Thorliff,” Kaaren said, brushing a strand of sun-kissed hair from her forehead, “run out to the barn and get Onkel Lars.” She turned to her guests. “He’s working with the forge, and you know how noisy that can be. Here, sit down, sit down, and we’ll have coffee.” When she turned to the stove, Ingeborg stopped her.
“No, we have the coffee and visit later. First, we have good news. Mr. Bjorklund brought a letter from home. Mr. Mackenzie gave it to him at The Mercantile.” Ingeborg drew the precious envelope out of her apron pocket. “See?”
“Oh, how wonderful.” Kaaren flashed their visitor one of her warmest smiles. “It is so long since we have heard anything.” She sank down on one of the four chairs at the oilcloth-covered table. In this home, too, were evidences of a man handy with his hands and a piece of wood. While many homes had only stools or chunks of wood to sit on, these chairs had spindles set into upper and lower curved backs. The carved rocker by the gleaming cookstove wore a colorful patchwork quilt, and beside it rested a bag of yarn and a half-knit piece.
Ingeborg studied her sister-in-law’s face. Kaaren was looking pale, like she didn’t feel good at all. While Kaaren was careful to always wear her sunbonnet, this was not just the creamy tinge of protected skin or the pallor of winter. Dark smudges lay under her tired blue eyes as if she’d smeared coal dust there. Her skirt gaped at the waist of her always slender frame.
“So, Mr. Bjorklund, how did you happen to come clear out here? You said you were from Minnesota?” Kaaren asked eagerly.
Haakan told her the same as he’d told Ingeborg and turned when another man entered the soddy.
“Well, hello, sister. I hear you brought us company.” Lars stooped to step through the doorway as Haakan had. When he straightened, he removed his hat and hung it on a row of pegs by the door. With one hand on Thorliff’s shoulder, Lars extended his other to greet the visitor. “I’m Lars Knutson, and I am glad to hear I have another relative, in a round about sort of way.”
While the men greeted each other, Ingeborg stood with her hands on the back of a chair and, without meaning to, compared them. One dark and one fair but both tall and broad of shoulder. Haakan could measure his by the span of an ax handle. Wind and sun had carved both faces into rugged maps of experience, and they each wore the square jaw of determination, tempered by ready smiles of greeting. Even so, they reminded her of two dogs on first meeting, stiff legged, prancing around each other but with tails wagging. Would they be able to work as a team for the summer? Of course, each would be breaking sod on the separate homesteads, but plowing, seeding, haying, and harvesting were done in partnership, even with the extra team and machinery of the Baards.
Would they resent her working out in the fields, too? The thought of being cooped up in the soddy day after day, after she’d become accustomed to weeks of freedom in the sun working the fields like a man, dressed in britches like a man, hunting, and bringing home the meat, made her flinch. Could she bear going back to women’s work only? Did she need to? After all, it was her land.
It surely wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough to do around the farmstead. There were chores enough for three women.
“Ingeborg?” Kaaren’s soft voice broke in on her woolgathering.
“Ja.” Ingeborg blinked and took in a breath, careful not to release it on a sigh. Surely she’d learned the lesson of not trying to add tomorrow’s trouble unto today at her mother’s knee. “Let us enjoy the letter. Kaaren, you read the best”—she extended the envelope—“you read it.”
Kaaren nodded. “Why don’t you all sit down. Thorliff, you take Andrew and sit in the rocker.” Carefully she slit the thin paper and withdrew two sheets, covered both sides with script so close together not a space was wasted.
“ ‘Dear Ingeborg and all our dear ones. I cannot begin to imagine how hard this time has been for you, but we can all rest assured knowing that our Lord is there with you in the midst of all the heartache. If it were not for the knowledge and faith that He is caring for you and us, I would have died of a broken heart, as I know you would have, also. One day we will see our loved ones again, if we don’t lose heart.’ ”
Kaaren paused and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron.
Ingeborg tried to keep the tears that burned behind her eyes and at the back of her throat in check, but it was not possible.
