An Untamed Land (39 page)

Ingeborg stood at the side of the campfire and watched them go. The sky had lightened just enough for her to see the man high on the wagon seat off to the north. She laid another round of venison strips over the drying fire and started to rub the ashes and brains into the hides. While not her favorite chores, she’d rather do anything outside than be cooped up in the soddy. The thought of a long winter within its dark walls seemed beyond her capabilities.

She shivered in the wind. A snowflake landed on her nose. If only she could call the men back.

B
y midafternoon, Ingeborg could no longer distinguish the skyline.

“Roald will most surely stay in St. Andrew,” Kaaren said over the whimper of a fretful Gunny. They kept taking turns walking with her or rocking the hammock tied between the bedpost and the side of the rocker. The baby rubbed her ear and upped the pitch of her crying.

“Ja, I am sure he will.” Ingeborg stopped at the window. If Carl were lost out hunting, how could they let him know where home was? If only she had a gun to shoot every so often to guide him. One of the bells that the lead cow in the herds of home wore would work also.

She looked around the kitchen. What could she use? The cast-iron spider sat on its three legs in the coals in the front of the fireplace. “What do you have cooking in the spider?”

“Bread, why?”

“Will it be done soon?”

“Ja, I could probably take the lid off now. Inge, what are you planning?”

“We have to make a bell to guide Carl home if the snow turns into a blizzard. You can’t see the barn from the door right now.”

When she picked up the lid, yeasty perfume filled the room. Eyes closed, she inhaled the fragrance for a moment. The round loaf already wore the tanned crust of nearly done bread.

“Good.” She tied a dish towel through the handle on top of the lid so the metal circle hung suspended. What to beat it with? It had to be iron to ring true.

“Where are you going?” Kaaren asked as Ingeborg grabbed her wool coat off the peg by the door.

“To the forge. I will go ahead and milk now before this gets worse. Thorliff, you come help feed the other animals.”

Thorliff looked up from the book he was reading in the lamplight. “Now?”

“Hurry, son.” She tossed him his coat and knit hat. Taking a spill from the mantel, she lit it in the fire and held it to the lantern wick. The flame flickered and then flared into the cheerful golden glow that would light both their way and the barn.

The sod barn huddled into the ground, as if hiding from the onslaught of the driving snow. The outline was barely visible until they had walked about ten feet from the house. Snow drifted about their ankles and settled on their eyelashes. The wind tugged at their scarves and made their noses run.

Once inside, Ingeborg breathed in the warmth, the quiet, and the rich mixture of odors. To her, the barn smelled almost as good as the baking bread. Boss turned her head and mooed softly. The chickens clucked from the spots they’d found to roost upon, and one of the sheep bleated. The oxen were outside in the corral Carl had finished just two days before.

“It is good in here, isn’t it?” Thorliff said in the dimness.

The barn had been built with openings under the rafters to allow air circulation and light, but the storm had blown out the light. Ingeborg turned to hang the lantern on a hook from the rafter. Along one wall, Roald had a box with pieces of iron. She took out a solid bar about twelve inches long and, with the dish towel in one hand and the bar in the other, stepped back outside. She walked about three feet beyond the end of the barn and held the lid out from her body. Beating three times on the metal, she waited between each for the ringing to stop.

“Why are you doing that?” Thorliff stood by her side.

“To let Onkel Carl know where home is, in case he is lost in the snow. If we had the rifle, we would shoot it three times like this.”

“And waste the shells?”

He is his father’s son
, she reminded herself.
But, Thorliff, never put things before people. People are always more important than things
. She listened for a shout or a shot. Nothing. “Is not your Onkel Carl of more value than a few rifle shells?”

“Mor! I did not say that.” The child stood with his hands planted on his hips and a look of utter shock on his face.

Ingeborg rang the pot lid again. Three times it bonged. “You go feed the animals, and then you can ring this while I milk the cow.”

