a bucket for water and one to put the strips of venison in. With the longer drying rack, all the venison would be dry in a day or two.

“When do you think you could give me a lesson on the rifle?”

“Tonight. You know Roald’s not too pleased with the idea of you using the rifle. We didn’t do things that way in Norway.” Carl flashed her a smile.

“I know.” Ingeborg heaved a sigh. There were many things that would have to be different here. If she could do some of the men’s chores, then they could both be breaking sod, or plowing the garden, or cutting sod for the house.

“Look at the size of those tracks.” Carl knelt on one knee, his hand gripping the ax handle. “That has to be a wolf.” He traced the large paw print with one finger. “He’s missing a toe. Must have been in a fight.”

Ingeborg forced herself to watch what Carl was doing. By ignoring the pounding of her heart, she could nod and look up to make sure the wolf hadn’t taken their deer. The cloth-wrapped carcass still hung about eight feet high, held in place by the rope knotted around the trunk.

“Look, he even tried getting at the rope.” Carl studied the scene. “With all the rodents and such available, you wouldn’t think he’d be after our meat.”

Ingeborg followed his finger. Sure enough, toenails had scraped the tree trunk. “You say ‘he.’ What if it’s a female needing to feed her pups?”

“Too big. But you never know.” Carl lowered the carcass to where Ingeborg could easily reach to slice off strips. “I’ll get a bucket of water and bring it back. Tomorrow will be easier with a trail cleared.”

“Mange takk, Carl. I nearly slipped on a log yesterday.” She grabbed her knife out of the bucket and began slicing the haunch, dropping the strips in the bucket. She hummed a tune under her breath, trying to ignore the fact that the wolf could be watching her
right now. She’d learned since childhood to make noise in the woods to scare the animals away. But the wolf had crept this close to their camp. If only they had a dog to bark and warn them. They must all have slept so deeply that the horses’ snorting didn’t wake them. She shook her head.
She
hadn’t slept that soundly. All the while slicing and dropping the meat, she let her thoughts continue their path. The wind must have blown in the other direction, and the horses were hobbled west of the wagons.

“I will not look around. I will not.”

“You can if you want, Inge.” Carl pushed through the bushes with a teasing grin. “Don’t worry about feeling afraid. Pay attention to everything around you—it’s safer that way.” He set the bucket down and made a face at it. “We better collect all the water we can next time it rains. This water doesn’t look clean enough to wash in, let alone drink.”

“We’ve been letting it set before straining it through a couple layers of cloth. Comes clean that way. I’ll get these strips drying and come back for more.”