A chunk of wood dropped in the firebox of the stove, breaking the silence that filled the soddy. Andrew reached up and stuck his finger into Thorliff’s nose, a trick he’d learned recently that usually brought on a giggle.
“Andrew, don’t.” Thorliff looked over and caught his mother’s nod. When she smiled through her tears, he sat back and wrapped both arms around the baby, setting the chair to rocking with one foot.
“Sorry.” Kaaren sniffed and continued. “ ‘We are all well and working hard to earn a ticket for Hjelmer to come to you. He hopes to leave as soon as spring visits us here in frozen Nordland. If all goes as planned, he will arrive sometime in mid-April.’ ”
“Hjelmer is coming.” Ingeborg looked over at Haakan and Lars. “He is the youngest brother of Roald and Carl. It is hard to think of him as more than a gangling clown, but four years would make him nineteen, a young man now.” She stopped. “Mid-April. He could be here anytime.”
“In the beginning, we had planned to send money for one of our brothers or sisters to emigrate each year, but so far that has not been possible.” Kaaren continued the explanation. “My sister Solveig would love to come too, maybe soon.” She returned to the letter. “ ‘I wait with patience to hear from you, that you are bearing up and continuing to rejoice in Christ our Savior. Your loving family, Gustaf and Bridget.’ ”
Ingeborg felt a stab of guilt. She should write more often, but the time flowed faster than a mountain stream in full spring spate.
After Kaaren finished reading the letter, they sat for a moment in silence. Then Kaaren pushed to her feet. “I will get the coffee.”
“And cookies?” Thorliff raised a hopeful smile.
“Thorliff.” Ingeborg’s tone and frown made him duck behind Andrew. But when all the adults laughed, he grinned and shrugged.
“I think Mr. Bjorklund would like to taste the best cookies in the territory. Maybe in all America.”
“You rascal.” Kaaren tweaked his hair. “You could talk a bird out of a tree, let alone get cookies from an aunt who loves you.” She handed the letter back to Ingeborg, her eyes begging to read it again later. Turning to Haakan, she said, “So, tell us all you have been doing since you came to this country. How long has it been?”
Haakan answered her questions and those of the others and nodded to Thorliff after taking his first bite of Tante Kaaren’s celebrated cookies. Thorliff lifted his own in response and gave a crumbly grin.
“So, you say you have come to help for the summer.” Over the rim of his coffee cup, Lars studied the man at the other end of the table. “When would you head back for the north woods?”
“I need to be there just after the first snow when the ground has begun to freeze. We cut trees all winter and float them down the river to the lumber mills when the ice goes out in the spring. It is a good job and pays well.”
“We will pay you to help us here,” Ingeborg said with what might have been more force than necessary.
Both of the men turned and looked at her as though she’d spoken out of turn.
“We’ll see.” Haakan nodded.
“Can’t get out on the fields yet. The frost hasn’t gone out of the ground, so I been working on the machinery, repairing harnesses and suchlike. We need to make a trip to St. Andrew, and I’d really like to go on down to Grand Forks to the machinery dealers there. Joseph and I been talking about buying a binder together, haven’t we, Ingeborg?” Lars glanced at her for confirmation.
Ingeborg nodded. “I’ve been thinking if you had a steam engine and a threshing machine, you could take it out on the road like you did before. Earn some cash money that way to help get through the winter.” She hadn’t planned to share this part of her dream with anyone yet, knowing that they hadn’t the money to pay for one, and she hated like anything to put more on credit. The debts they owed hung over her like a pall of smoke.
Nothing, nothing could force her off the land, but if they couldn’t make the payments on what they owed, their land was the collateral. Before buying more machinery, she wanted to pay off the bank loans Roald had taken out to add another section to the homestead. Two more years and the homesteads would be proved up.
“Yes, if I wanted to leave my family and go out on the road again.” Lars shook his head and smiled at his wife. “That’s for single men, not for those of us so fortunate to have a wife like mine at home.”
