2

Skiing would certainly have been an easier mode of travel if he’d started west earlier in the season.

Haakan paused after crossing a swollen stream by way of a fallen log. Bridges like that were few and far between. He dug in his pocket for his last biscuit, hard as one of the pine trees he’d felled, and dunked it in the tin cup he’d filled with ice-cold water from a clean trickle. Starting a fire took too much time, and where would he find dry wood, anyway? While a couple of times he’d found a farm where he could sleep in the barn, most nights he’d spent wrapped in his quilt in the tarp.

Sometimes cold, often wet, he’d fought to keep the thoughts of Mrs. Landsverk at bay. What was the matter with him that he let her leaving bother him so? He called himself all kinds of fool and a few other names as well, but the memory of her smile kept coming back, especially in his dreams.

One night, howling wolves forced him to make his bed in the crook of a towering maple tree. He was so tired he tied himself in and slept anyway. Whatever had possessed him to start on this fool journey before summer, or at least spring, was well established?

He stopped to ask about the road he ran across, with grooves deeper than his knees, in the Minnesota rolling hills just before the Red River Valley.

“That there’s the Red River carts’ track,” the storekeeper said. “Used to haul supplies north from St. Paul and furs south from the fur traders. Them big-wheeled carts could be heard for miles, they squawked so. ’Tween them wheels squallin’, the oxen bellerin’, and them French Canadians swearing, those long lines were something to behold.” He ran his thumbs under his apron strings. “Now, I ain’t got nothing ’gainst the railroad, but it ain’t nearly as colorful as the Red River carts. You be needing some supplies?”

Haakan nodded and gave the man his brief list. After asking directions, he set off at a northwestern angle to catch the ferry crossing the Red River at St. Andrew. Unbeknownst to him, he’d swung too far south in his western trek. It wasn’t long before he crossed the railroad tracks running north and south. How much easier his trip would have been could he have caught a train.

Ice floes still joined the flotsam of the Red River in full spate.

Haakan stood on the east bank and stared across the muddy river. Too high for swimming, that was for certain, besides being far too cold. None of the folks he’d talked with had mentioned a bridge except for the one down south in Grand Forks. The town on the other side of the river hunkered down like the falling rain might wash it away, just as the river had obviously done with trees that once stood along the banks. Water-logged trees bumped branches with each other and with those still standing as they bobbed their way to the river mouth north on Lake Winnipeg. Perhaps he should go upstream and catch himself a ride on one of those floating logs. Surely he could steer it to the opposite bank at some point.

Water dripped from the brim of his hat, some missing the tarp he wore like a poncho, and ran freezing its way down his back. He needed to find shelter of some kind, that was for certain. He watched from under the partial protection of a tree as the biting rain turned to snow.

A cable hooked around the trunk of the solid tree farther back on the bank disappeared into the swirling river. Looked like in the summer, at least, they had a ferry to take travelers across. As the snowfall thickened, the wind caught the flakes, driving them directly into his face. There’d be no crossing the river this night. The afternoon light was quickly fading under the onslaught of the snow and wind.

He had a choice to make: camp here and hope for a better tomorrow or return to the farm he’d passed a mile or so back on the road. Haakan shivered under the meager protection of his tarp. As wet as it was, he knew he’d never get a fire going. And the snow still lying in the shaded places was wet as a puddle anyway.

The big question was, would this miserable weather turn into a full-blown blizzard or just remain an irritating snowstorm? He rose from his hunkered-down position by the trunk of the tree and headed back in the direction he’d just come.

Only thanks to the early lit lamps did he see the house off to the left through the swirling snow. Even so, if the dog hadn’t barked, he might have trudged right on by, so easy it was to lose track of the distance in the now heavily falling snow. As he walked up to the back porch, Haakan heaved a sigh of relief. He would be safe now from the unsettled weather. When a man answered the knock, Haakan greeted him in his accented English, then stated his request.