“I will,” Thorliff said, then scurried off.

Ingeborg followed the wall of the barn to the lee side so she would be protected from the wind. Like a foghorn, she banged the lid every few minutes.

“I am finished.” Thorliff returned in a while and took the lid. He held it up and pounded it manfully.

Ingeborg left after reminding him to stay close to the barn. As warm milk streamed into the bucket, she could hear the ringing. “Please, God,” she murmured, her forehead pressed into the cow’s warm flank. “Please bring them back home safely.” After checking to make sure all the stock had hay and water, she took down the lantern and started for the door.

The door burst open and Thorliff tumbled inside. “I heard him, Mor. I heard Onkel Carl.”

“Keep ringing, then, so he can follow the sound.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you” rang with the improvised bell.

“That is enough, boy. You want we should all go deaf?” Carl loomed out of the snow, looking more like he’d rolled in it than walked through it.

Thorliff threw himself at his uncle, the lid and bar tossed to the ground.

Once in the house, Carl stood as close to the fire as he could, a cup of hot wheat drink in his still-mittened hands. “Thank God for your quick action, Inge. I went right by our place. Next stop would have been St. Andrew or the Little Salt River, I’m afraid. That is, saying I would have made it that far.”

Kaaren bustled about, serving him a plate of hot venison and vegetables. Every once in a while she dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron.

He sopped his bread in the juice and rolled his eyes in appreciation. “I thank my God for this hot food, I tell you. When I prayed for help, He sent an angel with a spider lid. All the bells of heaven will sound no sweeter than that ringing.”

“Should we keep ringing for Far?” Thorliff started to button his coat again.

“No, no need. He will stay in St. Andrew. He and I, we have a pact. If the snow starts to fall, stay where you are.”

Unless he was already on his way home
. Ingeborg smothered the
thought. Roald had stayed in St. Andrew; he wouldn’t have had time to get there and do the buying of all their supplies in so short a time.

A yell from baby Gunny made them all look at her. She sat with a dish towel tying her to the chair, a gummied crust of bread in one hand and a spoon in the other. She banged the spoon on the table and yelled again.

Carl leaned over and untied the knot. Gunny tangled one fist in his beard and whacked at him with the spoon. “No you don’t. Little girls don’t hit their far.” He swung her up in the air and yelped when she didn’t let loose of his beard.

Kaaren laughed with the rest of them, untangled the baby’s fist, and laid her hand on Carl’s shoulder as if reassuring herself he was real and not an apparition. “That will teach you to throw a girl around.”

Gunny waved her fat little fists and shrieked in delight when Carl tossed her gently in the air. Looking down at him, she drooled and chortled some more.

“If she can’t beat me, she spits on me. What kind of child do we have here?” He brought her down and cuddled her in his arms. “Thank the good Lord and His angels for bringing me home.” He sent Ingeborg a smile of gratitude.

“It was just the spider lid.” She looked over at Thorliff. “Besides, the one you heard ringing is sitting right there. He kept it up for you.”

“Ja, I know. Bet you haven’t been called an angel before, huh, Thorly?”

Thorliff shook his head. “Tomorrow we will ring for Far.”

Just before she fell asleep that night, Ingeborg reminded herself of the pact the two men had made. To be safe, she again committed her husband to God’s keeping.

A quiet, white world greeted them in the first light of the morning. The rooster crowed from the barn. The cow mooed.

“Now this . . . this is the day to go elk hunting.” Carl made the announcement when he returned from the barn.

“Not again.” Kaaren ladled ground cornmeal mush into a bowl. The cream and molasses were already on the table.

He ate quickly, kissed his wife goodbye, and after bundling up for the cold, he took the rifle down from its pegs and out the door he went.

“Men!” Kaaren sat down at the trestle table Carl had made and cupped her hands around the mug of bitter brew.