“Seems to me after seeing Thorliff’s sheep, the shearing needs to be done about now,” Haakan added while Lars and Kaaren were exchanging quiet looks of love.
“I was getting to that.” Ingeborg leaned forward. “I thought Thorliff and I would wait with the shearing in case there comes another blizzard. You’ll find out how winter here always tries to make one last stand.” She looked to Lars and Kaaren for support. Didn’t they understand how important it was for her to make the decisions concerning her land—Roald’s land, the land they slaved over for their children?
“I could get going on that tomorrow. You’d help me, wouldn’t you, Thorliff?”
Hadn’t he heard her? Ingeborg clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “I think it is not yet time to shear the sheep. I do not want to lose any to a blizzard.”
Haakan directed his blue gaze upon her, making her think of nothing but Roald when he was so certain he was always right and would brook no argument from anyone.
She felt her back stiffen.
“But, Mor, I would like to . . .” Thorliff’s voice died off at the look his mother shot him.
“It is time for me to go begin chores.” Ingeborg rose and bent her head in Haakan’s direction. “You can stay here to visit more. In fact, there is a spare bed in this soddy.” She let the clipped words lay on the table. “Come, Thorliff, I will carry Andrew.” She picked up the baby and settled him on her hip. “Mange takk, Kaaren, Lars. I will see you tomorrow.”
“I will carry him.” Haakan rose also.
“Nei.” Ingeborg left the house and strode out across the prairie. The sun slipped behind a layer of clouds stippled above the horizon. Tonight would be a glorious sunset, she was sure. A breeze that had felt welcome before now nipped at her face and tugged at her skirt. Thorliff trudged beside her, Paws trotting beside him at the boy’s knee.
The thoughts kept time with her feet as she marched through the snow rather than stomped as she desired. Kaaren would tell her to not be so prickly. Her mor would say that God put men in charge because they were the stronger. Help she didn’t mind; in fact, she met help with joy, but not him taking over just because he was a man.
If he still decided to help, she would pay him. Of that there would be no further discussion.
She could hear his firm steps coming up behind her. Thorliff turned around and trotted backward to watch Haakan’s face.
“I would carry Andrew for you.”
“I know.” If only she wasn’t wearing these confounded skirts, she could walk faster and not get tangled up. All she needed to do right now was to sprawl on her face in the mud.
The thought tugged a grin at the corners of her mouth. Now that would be a sight to see.
“Will you show me how you do the chores? I know every farmer has ways of his, or her, own.”
“Ja, if you are sure you want to help.” She didn’t add, and not take over, but it wasn’t for want of desire.
“Mr. Bjorklund, I will show you where the hens lay their eggs, and you can help me take the horses and oxen down to drink at the river. That’s always more fun than pulling buckets at the well.” Thorliff ran forward and skidded on a patch of snow. Paws leaped beside him, barking and nipping at the slush that flew up from the boy’s feet. “Good, huh, Mor?”
“Ja, good. But if you fall—”
“I’ll get wet and muddy, I know.” He repeated his action, laughing at the joy of it, his arms wind-milling to keep his balance when his skid carried him past the snow patch.
“You have a fine son,” Haakan said softly for her ears alone.
“I try to tell him that often. Since his father died, Thorliff has felt it his job to care for me and Andrew. He was not happy with Lars at first, because he saw Tante Kaaren being taken away. But Lars brought him Paws, and from then on, the worship began.”
“A boy needs a good man in his life.”
“Thorliff had one—his father.” Ingeborg entered the soddy and blinked in the dimness. She hadn’t finished the lamps, and now they would need the light as soon as the chores were done. Of course she could bring in the lantern from the barn.
“Thorliff can show me how to feed the animals after we take the large stock down to drink. Or we can bring up enough water from the well. If we do the barn chores, then you will have more time to do the things you need. It isn’t like I haven’t milked a cow before.” Haakan stood in the door and waited for her answer.
