Racing Home (13 page)

“We’re going now,” Kirsten said. “You can sleep on Olaf’s bed.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Erik. He jumped to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the bare wooden floor.

“No, no.” Kirsten, picked up the blanket and draped it around his shoulders. “You’ve done enough. The doctor is out with Lars, harnessing the horses. I’ll stay with your mama, and Lars can bring you home tomorrow.” She put her hand on Erik’s back and gently turned him toward a narrow bed in the corner. “Go to sleep now.”

The next thing Erik knew, someone was stoking the fire. The room was dark, but he dimly saw Olaf when he lifted a lid on the stove.

He must have made a sound, for Olaf turned and looked at him.

“Erik,” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“My mother is sick,” said Erik. “Uncle Lars and Aunt Kirsten took the doctor to her.”

“My fa –” began Olaf. “Rolf, I mean, he isn’t there?”

“No, he’s gone to Moose Jaw.” When Olaf still looked at him, Erik added, “To look for a pastor.”

“Oh, I see.” In the faint light from the fire Olaf went to the table and lit the kerosene lamp. It took him several tries. His hands must be too cold to work properly, thought Erik, feeling more awake. He watched Olaf adjust the wick.

“Where were you tonight?” Erik pushed himself up on the bed. The wall was cold against his back, so he shoved a pillow behind him.

“With friends.”

Olaf picked up a round tin box from the table. He pulled out a cookie and took a bite, then brought the tin over to Erik. Erik took a ginger cookie, wishing it were something more filling. He remembered he and Elsa hadn’t had supper. He ate the cookie in three bites, and looked up to see Olaf holding the tin out again. Erik took several more.

Olaf put the tin back on the table and dropped into a rocking chair.

Erik could smell horses on Olaf, but he could smell alcohol, too. “Where were you?” he blurted out, then realized he’d already asked that question.

“At Pete’s livery stable,” said Olaf, surprising Erik with a different answer.

Erik paused in mid-chew.

“This late at night?”

“Sure, why not?” Olaf settled back into the rocking chair. “Some of the men meet there to play cards and talk.”

“Isn’t it cold?”

“We’re not with the horses,” said Olaf, sounding disgusted. “We sit in the back room where Pete lives.”

Erik ate another cookie, remembering that Colin’s father had called Pete crooked. His thoughts were interrupted by a snore. Olaf had fallen asleep in the chair, a half-eaten cookie in his hand. Erik draped a blanket over Olaf, blew out the lamp, and crawled into the bed.

When he woke again it was daylight, and the room was icy cold. Erik made up the fire in the stove, trying not to disturb Olaf, who’d moved onto the bed in the other room.

Snow fell into the house when Erik opened the door. He couldn’t see any footprints, not even Olaf’s.

There was nothing he could do now, not till it stopped snowing or Lars came back. He looked around for something to eat, finding flatbread. After feeding the fire again, he wrapped himself in a blanket on the bed and dozed off.

The next time he woke, Erik scraped frost from a window and saw it had stopped blowing. He pulled on his warm clothes and walked down the street, amazed to see drifts a metre or more tall on the west sides of buildings, while in sheltered places the snow barely covered the ground. Back at the house, he looked for a shovel, finally taking one from the store. He was clearing in front of the building when he saw Lars’s sleigh.

“How’s my mother? What did the doctor say?”

Lars stopped the sleigh. “She has influenza. Kirsten stayed to nurse her, but we don’t think you should go back right now. The house is too small, and there’s no reason to risk your getting sick as well.”

“But Elsa –” began Erik.

“Elsa may already have the influenza,” said Lars. “She had a fever when we arrived. The doctor left medicine for both of them and will check on them tomorrow.” Lars looked at Erik from under his thick eyebrows. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” said Erik impatiently.

“Good. The doctor thinks your mother should be fine, too, in a few days.”

Erik opened his mouth to speak, but Lars snapped the reins and the sleigh moved around the corner of the building.

