2

“So how did it go for Mrs. Gaard?” Gunlaug asked later that day when she brought over a basket of små brød, each little cake glowing golden. “Oh, and tell your mor this is a new recipe, and Mor wants to know her opinion.”

Ingeborg stared at her cousin. Still groggy from lack of sleep, she caught a yawn and shook her head. “Which do you want first?”

Gunlaug gave her a look of confusion. “Mrs. Gaard, of course.”

“We saved the baby, and Mor kept the missus from bleeding to death after the baby finally came.”

“I was afraid to ask in case one or both of them had died.”

Ingeborg closed her eyes, feeling herself back in that room where death had hovered in the corners. “So close.” Did she dare share with her innocent cousin what had gone on? “You cannot tell anyone if I tell you something.”

Gunlaug’s eyes widened. “Who would I tell?”

Ingeborg shrugged. That was true. The only ones they told were each other. “I . . . I turned the baby inside Mrs. Gaard like I did the lamb. I felt the baby turn, and there was his head. He was born just a few minutes later, and his mother nearly bled to death. Oh, Gunlaug, he is so perfect. And then he wouldn’t breathe and I finally breathed for him and he went stiff and then started to breathe and he sounded like an angry kitten. Mor let me wash him, and oh, Gunlaug, helping a baby come into this world has to be the most wonderful thing I can do.”

“You can do? Tante Hilde is the midwife.”

“I know, but she said she would teach me all she knows if I really want to learn, and I do so want to learn all that I can.”

“I think your mor wants you to get married more than she wants you to take over her job as midwife.”

“But I could do this and not have to even think about finding a suitable man and getting married.”

“Tante Hilde is married. I think you have to be married to be a midwife.”

Ingeborg felt like stamping her foot. Why was Gunlaug being so stubborn?

“Besides, that means you’d have to spend all your time with your mor, and you and she don’t always get along.”

Now, that was an understatement. Ingeborg stared at her cousin. Sometimes she made really wise comments, and this was obviously one of those times. Mor found more fault with her than all the others put together. She’d often wondered why and finally figured it was because she had more flaws than anyone else. She was headstrong, stubborn, and argumentative at times, and had a curiosity bump that couldn’t be stifled.

It was a shame her mor couldn’t be more like her far. He let her try things that most fathers wouldn’t, like helping birth the lambs and calves and learning how to notice and treat many of the animal ailments. While other fathers would not permit their daughters to study and learn all they could, instead consigning them to help their mors, her father encouraged her to think and question.

Through the years she and her oldest brother, Gilbert, had engaged in many discussions that sometimes grew rather heated. Gilbert, who was not only Ingeborg’s older brother but was also the oldest of all the cousins, was a firm believer in doing things the same way they had always been done, and Ingeborg wanted them to try new practices she’d read of.

“Ingeborg. Ingeborg, come back from wherever you went.” Gunlaug waved a hand in front of Ingeborg’s face.

“Oh, sorry.”

“I’m glad you were able to help Mrs. Gaard.”

“Mor will go check on her in a bit. I’m hoping I can go along.”

“If you do, I’d suggest you keep your torrent of questions to a minimum.”

Ingeborg nodded. “You’re right.” She wrinkled her nose and made a face. “But how am I to learn it all if I cannot ask all the questions?”

“That’s your problem.” Gunlaug got that goofy look on her face again. “Just think, three more days until the dance. What are you going to wear?”

“Clothes.”

“I will have my new blue skirt finished by then, and I am going to add some lace to that waist that is looking shabby.”

Ingeborg grabbed her friend’s hand. “Come with me. I need to check on the cow that is due to calve. She’s out in the west pasture.”

All the way out through the three gates and skirting around an area that had gone boggy with the spring melt, Gunlaug talked about Ivar. Ingeborg tuned out her cousin’s voice and let herself ponder what had gone on during the night. What might they have done differently? First, how could they have made the woman more comfortable? Second, was there a way to prevent a baby from going breech and thereby sliding into the birth canal like God ordained for it to do? When did the baby turn wrong? Was it something the mother did? Her mor had said it was an act of God, but why would God step in and make a baby do something wrong? If it was the mother’s fault, what had she done and when? In between her thoughts, she nodded and smiled at Gunlaug as if she cared to hear about Ivar, her latest beau.