Ingeborg sighed. “That would be welcome. I will have supper ready when you are finished.” She leaned down to pick up Andrew, who had been pulling at her skirt.
“What do you usually do with him while you are milking and doing the other chores?”
“He comes along to the barn and plays in the grain bin.”
“I see.” He patted the little fellow on the back and started to go out the door.
“The milk bucket, Mr. Bjorklund.” Ingeborg snagged the bucket from where it sat on the far side of the work table and followed him out the door. He took the handle with a smile and headed across the muddy yard to the barn. Ingeborg lifted her face to track the honking geese in another dark V against the dimming sky. They would be setting down soon for the evening feed. Perhaps tomorrow night she could take the gun and go bag some. Roast goose sounded mighty tempting.
The evening star glowed in the western sky above a narrow band of gold on the horizon when Haakan and Thorliff returned to the house. The lamps were lit, throwing shadows on the dark walls that seemed to suck in the light and hoard it forever. Slices of ham simmered in their own gravy on the back of the stove next to a steaming pot of potatoes, and the smell of baking biscuits permeated the air.
Haakan sniffed appreciatively when he came in. “It smells wonderful in here. Thorliff guessed we were having ham clear out to the barn.” He set the pail down on the work counter. “Do you have a strainer?”
“I’ll take care of it. You two wash up. There’s hot water in the reservoir.” Ingeborg drew the baking pan out of the oven and slammed the door. “Thorliff, would you please go out to the root cellar and bring in a jar of jam? I think there is some plum left.”
“Do plums grow around here?” Haakan stopped before dipping water out of the reservoir at the cooler end of the stove.
“Ja, plums, chokecherries, June berries, and strawberries. You just need to learn where to find them.”
“How did you learn where they were?” He finished dipping hot water into the enameled wash basin and closed the lid on the reservoir. “I’ll fill this again after we eat.”
“Thank you, but that is not necessary. Thorliff will do it.” Ingeborg turned with a biscuit in her hand. She softened her tone. After all, he was only trying to help. “Metiz showed me.”
“Metiz?”
“She’s a spry old woman who’s been a real friend to us. If you stay, you will meet her when she returns from wintering with her family.”
“Ingeborg, I said I came to help, and I will stay until the fall.”
She could feel his gaze drilling into her back as she fixed the biscuit for Andrew, who’d grown fussy with waiting, even to shedding tears. “Ja, that is what you said.”
“I do not go back on my word.”
She could hear the water splashing as he washed. Thorliff returned with a jar of jam and set it on the table. She flipped the bail off the top of the jar and scooped some of the sweet jam onto the warm biscuit. Andrew quieted fast as a candle blown out after jabbing a finger in the jam and sticking it in his mouth.
The man’s words echoed in her mind and heart as she brought the remaining supper to the table. She understood about keeping one’s word. She’d gotten herself lost in New York City on a mission to keep hers. Just as quickly, a thought of the wealthy young man who’d become her guardian angel there flitted through her mind. How was Mr. Gould and his new wife now? She still had the condolence letter he’d sent after Roald died. She’d been amazed at how news traveled. To think he’d somehow heard, even in New York City. She brought her mind back to the present with a snap when Thorliff took his place on the bench next to her chair.
Haakan sat down in the other chair and leaned over to riffle Thorliff’s hair. “You have a good hand with the animals, boy. I can see you don’t get angry easily. That is good.”
Thorliff’s face lit up as if candles glowed behind his eyes. “Thank you.” He answered in English, which earned him another smile of accolade.
Ingeborg felt a swift stab of resentment, followed by a flash of pride. She had thought to have them talk more English, but slipping back into their native Norwegian was so much easier. If it hadn’t been for Agnes and her family having lived in Ohio where more English was spoken, she would have forgotten the little she learned in the months they worked in Fargo. Most of the immigrants were content to stay with their own language and chose to live closer to others who spoke the same.