Following the sleigh, Erik found it stopped by a drift blocking the stable door.

Lars left the horses standing, and went into the store, reappearing a moment later with another shovel.

“My shovel is locked in the stable behind that drift!” Lars plunged the shovel into the packed snow.

Erik tossed a scoopful of snow toward the piles of lumber. “I have to go home,” he said. “If I’m not there, who will milk the cow and bring in snow to melt for water?”

“Kirsten can do those things.”

“I’ll ski out,” said Erik.

“Last night it looked like skiing was too difficult for you.”

“Last night was dark and stormy,” said Erik. “Today is different.”

“They should be fine without you today.”

“There will be snow to shovel,” said Erik, tossing another heavy scoopful.

“Not so much as here. The shed door faces east so the snow didn’t block it. I had no trouble getting the horses out this morning.”

“I’ll go anyway,” said Erik. “When we finish digging out the stable.”

“When we’re done this,” said Lars. “We’ll have something to eat, then we’ll see.”

Once they’d cleared the door to the stable, Erik headed straight for Tapper’s stall. He stroked his neck, offering him a handful of oats before helping Lars feed and water all five horses.

In the house, Olaf fried bacon. Lars tried once more to persuade Erik to stay, then let him go with a warning not to get stuck in the snow.

Erik grinned. “That’s what skis are for,” he said. “To keep me on top of the snow.”

The ruts he’d followed the night before had turned into short, lumpy drifts. Beside the trail, the grass was filled with packed snow. Erik skied easily over the smooth places, only slowing down where a protrusion had attracted more snow.

The doctor says she’ll be fine.
The words repeated themselves over in Erik’s head as he crossed kilometres of dazzling snow.
The doctor says she’ll be fine.

CHA
PTER FIFTEEN

Shovelling

The snow had drifted in around the buildings in the yard, carving oddly shaped snow sculptures. The chicken hutch was completely buried under the largest drift.

Erik hurriedly stepped out of his skis and, grabbing the shovel from the shed, started digging. When he reached the door of the hutch, a hen stuck out her head and pecked at his shovel.

“So you haven’t smothered!” exclaimed Erik. He cautiously dug out the snow that had drifted into the hutch, then fetched grain from the shed.

Inside the house, he stamped the snow off his boots, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

“Erik!” Kirsten’s voice came to him from somewhere near the stove. “You didn’t need to come out. I already milked the cow.”

“Takk,”
he said. “But there’s snow to shovel.”

“True.” He saw her now, stirring a kettle on the stove. “Would you like some potato soup?”

“Thank you.” Erik stepped out of his boots and approached the bed. His mother was asleep, but Elsa’s eyes were open, watching him.

“So what are you doing lying around?” he asked, hiding his worry by teasing. “You were supposed to take care of Ma.”

“It’s warm under the blankets,” she told him.

“You should shovel snow,” said Erik. “That will warm you up, too.”

“Is there much snow?” asked Elsa.

“Ja,”
said Erik. “Too much.” He slid into the bench at the table and picked up his spoon.

“Ma still looks sick,” he said, his voice low.

“The doctor says it’ll take a while, but she should recover,” said Kirsten. “He’s not worried about Elsa. He’s coming back tomorrow to check on them.”

Erik shovelled paths from the house to the outhouse and the shed. While he worked, he wondered about the oxen. He had no idea where they were, or if they’d find enough grass to eat. They hadn’t strayed far in the past, but he didn’t know what they’d do now there was more snow.

Men on the threshing crew had told stories of the winter of 06–07 when the grass was buried under deep snow and thousands of cattle died of starvation. The snow wasn’t that deep now, but more could come any day.

Erik shovelled a clearing by the shed, planning a corral in his mind. It should have wooden rails, he thought, but all they had was barbed wire and the posts Olaf had erected in the summer. He was stretching one strand of wire the next day when the doctor drove into the yard.