They finally located the cow off in one corner behind a stand of willow brush, already nudging her calf toward the teats dripping milk. She lowed and tossed her head, warning Ingeborg to stay away.

“Easy girl, you did a fine job. How about we go on up to the barn, where you two will be safer?” The smell of blood could bring in all sorts of predators, many of whom would be very pleased to carry off the newborn calf. Ignoring the threatening motions from the cow, Ingeborg broke off a willow branch and walked around on the other side of the disgruntled mama.

“Aren’t you going to let the calf get stronger first?” Gunlaug followed Ingeborg’s lead and broke off a switch.

“I suppose I should, but we lost a lamb out here earlier. The scavengers pick up on a scent quickly.”

Gunlaug looked over her shoulder, as if expecting a wolf to leap out from behind the brush at the end of the field. Ingeborg rolled her eyes, something she did often when her cousin’s many fears got in their way.

Ingeborg spotted another mat of dandelions. “We can fill our aprons with those while we wait.”

“Who do you want to dance with?” Gunlaug adopted the dopey look again.

“The king of Sweden and Norway.”

“Ivar is such a good dancer. What if I could dance every dance with him?”

“You think it will snow today?” Ingeborg tucked her chuckle back under her chin and added more handfuls of green leaves to the apron she’d removed and laid flat for carrying the greenery.

Gunlaug glanced toward her. “I’d let you dance with him, you know.”

“Right. You know his mother would be sending darts at you if he didn’t dance with others too.”

“I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“She doesn’t like anyone who catches her sweet baby’s eye. You know that no one, even the queen mother herself, would be good enough for her precious son.”

“True. But I love him, and he needs to be loved. Maybe then he will be happier.”

Ingeborg glanced up to see the calf nursing, his tail doing the metronome swish. Enjoy your first meal of colostrum, little fellow. It is your last. From now on, we’ll be milking your mor and giving you what’s left. She felt almost guilty about it, but it had to be.

She sat back on her heels. In the blue arch of the heavens, she heard the scree of an eagle. The mountain peaks gleamed white, and the greening of the pastures not only charmed her eyes but tickled her nose. The smell of spring was one of her favorite scents. The pungent odor of the dandelion leaves only added another overlay of joy.

She mused, “Soon we’ll be able to journey up to the seter. Freedom again. I can’t wait.”

Gunlaug wailed, “But then I won’t see Ivar for weeks at a time, or even all summer.”

Ingeborg ignored her and searched for the eagle. Wouldn’t it be an amazing thing to find the eagle’s nest in the crags of the cliffs? Her brother Gilbert had found one once and saw three hatchlings in the nest of sticks. He also found out that a furious mother eagle could inflict serious damage on a climber. He still bore the talon scars on one shoulder.

She picked up the corners of her apron and tied them together into a bundle. “Let’s move her down now.”

Together they drove the cow and calf down to the small fenced pasture behind the barn. The cow ambled over to drink at the water tank and didn’t even notice that Ingeborg was shunting her calf off into the calf pen. Ingeborg made sure the gates were securely closed and took her bundle of greens up to the house.

“Mor said to tell you that you could have gone with her, but she couldn’t find you.” Mari, the baby of the family at ten, turned from checking the roast baking in the Dutch oven hanging over the coals of the fireplace. “She said that when you finally showed up, you should start the corn bread for supper.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “You brought more dandelion leaves. Good.”

As if Mor had looked for her. She’d said she was going to check on the cow. Had Mor waited until she left to go back to the Gaards’? No matter how many questions Ingeborg had, she’d not been able to ask them. The thought of Mor’s frown warned her away.