She knew learning more English would be good for them, of course it would. She told herself that again and bowed her head. “Mr. Bjorklund, will you say grace?” At his silence, she lifted her eyes. “Unless of course, you don’t want to.”
“No, I will. I mean I can.” He began the familiar words, and they joined in.
At the “amen,” she looked up at him. “Do you know a grace in English?”
“Ah, no.” He shook his head. “We don’t go much for saying grace in the logging camps.”
“Oh.” She passed the plate she had filled for him. “I hope you like our ham.”
“Mor and I smoked it ourselves last fall.” Thorliff took his plate and inhaled the fragrance. “Nothin’ smells good as ham, lessen it be bacon.”
“I think you are right.” Haakan winked at Thorliff after taking a bite of the ham. “Best I’ve ever tasted.”
“We raised the pigs too. Before that, we had mostly elk and deer. Mor shoots them up the river.”
Haakan stopped with a bite of ham halfway to his mouth. “Your mor knows how to shoot a rifle?”
“Sure, she’s a better shot than Lars. Far weren’t too happy, but Onkel Carl taught her how. I go with her sometimes. Onkel Carl taught me to snare rabbits. In the summer, I fish and get rabbits, then Mor don’t have to hunt so much.”
“Thorliff, don’t talk with your mouth full.” Ingeborg wanted to tell him not to talk at all, least ways not about such things, but she thought the better of it. Might as well air all their dirty laundry now. See if the man really would live up to his word. She sliced another bite of ham and chewed with careful concentration.
“See those elk robes on our beds? Mor shot both them, then tanned the hides. Far said they was the warmest quilts we had.” Thorliff started to get up, probably to bring one of the robes to the table. At his mother’s stern headshake, he sat back down. “You can look at them later. You could sleep in my bed, and Andrew can sleep with Mor. I’ll roll up in a robe on the floor.”
Ingeborg could feel the heat start low on her neck and work its way up her face. “Mr. Bjorklund will want to sleep over at Tante Kaaren’s, I’m sure.”
“I thought I could bunk in your barn, if that is all right with you. Save time in the morning.”
“I don’t mind if you—”
“Thorliff, that’s enough.” Ingeborg spoke softly, but her message reached her son.
He slumped back in his chair, looking at her from behind the curtain of blond hair that fell over his eyes.
“Would you like more ham?”
Ingeborg knew she had hurt her son’s feelings, but how could she tell him that an unmarried man did not sleep in the same room as a widow and her children. His sleeping in the barn would be bad enough. Good thing they didn’t have close neighbors, for even far-flung as they were, news got around amazingly fast.
“I would rather sleep in the barn, Thorliff. That’s proper and right.” Haakan looked toward Ingeborg. “Your mor knows best.”
Ingeborg felt a rush of gratitude. She hadn’t always known or acted on what was best, but this time she knew she was. There’d been enough tisking over the actions of Mrs. Roald Bjorklund, and when she donned her britches to hunt or to plow soon as it was warm enough, there’d be more.
Haakan didn’t say any more about shearing the sheep but kept busy with cleaning out the barn and repairing what harness hadn’t been taken over to Lars. The two men talked back and forth every day, leaving Ingeborg out of their planning for the spring work.
At first she ignored it, but when Haakan announced one morning a couple of days later that he and Lars were going down to the river to cut wood for the paddle-wheelers that would soon be plying their trade up and down the river, Ingeborg could feel her own steam begin to rise.
Did she want wood cut? Ja, to be sure. Was she grateful the men worked well together and wanted to bring in some cash money? Ja, of course. But why did they go on and on without even asking her what she thought. They just told her what they were going to do.
The first day she let it simmer.
The second day she caught up on the wash, hanging clothes on the line to dance in the warm wind that was drying the prairie as fast as it did her clothes. Another week of this and perhaps they could begin plowing the land they had backset in the fall. Or perhaps they should start with the fallow fields. They would need to make a trip to town for seed. While she’d kept out some of their wheat for seed, the extra animals she bought in the fall had eaten much of their seed store.