“Do you think you could let me sleep in your barn tonight? I’ve been traveling some time, and—”

“The barn! Heavens no, you’d nearly freeze out there. You come on in. Had supper yet?” While the man only came up to Haakan’s chest bone, his welcome filled the porch and followed them into the warm and cheery kitchen.

“Let me take my boots off out here.” Haakan pointed to the porch.

“No, no, it won’t be the first snow that’s made it fer as the rug. Though Mattie don’t like it when I track up her kitchen floor. You make yourself to home, and I’ll go get her.” With a gesture to indicate the chair and the stove, the man charged out of the room and headed for the stairs.

Haakan could hear him calling “Mattie, darlin’ ” as he climbed to the second floor. After removing his boots and hanging his dripping tarp on the enclosed porch, he hung his coat and hat on the tree by the door. Perhaps after supper they would let him put his things by the stove so they would be dry by morning. He looked around the spotless kitchen and extended his hands to the welcome heat emanating from the cast-iron cookstove. Now this was what a home should look like. White wainscoting halfway up the walls with sky blue paint covering the rest. Glass-fronted cupboards for the dishes, and counters enough for several people to work at once. He eyed the coffeepot shoved to the back so it would still be hot but not bubbling. How long had it been since he’d had hot coffee. Days? A week?

“My land, what could you be doing out on such a night as this?” A woman, as cheery as she was round, bobbed into the kitchen and immediately pulled the blue enameled coffeepot to the front burner.

“I was hoping to cross to St. Andrew, but—”

“I know, I know, that lazy son of Sam’s didn’t bother to answer your halloo. But not to worry, you make yourself right to home here while I get something warmed for your supper. You look like you could use a good feed.”

Haakan shifted his gaze to the man—he’d said his name was Ernie—who stood grinning in the doorway. Ernie shrugged and dug in his pocket, removing a carved pipe and placing the stem between grinning lips. He shrugged again as if to say, “She’s always this way, just be comfortable.” Haakan raised an eyebrow, but his attention immediately returned to the bustling woman when she shoved a mug of hot coffee in his hand and pointed to the table.

“Unless you’d rather stand here to get warm?” Her dark eyes smiled up at him, then she quickly bent and opened the oven door. “I know just the thing.”

Before he had time to offer to help her, she’d dragged a chair over to the oven door and almost pushed him down onto it.

Haakan felt as though he were caught in the middle of one of those twisters he’d seen one summer. But with all her goodwill, he could only do as he was told and murmur “mange takk,” chasing it with a thank-you as he recovered his new language.

“Not to worry, we understand some Norwegian too,” Ernie said with a wave of the pipe he’d not bothered to light. He took a chair at the table, and a cup of coffee appeared almost miraculously in front of him.

Haaken felt the warmth of the oven seep through the blocks of ice he called feet. No more had the thought of wishing he could take off his socks floated through his head than Mattie—he still didn’t know their last name—left her skillet and turned to her husband.

“You go get him some dry socks out of that drawer in the spare room. Yours would be far too small for feet of his size.” She shooed her husband out of the room. “Now we can put your boots on the oven door for the night, and I can see your coat and hat need some drying too. Anything else?” She stopped her stirring and put a hand to her mouth. “Ach, I done it again, ain’t I? Just take over and order everyone around.”

Haakan looked up into her merry eyes and couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “No, ma’am, you remind me so much of my mor that I feel like I just walked into the door of my own home. And I’ve not been there for over fifteen years.”

“And where was that?” She turned the bread she’d set to toasting over the fire under the open front lid.

Rich, meaty fragrances rose from the now steaming skillet and tantalized his nose. His mouth watered while he sipped on the hot coffee. He could feel the heat clear to the heart of him. “North of Valdrez, Norway, in a little hamlet where no one who lives more’n twenty kilometers away has ever heard of.”

“Ach, you miss those you love, I’m sure.” She took down a plate she’d had on the warming shelf on the rear of the stove and ladled beef stew with carrots, turnips, and potatoes onto the plate. “You can eat here or at the table, depending on how your feet are warming.”