Ingeborg served herself some mush and joined Kaaren at the table. While the children slept, only the snapping fire broke the silence. Ingeborg drizzled some of the precious molasses into her imitation coffee and spooned the mush slowly. She knew why Carl went hunting. If he hadn’t said so first, she would have volunteered. Outside was crisp, cold, bright, glorious. Inside was dark and smelled like dirt. Good dirt to be sure, but dirt nonetheless.

While Kaaren set the water kettle boiling to wash diapers, Ingeborg took out the deer hide and, laying it over the table, set to working the life back into it. She rubbed it back and forth over the edge of the table, a handful at a time, moving around the skin. Slowly, the stiffened hide became soft and pliable.

Kaaren fed the children, and as soon as he finished eating, Thorliff ran outside to play in the foot-deep snow.

Ingeborg’s back began to ache from the way she was sitting and from pulling the hide up and down. She rose up and kneaded her lower back with her fists. “I heard the Indian women used to chew on the hides to make them soft.” She made a face. “Can you imagine that?” She smelled her hands. “Ugh.”

Kaaren took the clean diapers out to hang on the clothesline Carl had strung up for her. She and Thorliff were laughing about something. Ingeborg could hear their happy voices and wished she were with them. Pull and pull. She stopped for a moment, listening intently at a distant sound. Chimes? Bells? Jingling harness!

She leaped to her feet and flew out the door. Belle and Bob were within sight. Ingeborg and Thorliff jumped up and down, waving and shouting. The boy tore across the open field and met the wagon. Roald stopped and helped his son up, then let him drive the rest of the way up to the house.

“You were not worried, were you?” While he tried to frown, Ingeborg could tell he was as glad to be home as they were to have him. When they shook their heads, Roald wound the reins around the brake handle and climbed to the ground. Reaching behind the seat, he grabbed a white bag and hefted it high. “Coffee beans.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “And a letter from Norway.” He looked around. “Where is Carl? Did he not make it home last night?”

“Oh, he made it home, thanks to Ingeborg, but he went elk hunting again this morning. Said tracking would be easy and the elk did not have a chance.” Kaaren sounded a bit put out. “So, I will make the coffee, and he will have to do without.”

Roald raised an eyebrow. “Thanks to Ingeborg?”

Ingeborg shook her head. All she could think was how glad she was to see this stern-faced man. “I will tell you later.” She clutched the precious bit of paper to her bosom. They would read it this night when they were all together, if she could wait that long.

The sun had started its afternoon descent when Carl puffed his way to the door, dragging the haunches of an elk on the hide. “I strung the rest up in a tree,” he said as he collapsed on the bench in front of the fire. “It’ll be frozen solid by tomorrow, but I couldn’t drag any more and make good enough time. Sure wish I’d had one of the horses.”

“He must have been a giant,” Thorliff said.

“Wait ’til you see the head. I will carve you a special spoon out of one of his antlers.” Carl looked up to take the cup of hot coffee Kaaren handed him. “Mange takk. What do you want me to do with the meat?”

“We can cut it up and let it freeze. We’ll use it all by the time it warms up again in the spring.” Ingeborg stroked the thick pelt. “This one would make fine boots.”

“Or harness leather,” Roald added. “But I think we should keep it for a robe. We’re going to need more to keep us warm this winter.”

“There are plenty more where this one came from. If I didn’t spook them too badly, they’ll stay in the wooded area along the river. There are signs of them everywhere.”

The thought gave Ingeborg a deep sense of security. They would have plenty of food and, with extra hides, some of the other things they needed. God was indeed good. After reading the letter and talking of the family news, she had more to thank her God for.

With the snow now covering the ground, their days and evenings fell into a pattern. While the men spent much of the day in the barn at the forge, repairing harness, or building the many things needed on the farm, the women kept busy cooking, caring for the children, working the hides, washing diapers—a never-ending job it seemed—and sewing or knitting to keep everyone in clothes. When Thorliff got restless in one place, he was sent to the other.