The third day she organized her garden seeds, saved so carefully the fall before, and hung all the quilts and robes on the line to have Thorliff beat them with the broom. If she kept busy enough, she could ignore the resentment that tugged at the sides of her mind. But each ring of the ax and crash of a toppling tree reminded her anew.
“Can I take the sheep out to graze yet?” Thorliff asked each morning.
And each time Ingeborg replied, “Not yet.”
Late one afternoon she took the boys and headed across the field to Kaaren’s. When she got to the door, she paused. Everything was too quiet. A shiver of dread raced down her spine and up again.
“Kaaren?” She motioned Thorliff to stay outside and stepped inside the house. Blinking her eyes to adjust to the dimness, she looked around the room. A mound lay under the covers on the bed. Ingeborg tiptoed across the hard-packed earth floor and stopped at the edge of the bed. Kaaren lay sound asleep.
Ingeborg leaned over and laid the back of her hand gently against Kaaren’s cheek. No fever. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Kaaren’s eyes fluttered open. “Inge.” A smile brightened the paleness of her face. “Oh, my goodness. Have I slept the afternoon away?” She threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor in the same smooth and unconscious motion as she unpinned her messed hair. Sweeping it up, she wrapped it around her fingers and into its usual bun high on the back of her head. She reached back to the pillow for her precious hairpins and stuck them in place.
“No, of course not. But I was concerned, afraid you might be sick again. You haven’t looked well for some time.”
Kaaren paused in the act of pulling on her boot. “Oh, Inge, I was going to wait to tell you when I was certain, but here you are, seeing so much. Most women don’t call my little problem a sickness, even though—”
“You are going to have a baby” Ingeborg clasped her hands together in delight.
“Ja, we are.”
“Does Lars know?”
Kaaren nodded. “He plans for a son, of course.”
“These men. They forget that men need wives, and there are surely more men then women on the prairies. We need daughters to raise to be good wives.”
“You make it sound like your plan for more cattle.” Kaaren got to her feet. “I just get so tired, and Lars insists I must take a nap every afternoon. If my mor saw me sleeping in the middle of the day, she would be thunderstruck.”
“I won’t tell her.” Ingeborg couldn’t keep the grin from breaking out. She threw her arms around her sister and friend and hugged her close. “I am so happy for you.” Looking into Kaaren’s eyes, Ingeborg knew they were thinking about the same thing—the two small bodies that had been laid to rest in the cemetery next to their father. Both of the women wiped a tear away, and after a sigh, they hugged again.
“I was hoping you would take care of Andrew tomorrow afternoon. I need to go hunting, and now that I know we need even more goose down, I’ll shoot more geese. A goose down quilt will keep that little one warm after she or he comes to live here.”
“Of course I’ll watch Andrew. Where is he?”
“Out with Thorliff, throwing sticks for Paws. While scarce, some of the grass is high enough, so tomorrow I will let him take the sheep out.”
“Will you be back by dark?” When Ingeborg shrugged, Kaaren continued. “Then you tell Mr. Bjorklund to bring himself and Thorliff over here for supper. And you come when you can. Fresh meat will be such a treat again, and if you get enough, perhaps we can smoke some. I’m almost out of meat, and the root cellar has many bare spots. Soon there should be dandelion for greens, just like at home.”
When will we cease to think of Nordland as home? Ingeborg wondered after she left one soddy and headed for the other. She let Andrew walk beside her, keeping hold of the dish towel she’d tied around his waist. More and more each day, he resented being carried and let her know with squirms and wiggles and the plaintive cry that was becoming the watchword. “Down, Mor, down.”
Each day he learned new words and could run farther before overtaking his feet and falling flat out. Undaunted, he got up and charged after Paws or Thorliff, repeating his actions till he looked as if he’d been rolling in the mud on purpose. Ingeborg knew she would have to watch him more closely as the prairie grass reached for the sun.