Ernie charged back into the room and waved three pairs of hand-knit woolen socks at his wife. At her nod, he handed them to Haakan. “Put these on before you eat, and I can guarantee the food’ll taste better. Hard to appreciate anything when your feet feel nigh unto freezing.”

With another murmured thank-you, Haakan did as he was told. Then he got to his feet and took the plate and cup to the table. Ernie followed with the chair, and after settling their guest, the two older people took the two chairs on the other side of the dining table. Mattie set the kerosene lamp to the side, and with coffee refilled for all of them, they both took a cookie from a filled plate set in the center of the table.

“Now, we can just visit.” Mattie dunked her cookie in the coffee and rolled her eyes as if this were her own bit of heaven.

Haakan felt sure it was. By the time he’d cleaned his plate after the heaping refill Mattie insisted he accept, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I’m thinking you saved my life this night.”

“I doubt it. You look to be pretty self-sufficient to me. But you surely made our evening brighter. Until the spring work starts, we live pretty much by ourselves. Once we can get out on the fields, the men make their way back, and then we have a full bunkhouse and a cook to help Mattie, besides.”

“Ach, how those men love to eat.” Mattie’s smile of reminiscence said as much for her love of cooking as it did for the men who enjoyed eating it.

Haakan could tell she liked having others to care for. The socks warming his feet said as much for her knitting skills. There were no bumps to cause blisters on unwary feet in the smoothly turned heel.

“How many men work here?”

“During the winter, just us and our foreman. As far as Bonanza farms go, we’re pretty small, but the owners let us run it like it was our own. We repair machinery all winter long and get it ready so breakdowns won’t slow us down come spring.”

“What really is a Bonanza farm? I’ve heard all kinds of tall tales about the tons of wheat grown.” Haakan leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table.

“There are hundreds and even thousands of acres in one farm. We can handle it since the machinery got so much better. The farms are usually owned by someone back East and managed by folks like us. We made them rich, we did. You be looking for work?”

Haakan shook his head. “I left logging in the north woods to come help some relatives of mine over on the Dakota side. Their husbands died a winter ago.”

Ernie and Mattie swapped glances. “What did you say was your last name?”

“Bjorklund. Why? Do you know them? Kaaren and Ingeborg Bjorklund?”

“Well, I never . . . Small world we live in, for sure.” Mattie leaned her elbows on the table. “Such a tragedy, them two young women left all alone like that. And that Ingeborg. She’s some worker, that one.”

“How do you know them?”

“Why, Ingeborg and her sister-in-law bring us cheese and butter, chickens, and produce in the summer. They sell to the Bonanza farm to the south of us, too. I don’t know how they do it. And that little Thorliff, he’s taken on a man’s job, and he’s only seven, or is it eight now?” Mattie turned to her husband for confirmation.

He’d finally gotten his pipe drawing and nodded around the fragrant smoke that wreathed his head. “Eight, I think. I surely hope they stood the winter all right. Of course, it helps now that Lars Knutson—he used to run a threshing crew—and the other Miz Bjorklund married last fall. They surely did need a man’s help if’n they was to keep the land. Those two Bjorklund brothers was working fools, too. I told ’em they could come work for me anytime, but they was too busy breakin’ sod.”

Haakan nodded, grateful for the information. “I’m not surprised. Their father, Gustaf, has a fine reputation at home, and I’m sure he trained his sons to be like him.” I could have stayed in the north woods, he thought, or gone back to the farm I worked at last summer and saved myself a trip.

“Yah, you Norwegians be good workers, that’s for certain sure. As I said, if’n you want work, you come to me.”

“I will think on it, but my mor would be mighty put off if I don’t help out our relatives. I have a job back in the Minnesota north woods come winter, so perhaps I will stop on the way back.” Haakan took one of the cookies when Mattie pushed the plate closer to him. “Thank you.”