“Bess had her calf way out to the end of the pasture. He’d just been born, so the walk down took awhile.” She dipped water out of the wooden bucket into a basin and started washing the quickly wilting leaves. That was one thing about spring greens. It took a lot of them to feed the family even one meal.

Saturday blossomed under the spring rain that had been falling off and on for two days. The earth smelled fresh and new as Ingeborg carried the milk buckets up from the barn. She poured the milk through the strainer and into the pans to let the cream rise. She had enough cream already to make butter, and that was the next thing on her list to do for the day. Her mother had been called out again during the night but did not invite her to go along. Resentment nibbled at the edge of her thoughts like a mouse on cheese. How was she to learn if she was always left at home?

Berta and Mari were putting breakfast on the table by the time she walked into the house.

“Did you bring up the cream pitcher?” Berta asked over her shoulder from where she was lifting bacon from the pan to a platter.

“No. No one asked me to.”

“We ran out.” Mari headed for the door.

“Can you go call the men instead?” Berta swiped the back of her hand over her forehead. She sounded so much like Mor that Ingeborg did a double take. The same sound of dissatisfaction, as if Ingeborg should have known enough to bring up the cream pitcher without being told.

“I will, and I will get the cream pitcher.” She knew she sounded aggrieved, but hearing it from Mor was bad enough.

“You don’t have to get all cross.”

Ingeborg shook her head as she headed out the door. She retrieved the cream pitcher from the springhouse, called to the men working on a wagon by the barn, and returned to the house, reminding herself to just ignore tones and pay attention to words. The weeks to moving up to the seter were stretching longer and longer. Ah, the seter. That was the one place she was in charge, and no one whined at her or ordered her around. As Gunlaug had reminded her, at the seter they were free.

She resolved not to mention that she was disappointed not to be asked to go with Mor when she returned. She had plenty to do before they all had to get ready for the dance.

The dance. Such mixed emotions surrounded the dance. Many of the Christian families refused to attend dances. But it was a place for young people to meet and talk, so the Strands were among those who went. Quite possibly it was at Ingeborg’s mor’s instigation, for weddings were forged there. Gunlaug could not wait. Ingeborg could. She could read the looks her mor gave her well, and the most looks always came at dances. Go find a husband. Be charming. Keep your questions to yourself. Amazing how many different things could be read into one glance. Perhaps because she had heard them all so many times before.

Gilbert had not married yet. Why was he not getting the looks? Sometimes, really often, she wished she had taken Bjorn, the second son, eighteen months older than she, up on his offer to take her to Amerika with him, but then they’d never heard from him again. Mor and Far were sure he had died, since he’d not ever written. According to records, the ship had made it to Amerika, but perhaps he died on the voyage, or he had landed and something happened to him. They’d all heard the horror stories of people disappearing in spite of the advertisements by Amerikan railroads promising a land of streets paved with gold. But free land—that was what emigrants could work for. And what made the long journey and the dark, unknown dangers possibly worth it.

Ingeborg sighed, for at last the evening of the dance had arrived. Her sisters were all getting dressed, and she was sure Gunlaug was also ready long in advance. If there were any way out, Ingeborg would take it.

“Are you not ready?” Mor asked one more time.

“Nearly.” Ingeborg wrapped her golden braid around her head and pinned it into place. Gilbert gave her a brief nod with an almost smile that showed her he approved. Gilbert and Ingeborg each picked up a basket of the food they’d prepared, as did their parents as they went out the door to walk the mile to the Geltlunds’ place. The dance would be held in the barn loft tonight, for not only was it in town, it was nearly empty of fodder. Far had said they’d leave the horses to rest tonight.

The Strands met Gunlaug’s family as they walked the road past their farm, and her cousin immediately fell into step beside Ingeborg.

“What if Ivar’s mother gives me one of her looks for dancing too often with her son?”

“Ignore her.”

“You might be able to do that, but she makes me quake in my shoes.”

Ingeborg shook her head. Silly goose, you better listen to what you are saying if you want to marry that mama’s boy. His mother will run your life, or ruin it. But she kept her thoughts to herself. Perhaps up at the seter, Gunlaug would get over this infatuation for Ivar.