When she put him to bed that night after washing him clean once again, Ingeborg kissed his rosy cheek and tucked the lighter quilt under his chin. “Den lille guten,” she whispered. “God bless.” She said prayers with Thorliff and kissed him too. Such good sons she had, and how grateful she felt for their good health. Only at evening or when she cuddled Andrew did she think of the one that died stillborn not long after they settled on their homestead. As Kaaren so often reminded her, those children of theirs who’d gone before were now cradled safe in their heavenly Father’s arms.
“God in heaven,” she whispered that night after Haakan had gone out to the barn and the house was quiet. “Please watch over that new life growing in Kaaren. She misses her little girls so. Thank you for spring and our health and for sending Haakan to help us. Father, help me to be content to let the men do the fieldwork, although I’m not so sure that is one of your edicts, but rather ours instead. What does it matter who does which work as long as all that is needed gets done?” She lay in her warm bed and waited, wishing she would hear the still small voice of God that the Bible spoke of. She thought of her family in Nordland and prayed for them. “You heard Haakan say he thinks we should begin shearing the sheep. You’re the great Shepherd. Tell me, is the time right?” She waited again. Sighing, she turned on her side. “Thank you for listening. Amen.”
After a hurried breakfast, Haakan said on the way out, “Lars and I will make a trip to St. Andrew tomorrow. If we leave before daylight, we should be able to make it back before dark.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Ingeborg could have bit her tongue at the sharp retort.
Haakan gave her a questioning look as he lifted his basket of food for dinner. “Thank you for fixing this.” Ax over his shoulder, he strode out toward the river.
She waved Thorliff and his flock of sheep off after giving him a ham sandwich and a water jug. “Now, don’t go too far, you hear. Over the winter the sheep might have forgotten how to mind you.”
“Mo-or.” Thorliff’s pained expression gave deeper meaning to his word.
“Just be careful.” She watched as the boy headed out, the sheep following him as though they did this every day. The lambs gamboled around their mothers, and the ram brought up the rear. Paws trotted on the outside of the flock to round up any strays. In the places where the snow had melted first, the grass was already a short carpet of green.
Ingeborg hurried around, setting the house to rights and banking the stove. She gave a good stir to the pot of ham and beans she’d set to cooking and added a dollop of molasses. She took the rifle down and inspected it. When she was young, her brother had stressed upon her the importance of keeping the gun cleaned and oiled. Following his instructions, along with those of Carl, had stood her in good stead.
Andrew tagged at her feet, lost without his brother to entertain him. “Mor, go,” he whimpered. “Go, Tor.”
“No, you can’t go with Thorliff. You are going to Tante Kaaren’s.” Ingeborg started to change into the britches she’d laid out on the bed but changed her mind. Seeing her in men’s pants always made Kaaren tighten her lips. Why add any unhappiness to her today?
She left the house carrying Andrew but soon put him down. Quietly riding on her hip, he was heavy enough, but squirming and pushing, he was impossible. Trying to hurry a baby was like trying to scoop up an egg splattered on the floor.
Andrew looked at every blade of grass, every golden dandelion flower, any bug, and if he saw an earthworm, he squealed with delight. This was a three-earthworm trip.
“Get plenty of geese,” Kaaren said after scooping Andrew up and planting a big kiss on his cheek. “Does Tante Kaaren’s big boy want a cookie?” She’d said the magic words.
Ingeborg felt like running. Free, she was free to go hunting all by herself. Such freedom!
Once back at her own soddy, she swiftly changed from her skirt to the men’s pants and heavy wool shirt. With her boots retied, she clapped her hat on her head, grabbed a biscuit from the bowl and, rifle in hand, shut the door behind her.
Lars and Haakan were sitting on a log in the sunshine on the edge of the woods when she strode past them. She waved her rifle in the air and shouted, “Going hunting. Supper is at Kaaren’s if I’m not back in time.”
She heard only one explosive word as she marched gaily on.
“Britches.”
She was sure there were more. Haakan Howard Bjorklund wasn’t a one-word man.