“Or you could come with the women when they bring their wares. I sure am hoping they keep coming. That Ingeborg makes the best cheese this side of heaven.” Mattie smacked her lips and dunked another cookie in her coffee.

The three visited a bit longer, and then Mattie led the way to the spare room that looked more like home than any spare room Haakan had ever seen. A colorful nine-patch quilt covered the double bed, and a braided rag rug lay beside it on the dark painted wood floor. She set the lamp on the dresser and looked around.

“There are towels there in the commode, and there’ll be hot water in the reservoir, should you be wanting to shave and wash in the morning. Heat will come up through the register in the hall, so you might want to leave your door open to let it in. Now, you have anything that is damp in your pack, you hang it on the rack to the side of the register. Ernie stoked the fire good so it won’t be out by morning.” She headed out the room and stopped at the door. “You sleep well now, you hear? You got nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, Miz Danielson.”

“Mattie.”

“All right.” Haakan dropped his arms to his side. “But thank you, and I hope I can do something in return for all this bounty you’ve been so kind to share with me.”

She shook her head and tossed a smile over her shoulder. “You already did.” She went out, a chuckle under her breath.

Haakan stood there, questions ripping through his mind like a freshly sharpened saw through green wood. Never one to let things lie, he headed out the door after her. She was halfway down the stairs but turned when he called her name.

“What did I do but impose on your good graces?”

She looked up at him and shook her head. “Why, you’re going to help out my friend, Ingeborg. And who knows what manner of good will come of that.” She quirked her head, her round face beaming. “Would you rather have pancakes or johnnycake for breakfast, Mr. Bjorklund?”

“Ah, pancakes, I guess. Though whatever you make is fine with me.”

“Good night, now.”

Haakan stood at the top of the stairs shaking his head.

By the time he’d looked at the rows of plows, disks, seed drills, mowers, and binders the next morning, Haakan felt as though he’d been run over by three of the draft teams housed in the long hip-roofed barn next to the machine sheds. Never had he seen so much machinery in one place, and most of it he’d never heard of. No wonder the Bonanza farms were able to produce such enormous crops of wheat. The tales he’d heard weren’t exaggerations, after all. Still, the truth was hard to believe.

Much to Mattie’s dismay, he didn’t wait for dinner but struck out midmorning.

“You just holler good and loud when you get to the ferry there at the river. Long as you’re coming in the midday, old Sam will make that lazy son of his come across for you. It’ll cost you two bits though.” Ernie extended his hand. “Been fine meeting up with you, son.”

Haakan grasped it and shook it, feeling as if he were leaving his family, and he’d only known these people less than a day. “I will see you in the fall, then. And thank you again.”

The two men stood on the edge of the snow-covered road. While only a couple of inches had been dumped on the area, small drifts still ridged the white expanse and covered the fields as far as the eye could see. Off to the west, the trees lining the river shortened the endless horizon. In spite of the sun sneaking in and out of the high mare’s-tail clouds, the ever present wind tried to blow their breath back down their throats.

“And I thought spring might be here with all the melting going on.” Haakan shifted his pack.

“No, winter hasn’t let go its hold yet. But you watch, tomorrow might be like a summer day. The icicles still be dripping.” Ernie slapped Haakan on the arm. “Go with God, young man. I hope you learn to love this flat land as I do.”

“Not much chance. I like hills and trees too much.” Haakan raised a hand in farewell and started down the road. You’re a logger, he reminded himself as he trudged along. And that’s what you plan to be until you have enough of a grubstake to get your own land. And it surely won’t be in this flat stuff.

As Ernie had said, when he hollered good and loud, a sturdy boy set out with a canoe to get him. While the current carried him some downstream, he paddled back to the road along the bank, ducking branches as he made his way toward Haakan.

Haakan dumped his pack in the middle of the craft and climbed in the bow. With the extra weight, the current didn’t carry them as far, but again the boy returned close to the riverbank. Other than a grunt in response to Haakan’s hello, he said not a word until they snugged up to the floating dock.

