Chapter 13

I am thinking of staying in Blessing.” Trygve watched his mor and far for a response. They had given him their blessing to work for Hjelmer and not stay on the farm, but something inside him said it was time to stay here.

“Tired of living in a wagon?” Samuel, his younger brother, looked up from buttering a slice of bread. With the family gathered around the supper table, some of the conversation was by signing, especially since Ilse’s husband, George, was deaf, and while he could read lips, he’d not learned to speak verbally. Ilse was his mother’s assistant at the deaf school.

“Something like that.”

“What brought about this decision?” Kaaren set the bowl of chicken stew back in the center of the table.

“I’m not sure,” Trygve answered. “Just something in me says this is what I need to do. I understand that Onkel Hjelmer is counting on me, but Gus could handle a crew and Gilbert could too, if needed. They are both very competent.”

“At drilling and building, but how are they in dealing with the folks who order the windmills?” Lars sipped his water. “And you know you are always welcome here, at least during the summer.”

Trygve knew that when the deaf school reopened in September, every room in the house and school was put to use. “Takk. Grace and Jonathan said I could have a room in their house as soon as they move in.” They wouldn’t return from their trip to New York and further wedding celebrations for another week.

“Right now they are waiting on materials for the interior. They brought in several carpenters who excel in finish work. They ordered all the cabinetry from a company in Minneapolis, and Hans and his men are doing a fine job. It just takes so much time.” Lars shook his head.

“They were so hoping they could move in as soon as they returned,” Kaaren said, finishing her husband’s train of thought.

Trygve saw the look they shared. It reminded him of the way Grace and Jonathan looked at each other sometimes. Grace had always been a lovely woman, but since her engagement, she had grown even more beautiful. Strange to be thinking that about his sister, but Grace was more blond, like their mother, and Sophie was darker haired, like their far. The two girls were twins, but no two were more opposite than they.

Would that love look be possible for him someday too? “Perhaps I should start building a house this summer.”

“Put your name on the list. It is long.” Lars returned to eating. “I thought you were pleased with your job.”

“I am—er was, but maybe I’m like Sophie. I got out of Blessing for a time and now home looks more . . . more necessary.”

“Sophie traveled a whole lot farther than you did.” Samuel reached for the stew bowl, caught his mother’s look, and said, “George, would you please pass the chicken?” He signed it at the same time.

Ilse smiled at him, the glint in her eye saying she’d caught his change of mind and passed the bowl.

Having a meal at home was a far cry from eating supper around the campfire with Gus and Gilbert.

“What will you do for work?” Lars asked.

“With Onkel Haakan still recovering, I figured perhaps you needed more help here.”

“We will during haying and harvest, as always.”

“You probably forgot how to milk cows.” Samuel grinned at his brother. Ilse, sitting beside him, gave him an elbow to the ribs.

“One never forgets how to milk a cow.” Trygve looked toward his mor, who was nodding.

“Not that your forever or never is very long at this point.” Kaaren smiled, an act that lit her face as if a candle flamed within. Could one miss his mother’s smile to the point of desiring to return home and perhaps stay home?

Trygve laid his fork down. “I know there is plenty of work here in Blessing. I also know that I am needed for haying. Now, will someone explain to me what happened with Onkel Haakan?”

“He collapsed on the seeder one day and was unconscious for almost a week, but he finally woke up and is slowly regaining his strength. Other than weakness, we are not seeing other side effects, for which we are so thankful. We pray that soon Ingeborg will be trying to keep him from doing too much.”

Lars nodded. “He sees the work that needs to be done and expects that he can get back to doing that. Only God knows if that is possible, so having you here might ease his worry. I think you should go talk with him. If nothing else, he probably needs the company.”

The next morning, Trygve joined the others at the barn, where the cows were all lined up in the stanchions, waiting patiently to get milked. Tails swished, as heads down, they devoured the grain poured before them.

“You start over there.” Lars pointed to a black-and-white cow with a fully distended udder.

“She’s new?”

“We bought her last year. She just calved two weeks ago, threw a nice little heifer.” Lars unhooked one of the three-legged stools from the post and sat down at an older cow that Trygve recognized. Since all the stanchions were occupied, he knew they were milking twenty-four head.

After wiping the designated cow’s udder, he sat down on his stool and placed the bucket between his knees. The familiar odor of warm cow, warm milk, hay, and grain overlaid with fresh manure felt comforting after his time away. With the milk pinging into the bucket, he let his mind wander. Many of life’s questions and problems he had worked out with his forehead firmly braced on a cow’s flank. With the bucket three-fourths full, he thought of stopping to dump it in the waiting cream can but, instead, decided she must be close to dry.

“Hey, Trygve!” Andrew called.

“Ja?” He turned his head and leaned back to see what his cousin wanted. For some unknown reason, like a lightning strike, the cow planted her right rear foot right in the middle of the bucket, tipping frothy white milk all over Trygve, the floor, and probably part of Blessing. He bit back an expletive as he leaped to his feet, the urge to yell at the cow pounding in his brain while the hoots of the other milkers heated his face.

“Sorry. I forgot to warn you about her. She gets a bit spooky at times.”

Two of the barn cats darted over to lap up the milk, both keeping a wary eye on the sputtering man.

“Is she dry yet?” Lars tried to hide his laughter, but Trygve saw through him.

“No.” He grabbed another pail, sat back down, and finished the job, only getting one swipe from the restless cow’s tail.

“I usually dump the bucket when half done with her,” Andrew said as he strolled past on his way to the cream can, where a strainer perched, awaiting the next pour.

“Be a while before you live that one down,” Samuel said later as they were walking back home for breakfast.

“Rub it in.”

“You jump real quick.”

“So she has done that before?”

“Not with a full bucket, but yes.”

“Wouldn’t kickers be a good idea?”

“We thought she got over it.”

Later that day Trygve walked over to the Bjorklund house, whistling as he went. Middle of June and there surely was no more beautiful place on earth than the burgeoning green of the Red River Valley. He could hear the hammering and other construction sounds coming from town, blackbirds singing from the riverbank, and a crow decrying the intrusion of a human in his territory. Nothing smelled better either, not that he’d been that many places, but today he was glad to be home.

Ingeborg held out her arms when she saw her nephew coming from the porch and wrapped him close. “Sit down, sit down. Haakan will be out shortly.”

Trygve took the chair she pointed to and studied the lay of the land. Cows and horses out to pasture, the garden growing so fast you could measure it on a stick, and birds gossiping in the cottonwood that shaded the porch. “Takk.” He took the coffee cup she handed him, and dropped his voice. “How is Haakan really doing?”

Ingeborg sat across from him. “Better. He is hoping to help with the haying.”

“I remember when he had that first attack.”

“Ja. He just never seemed to quite get all his strength back, no matter how hard he tried. Now this one’s worse.”

The screen door squealed. “Well, gud dag, Trygve. Nice to have you visit this morning.” Haakan joined Ingeborg on the settee. “I hear you had an accident down at the barn.” His Bjorklund blue eyes twinkled even in the shade.

“Not an accident, far as I figure. That old cow did it deliberately.”

“Well, don’t feel too bad. She got me once too. You just got to watch her.”

Ingeborg added, “But she gives as much milk as two of the others, only the cream content is not as good. And we need cream for the cheese.”

Trygve tried to study his onkel without appearing to do so. He had aged this year, no doubt of that. His lined face badly needed the sun. His hands were shaking, and even his speech had slowed down. Were his own mor and far growing old like this, or was it from Haakan’s being sickly? Perhaps his staying home was indeed what he needed to do. For the sake of the others.