While he was in the house, Erik made friends with the pinto horse harnessed to the small sleigh.

“What do you think?” Erik asked the moment the doctor stepped outside. “Is she getting better?”

“Of course she’s getting better.” The doctor climbed into his sleigh and picked up the reins. “She will need to conserve her strength, but she will certainly get better.”

Erik watched them drive away, the pinto’s hooves barely breaking the surface of the hard-packed snow. Then he turned back to his corral. Awkwardly, with mittened hands, he fastened three strands of barbed wire to the fence posts.

The next morning Erik made a barbed-wire gate and put the cow and calf inside the corral, just for the day. He threw some hay onto the snow and closed the gate while they nosed around in it.

Tomorrow he would have to look for the oxen, but today he would clean the shed.

Afterwards, Erik scooped a pail of clean snow and carried it in to melt. Elsa was sitting up in bed, reading aloud. Her mother lay beside her, eyes closed.

“How are the patients?” he asked.

“I’m almost better,” she said, “but Mama’s still sick.”

“I’m getting better, too,” Inga said, her eyes fluttering open. “Kirsten is taking good care of us. What are you doing outside, Erik? You must be frozen.”

“Oh, it’s not so cold if I keep moving.” He slipped off his coat and sat on the edge of the bed, wishing Rolf was there, wishing his mother was as well as she said she was.

When Erik went outside in the morning, the oxen were nosing around in the snow of the corral, eating bits of hay. They’d found their way in through the gate he’d left open after putting Tess and the calf in the shed. Erik couldn’t stop smiling as he closed the gate, then brought out an armful of hay for each of them.

It snowed lightly while Erik did the morning chores. When he went back to the house with the milk, Kirsten was cooling Inga’s face with a damp cloth.

“Is she worse?” Erik asked, taking a step closer.

“No, no, it’s just a bit of a fever.”

Erik took off his outdoor clothing, then pulled a chair up by his mother. He stayed there till Kirsten called him for lunch.

They had just finished their smoked fish and rye bread when they heard noises out in the yard. From the door, Erik saw Lars drive his sleigh into the yard, Rolf on the seat beside him.

Stepping into his boots and grabbing his coat, Erik ran out to greet them.

“How is Inga?” Rolf called. He jumped down from the sleigh before Lars had pulled to a stop. Not waiting for an answer, he rushed past Erik into the house.

“She’s about the same,” Erik told Lars. “Though Aunt Kirsten says she’s better.”

“Then she must be better,” said Lars.

Although Kirsten offered to stay longer, Rolf insisted she go home with Lars. “Erik and I can care for Inga and Elsa,” he said.

They hoped fresh meat would help the invalids gain strength. Erik dug a snare out of the snow and reset it. Afterwards, he carried the pickaxe to the river where he’d chipped a hole through the thick ice. By the time the hole was big enough, it was getting dark and he headed home. The hole would be there for him to fish tomorrow.

Within a few days it was as if Elsa had never been ill, but Inga recovered more slowly. She spent a little more time each day sitting in her rocking chair. In the week before Christmas, moving slowly and sitting down often, she taught Elsa how to make Christmas cookies.

In Norway, Christmas was three weeks of visiting and good food. Erik wasn’t surprised when the celebrations were much simpler in Canada. The hens laid only the occasional egg now, but Inga had saved several for Christmas baking. She and Elsa made three kinds of cookies, using cardamom and almonds she’d brought from Norway in the bottom of one of her trunks.

Erik stood beside Elsa as she heated the cast-iron
krumkake
maker on the stove, then dropped the first spoonful of batter onto the bottom half. Closing the iron, she pressed the batter between the two halves. After cooking the first side about thirty seconds, she flipped the iron to cook the other side. Without giving it time to cool, Elsa removed the thin, lightly browned circle and shaped it around a wooden cone.

“Look, it’s broken,” Erik said as Elsa set the first crisp, cone-shaped cookie on a plate.