“That’ll be two bits.”

Haakan climbed out, retrieved his pack, and after fishing them out of his pocket, he dropped the coins in the boy’s palm. “Thank you.”

A grunt answered him as the boy tied the craft, prow and aft, to the cleats on the dock.

Haakan shook his head as he shouldered his pack and strode up the muddy, rutted street. He stepped out at his usual pace only to find himself flailing the air with his arms to keep from landing in one of the ruts. Never had he seen such slippery mud. And what he didn’t slide in clung to his boots till his feet felt as though they weighed fifteen pounds each.

When he made it to the porch of the general store, he sat down to scrape the gooey black stuff off his boots. When banging them against the step failed to accomplish the feat, he picked up a stick and scraped it all away.

“Ah, yup. That’s why we call that stuff gumbo. Sticks right to anything moving. Why, I seen horses drop from carrying such weights round their hooves.”

Haakan looked up, then up some more to see the face of the man leaning against the post above him. He stood tall and thin like a tamarack with a face to match, his beard scruffy as tree limbs in the fall.

“Mud is gumbo.”

“Ah, yup. And turns to rock when it dries out. You got to work it into submission sometime in between.” A juicy glob flew past Haakan’s ear and plopped in the puddle near his feet.

Haakan shifted off to the side. Where he came from one didn’t spit near a friend.

“You here to take up farmin’?”

“My name is Haakan Bjorklund.” Haakan rose to his feet and turned to face the leaning tree of a man. “I’m come to help out some relatives of mine, the Bjorklunds.”

“They’s dead. Lost in the flu an’ the blizzard more’n a year ago.”

“Ja, I know that. But I heard their widows can use some help. I come from the north woods in Minnesota.”

“Ya look kinda like a logger.” The man nodded.

Haakan waited, hoping the man would give him directions to the Bjorklund place. When none were forthcoming, he took in a deep breath. One could never fault the residents of St. Andrew for talking too much if Sam’s son and the tree here were any indication. “You know where they live?”

“Ah, yup.”

Haakan waited again. He quelled the rising impatience and rocked back on his heels. “Might you be willing to share that information with me?” He glanced to where the sun had hastened to its decline. Didn’t look like he would make it to the homestead today, either.

“ ’Bout half a day or more good walkin’ to the southwest.” Tamarack pointed in that direction, and a second glob of tobacco juice followed the first.

“How far before I can ford the river that flows in from the west?” Haakan was already wishing he’d had Sam drop him up river, beyond the mouth of the tributary.

“Ah, that’d be the Little Salt. It’s runnin’ high right now.”

Haakan stuck his hands in the front pockets of his wool pants. He paced his words to match this laconic purveyor of local information. No sense trying to hurry this. “So’s the Red.”

“Ah, yup. Pretty nigh onto flood stage. Nothin’ much git through till they abate some.”

“Are there any marked roads?”

The tree looked at him as if all the sap must have run from his head. He shook his head and spit once more. “Ya foller the river till you git there.” With that he shambled off the porch and disappeared around the corner.

“Mange takk.” Haakan raised his voice, then snorted when no polite response answered him. He scraped some more mud off his boots on the step and mounted to enter the store. A bell tinkled over the door, and a plethora of smells—the same of general stores worldwide—made him sniff in appreciation. Leather and spices, kerosene and pickles, tobacco and new metal buckets, to mention only a few. He stopped for a moment, caught by the variety of goods stacked on shelves, hanging from the walls and ceiling, filling crates and barrels. Clear out here in what seemed to be the ends of the earth, if he had the money, it looked like he could buy about whatever he could dream of.

“Can I help you?” The man’s spectacles shone as brightly as the dome rising from his hair. His apron, perhaps white in the beginning, now hung in gray folds from the string around his neck. As he came to greet his customer, the storekeeper reached behind and tied the dangling strings so the apron fit like it ought to.