They heard the music while they were still up the road a bit. Katrina, Ingeborg’s next in line sister, hung back, and Oscar Boll, her intended, fell in step with her as they passed his farm. He was a bit slow but not a bad catch. Right now, he and his far were building a house for the new bride and groom, so they might not have to live with his parents. Since he was the eldest son, he would inherit the farm.

Couples were swirling around the well-swept area to the beat of a tune played by an accordion, a fiddle, and a guitar, which its owner insisted was imported from Germany. Someone thumped on a homemade drum. Ingeborg’s feet seemed to have a life of their own. She never could keep still when the music played.

They set their baskets on the tables, and Gilbert grabbed her hand. “Come on, before you get told what to do.”

Gratitude for her older brother swept her along with him as they picked up the pattern and let the music take them away. Both of them were content to enjoy dancing and not talk.

Ingeborg glanced off to the side. She had attracted the attention of Asti, a sort of friend, since they both knew everyone in the small community of Valdres. Asti wanted to be dancing with Gilbert, Ingeborg knew, and she tucked a smile away. Surely Gilbert might like to know this, if he didn’t already. Asti would be a good wife to her big brother. How could she work this out?

She stopped herself. Why would she work this out? She hated being pushed, hated being the subject of matchmaking. Surely Gilbert would like it no better. She missed a beat and shrugged up at him. When the music ended, she guided him over to where Asti and another friend were chatting. When Gilbert slowed down, she took his arm and kept him going. “Asti, how nice to see you.”

The slender young woman smiled back and up at Gilbert also.

“How’s your mor?” Ingeborg knew the woman had been having health problems.

“She’s better.”

The musicians picked up a polka, and Ingeborg smiled up at her brother. “Why don’t you and Asti go dance this one.” She pulled his hand out and placed it over Asti’s, ignoring any look he might be giving her and smiling at Asti, who was shyer than she needed to be. She watched the two of them move toward the dance floor and congratulated herself on a job well done.

A tap came on her shoulder, and her onkel Jonas took her hand. “Surely you’ll give an old man a chance to enjoy this dance.”

“Since you are not old yet, I’m not sure.”

She linked her arm through his, knowing they would not need to talk. Of her mother’s brothers, he was her favorite.

Later on she saw Gilbert and Asti together again, and this time they were both smiling. And talking. Maybe he wouldn’t be put out with her after all.

After the dance, Ivar asked Gunlaug if he could walk her home, so Ingeborg fell in with her family.

“Why did you not dance with that nice Garborg boy?” her mor asked. There was the slightest tinge of disapproval in her voice, as if she considered it Ingeborg’s fault.

“He didn’t ask me,” Ingeborg answered, bringing her mind back from something Onkel Jens had said.

“Did you even meet him?”

“No one introduced me.”

“I am sure if you had made any effort, you could have arranged it.”

I was too busy helping Gilbert and Asti. But she kept that thought to herself too. If only she could remember to keep her mouth closed more often.

She wished someone would ask her mor a question, make a comment, anything.

“He seemed a very nice young man.” Mor pressed forward. “He is working in his father’s store in Hallingdal.”

“Oh.” What could she say? She would spread gossip, that’s what. “Did you know that Onkel Jonas wants to go to Amerika?”

“He can’t. He is the eldest son and has inherited the land.”

“What if he chose to give that land to a younger brother, or even a sister?” Ingeborg Strand, do not ask questions if you don’t want to know the answer, or in this case listen to your mother talk down to you again. As if she didn’t know the primogeniture rules also.

“That just isn’t done.” The tone of finality should have warned her to stop.

“But what if he doesn’t want the land?”

“The law is the law.”

“There must be a provision for a situation like this.”

“Mor, my heel hurts. I think I must have a blister.” Mari, the youngest of the children, tugged at her mor’s skirt on the other side.

Grateful for the reprieve, Ingeborg dropped back and walked by herself. If only the time for the seter would come soon.