“I . . . ah, I need two peppermint sticks and a pound of coffee.” Haakan looked around, wondering if there was something besides coffee he could buy for Roald’s widow. Perhaps that Lars fellow wouldn’t appreciate a stranger bringing his wife a present. What would they be out of now after a long winter? Sugar? Of course. “Give me a couple pounds of sugar too and add half a dozen of those candy sticks.”

As the man wrapped the items in paper, he looked up at Haakan from under caterpillar eyebrows. “You new to the Territory?”

“Ja, how can you tell?”

“I ain’t never seen you here before, and I heard you asking Abe out there for directions to the Bjorklunds.” He handed the packet, now wrapped in brown paper and string, across the counter. “He ain’t one to volunteer much.”

“I saw that.” Haakan dug in his pocket for his money. “Know where I could stay for the night and maybe get a meal?”

“Well, Widow MacDougal runs a small hotel, but she took a trip down to Fargo for the winter. Won’t be back till the riverboat runs. St. Andrew kind of closes up in the winter ’cept for me and the blacksmith. Guess you could try over to the Lutheran church. If the pastor is around, he maybe could help you. That’ll be a dollar.”

Haakan laid the money on the counter and picked up his parcel. “Mange takk.”

“We don’t get much travelers this time of year, what with the mud and rising rivers. Soon though, we’ll have settlers moving west like fleas on a dog.” He came around the counter and walked with Haakan to the door. Now that cash money had changed hands, it seemed to loosen the man’s tongue. “You had a horse, he could swim you across the Little Salt, but without one, you’re facing five miles or more before you can ford it. And then it’d be dangerous. You shoulda come before the ice went out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Haakan let himself out the door, the bell tinkling again.

“You’ll find the Lutheran church couple blocks west on the outskirts of town. Can’t miss it, white steeple and all.”

“Thank you again.” Haakan tipped his hat and followed the boardwalk along the front of the next two buildings before he had to step back in the gumbo. His boots weighted up fast as he could step. Getting to the Bjorklunds looked to be a mite farther than he had thought.

When no one answered at the church or the small frame house beside it, he decided to keep on going west. There was no sense wasting the remaining hours of daylight. Surely there would be another farm along the way. The snow from the day before had mostly melted, so the road that followed the Little Salt River was clearly visible. Perhaps, he decided, if he stayed on the shoulder where grass from the year before lay brown and could be seen through the remaining snow, he wouldn’t mud up so bad.

He spent the night in an abandoned sod house that had since been used for storing hay and feed. Wrapped in his quilt on the tarp in front of a fire, his mind traveled both backward and forward. Back to the logging camp and the pleasant times with Mrs. Landsverk, forward to a place he could now begin to envision. Living in a soddy would take some getting used to. Who was this Ingeborg Bjorklund, and would she even want his help, such were the things he’d heard about her?

Even though he hung his pack from a rafter, a mouse found its way in while he slept and scurried down his arm when he lifted the pack down in the morning. When Haakan checked the contents, he found a corner nibbled away on the packet from the store. Grains of sugar trickled out until he untied the string and rewrapped the package. He smiled, pleased that the creature hadn’t found the coffee beans.

When he finally came to a place where the Little Salt River broadened out, and the road leading down to it showed there once had been a ford there, Haakan sat down on a tree trunk thrown up by the river and pulled a now dry chunk of bread and the remaining cheese from his pack. He studied both sides of the muddy river as he ate and surveyed the country around him, his thoughts flowing like the river before him. Off in the distance, he could see smoke from a chimney, but he was surprised to find so few homesteads, especially along the riverbanks. If water was such a premium in this area, why weren’t the riverbanks more densely settled? Somehow he’d thought this area to be more populated, since there weren’t Bonanza farms here, or so Ernie had said. Looking back, Haakan figured he’d covered near to ten miles and only seen three or four houses in all that time. Or did the sod homes fit into the prairie so as to disappear? He could tell where the sod had been broken in areas where snow had melted and showed dark soil rather than brown grass.

While his food disappeared rapidly, his stomach didn’t agree that it should be full. He wrapped his tarp more tightly around the pack, leaned it against the log, and taking his ax he stepped up to one of the willow bushes. With a few quick swings, he cut himself a sturdy pole that stood several feet above his head.

He squinted up at the sun, rejoicing in the warmth on his face. If he owned a homestead near here, he told himself, he’d be down in the riverbed cutting logs. Those sod houses look mighty sturdy, but I’d rather have a log one any day. He sat back down on the log and removed his boots and socks, tucking them into the pack in the hopes to keep them dry. While he hoisted his pack, he continued to speculate about setting up a mill on the banks of the Red River. Surely there was call for lumber in this area. The Red had enough trees to supply boards for homes of wood, and glass windows could be brought in on the riverboat. Why, even the sod houses could use shakes for their roofs. He could set up splitting shakes.

Using the pole to prod the river bottom in front of him, he stepped into the icy water. “Uff da!” he gasped as the icy water swirled up to his knees, his hips, and then to his waist. He leaned against the current, testing each footfall to keep his balance. Certain he was going to have to swim for it, he breathed a sigh of relief when the pole showed an upward thrust to the river bottom. Slipping in the mud, he pulled himself up the shallow incline, and once on dry land, he leaned on his pole, his breath heaving in and out of his lungs.

Standing in the shelter of a tall cottonwood, he stripped down to his bare skin and pulled on the dry clothes he’d stored in his pack. Long johns, shirt, pants, and finally dry socks and shoes. He could hardly force the buttons through the holes or lace his boots, his fingers shook like he had the palsy. Leaping to his feet, he swung his arms, thumping himself on the chest and forcing his legs to move. He considered starting a fire to warm himself, but the thought of lost time made him pick up his pack and command his legs and feet into a trot. Between the sun and action, he knew he’d be warm soon.

He headed out in a southeast direction, knowing the Red River would keep him from going too far east. If he figured right with what little information he had, he’d hit the river north of the Bjorklund homestead or come right into the homeplace.

But dark caught him before he reached either the river or the homestead he sought. The wind at his back picked up a knife edge when the sun disappeared under the horizon. With nothing but prairie in sight, he huddled tighter into his wool coat and kept on walking. A dog barking brought him to a stop. Slowly, he turned to locate the direction. When he whistled, the barking turned to a frenzy. He turned due south and whistled every once in a while to keep the animal barking.

“That’s enough, Shep!” a man’s strong voice commanded. “Whatever’s got you going on like this, anyhow?”

“Helloo!” Haakan called out and stopped to listen for an answer.

“Hello, yourself. Keep on coming, you’re getting near.” A lighted lantern pierced the darkness like a beacon at sea. “Welcome, stranger, you nigh unto missed us, didn’t you?”

Haakan reached out to shake the man’s hand. “If it hadn’t been for your dog barking, I’d have gone right on by.” He glanced down at the dog that stood by his master’s knee, hackles raised and a rumble deep in his throat.

“Enough, Shep. Ya done good. Come on in. My missus will skin me alive if I keep you standing out here. She’s already got the coffeepot heating.”

“I hoped maybe I could sleep in your barn—”

“In the barn! Heaven’s man, you want us both thrown out on our ears?” He turned and headed for the door. “Agnes won’t hear none of that, let me tell you.”

Haakan followed the man, ducking as he did to enter the sod house.

“Lookee here, Shep brought us some company, he did.”

Before he knew what had happened, Haakan had been divested of his pack, coat, and hat and sat in a rocker in front of a cookstove that seemed to half fill the room. A cup of coffee warmed his hands, and a little girl stared at him from behind her bigger sister as if she’d never seen a stranger before. One thing Haakan knew for sure: he was welcome, and these fine people were as Norwegian as they came. He felt like he’d stepped into a small piece of home but for the close dark walls and the overlying smell of earth from the walls and floor. And they still hadn’t even asked his name.

“Uff da,” The woman murmured, seating herself on one of the benches along the trestle table. “Now what news did you hear in St. Andrew? Has the ice gone out on the river? They started up the ferry yet?” She took a swallow from her cup. “Surely will be a treat to have real coffee again. That’s first on the list soon as the wagon can make it to St. Andrew. Sorry for the substitute. We use roasted wheat when we run out of the real thing.”

“Give the poor man a chance to answer,” Joseph said, waving his cup in the air. “How far you come, young man?” He looked to his wife and laughed. “Can’t keep calling him young man, can I? I’m Joseph Baard, and this is Mrs. Baard, Agnes. We come from Ohio to homestead this here valley” He named all the children, who either grinned or hid behind another depending on their age. “And who might you be?”

“Haakan Howard Bjorklund.”

“Bjorklund?” Mrs. Baard pushed back so quickly she nearly turned the bench over. “We got neighbors and best friends named Bjorklund. You related?” At Haakan’s nod, she clasped her hands together in her aproned lap. “Thanks be to God! They sure do need some kin to help out.”

“Roald and Carl were my cousins twice removed.”

“You heard they died, then?”

“Ja, that is why I am here.” Haakan described his trip from the north woods of Minnesota in a few short sentences, and then said, “My mor wrote and told me they needed help, and soon as the logging season ended, I started west.”

“Thank the good Lord.” Her smile lit the room. “Ah, me. Where’s my manners gone? You had any supper?” When he shook his head, she ordered Penny, the older girl, to fetch foodstuffs from the well house while she set a skillet on the stove. Before many minutes passed with the two men visiting, she had a plate of chicken and dumplings in front of him, along with bread and butter and a pitcher of milk.

“And if’n you go hungry after Agnes is done serving, you got no one but yourself to blame,” Joseph said. Turning to the children who stood staring shyly at Haakan, he ordered in a kind voice, “You young’uns get to bed, now. Mr. Bjorklund will still be here in the morning.”

The sun had made it halfway to the peak when he left in the morning, much to his host family’s sorrow. Haakan made sure each of the children had a peppermint stick to remember him by. Agnes clutched a small packet of coffee beans to her breast as if he’d given her gold and diamonds.

“You go on straight east now. Just follow the track. Runs right into Ingeborg’s. Kaaren’s house is a bit to the north. I could give you a ride, you know.”

“I know. Thank you for everything.” Haakan waved a last time and strode out the track. Two wheel ruts had cut through the prairie grass and down to the dirt. He walked on the ridge in the middle to keep from slipping in the mud.

The sun warmed his shoulders, trying to make up for the snow and rain. Overhead, a V of ducks beat their way northward, their quacking a wild music on the breeze. Brave shoots of green showed on the places where the snow had melted away. The trees along the banks of the Red River edged the horizon so flat Haakan wasn’t able to tell how far away they really were.

Never had he seen such flat land. Like a tabletop, it spread far as the eye could see in all directions. To the south a spiral of smoke told of an intrepid homesteader and ahead another. Thanks to the Baards, he now had an idea what life had been like for the two missus Bjorklunds in the last year. Blizzards in the winter, and breaking sod, planting, and harvesting in the summer. How had they endured without bolting back to town?

As the sod house and barn came into view, only the smoke feathering from the chimney said someone was home. Not far to the north lay the second sod house and barn like Baard had said. A caramel-colored dog with one ear straight up and the other flopped forward charged out from behind the barn and barked three times. He stood with one white front paw raised, his tail fanning the breeze. He barked again, more insistent this time.

“Paws!” a boy’s voice called. The dog looked over his shoulder and wagged his tail again.

The boy came round the corner of the sod barn, followed by a woman carrying a small, gowned child with near-white ringlets on her hip. Her hair caught the sun and gleamed like a crown of gold. Tall and straight, she strode toward him, her welcoming smile warm as the spring sun.

Haakan caught his breath. So this was Ingeborg Bjorklund. Nothing anyone said had prepared him for this vision of a Viking queen.