An Untamed Heart (6 page)

“Mange takk.” He lifted his cup in salute. “What’s for dinner?”

“I made stew out of the leftovers from last night. Used the last of the carrots and onions.”

The home garden couldn’t come in too soon.

Ingeborg and Gilbert were in the yard that evening when Far and Hjelmer rode in. Thanks to the long days, a round trip could be made in a day.

“We can get ready!” Far called as he dismounted. Hjelmer took both the horses to the barn and let them go in the small field where there was no water, since the horses were both sweaty. The weather had turned unseasonably warm, for which Ingeborg rejoiced.

“The grass is coming up already. We are more than a couple of weeks ahead of time.” Far headed for the house, glancing at the woodpile. “Good for you.”

Gilbert grinned at her. A compliment like that showed what a good mood Far was in.

She nodded. Perhaps the parents wanted their offspring to head up the mountain as much as the younger ones looked forward to going. Now, that was a different kind of thought.

So much to do, so much to do. Packing crates, keeping the weeds out of the garden, keeping the cattle and sheep inside the fences, replenishing the spent woodpiles, managing the calves and lambs—no matter how she tried to step up the pace, more work loomed. Even the needlework was put on hold, which made Katrina less than happy.

“You won’t be here for my wedding.” She stared sorrowfully at Ingeborg.

“It’s a shame you scheduled it for June. You could wait until next fall.”

Horror rounded Katrina’s eyes even more. “If you were in love like we are, you would not even jest about such a thing.”

“Probably. That’s the big difference between us. You want to be married. I don’t.”

“At the rate you are going, you needn’t be concerned,” Mor said with a pickle mouth.

Swallowing hot words can burn one’s throat, Ingeborg discovered. Maybe they were better said, but then again, probably not. “You said you had some books for me to take up there?” Again, propriety said Ingeborg was too young to read books on birthing and other medical things.

“I’ll find them for you. I asked Alfreda for anything she might have too, so you’ll need to go over there in the next few days and see.”

There it was again, an interest in her daughter’s education. Why did she wait until now?

Before falling asleep that night, Ingeborg’s mind worried at the switches in her mother’s demeanor. One minute she was not speaking, then she was, and obviously thinking along the lines of education in spite of the way she acted. How was one to figure this puzzle out? Finding it hard to fall asleep in the half light of spring, where the nights never totally darkened, was not a new thing, but one would have thought all the hard labor would make it easy. The snoring from other members of the family told her she was again the only one awake. She always slept better up at the seter house too.

Someone had once told her that praying for others always made them fall asleep more quickly, as if the evil one couldn’t abide praying. Ingeborg wasn’t sure of the validity of that observation, but extra prayer never hurt anyone. Then she ordered her mind to go through the Bible verses she had been
memorizing, one of the things Far insisted upon for his family. While he never spoke of his faith or things related to it, he made them all learn the Word. It would stand them in good stead, he claimed, an interesting comment and one not said often. But he did ask them to recite their verses, especially during the long winter nights when they gathered around the kitchen table to study or work on whatever handwork needed doing. Ingeborg often spent those hours at the spinning wheel kept in the corner, where the firelight cast a warm glow and heat to match.

She drowsed and pictured life at the seter. Something good always happened during their time up there. And sometimes crises too. Just like life everywhere. What would happen this year?

O
SLO
, N
ORWAY

Would the end of the term never arrive?

Nils stared out the window into a downpour that a few weeks ago would have blanketed the world in white. At the moment, going out into the wet sounded like something close to taking a beating. All he could think about was getting out of Oslo and leaving behind the drudgery of school, at least for a couple of months. Of course, thinking of trekking up in the mountains only served to remind him of the latest altercation with his father.

Had they been in fisticuffs, the verdict would have been a draw. But they used words instead of fists, and words left far more severe wounds, wounds that bled but did not heal. Turning from the window, he sighed and shook his head. He’d promised to attend all his classes, turn in all the assignments, and give studying his best. If he really knew what his best was. But then, perhaps he was learning that his best in the classroom was not sufficient to be at the top of the rolls. How could he do better?

That wasn’t the real question, though, he had to admit. The real question was how could he make himself care about the outcome to the exclusion of all else? Or anything else? The mountains kept singing siren songs.

If he got his grades up—to the point that it was possible this late in the term—he would have a bargaining chip. In return, he could indeed spend the summer in the mountains rather than in the offices of his father’s business—the company he was meant to take over after training.

But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life running a business that cannot capture my dreams at all
. Hiking in the mountains was not a lifelong ambition. He kept hoping he would outgrow that desire, as his father had suggested rather forcibly. But he kept hearing the mountains calling to him.

Nils stopped in front of the mirror. He looked haggard, as if he’d been out shouting
Skol!
with Hans and other drinkers, not only one night too many but for weeks. The disgusting part was that he’d been studying till the wee hours, not partying. Though he realized he would have a hard time convincing his father of that, should he happen to see his son in this degree of dishevelment.

Heaving another sigh and at the same time castigating himself for sighing, he snagged his wool coat off the peg and shrugged into it. Book in hand, he trudged down the stairs, clapped his hat on his head, and stepped out into the downpour. If any weather was conducive to staying inside, this was it.

He arrived at the classroom to find a closed door with a note on it:
Class Canceled
. He slammed his fist against the wall, wishing it were his head instead. All this for naught.

“Oh, for . . .”

The expletive behind him made Nils turn to see who else was willing to say out loud what he’d been thinking. He wagged his head and started back toward the stairs. The other student—what was his name?—walked beside him.

“You interested in the pub on the corner?”

Nils started to say no but changed his mind. “I’ll buy.” He knew the answer was curt but better that than stony silence. Or perhaps not. He turned to say he was sorry, but the other man held up his hand.

“No need. You want to buy, fine, but only the first one.”

They both paused in the doorway. The rain had not let up. Hats back on heads, they hugged the wall as much as they could on the two-block walk and ducked into the pub, shaking huge drops off their hats and coats. Hanging them on the pegs along the wall, they crossed to the stools at the bar, ignoring the booths and tables by unspoken agreement.

Nils raised a finger and nodded to the man by his side, who also nodded. Two beers slid across the slick surface to be stopped by grateful hands.

“I should have ordered something hot.” Nils set the half empty tankard back down, careful to place it in the wet ring. He stared at the cup, waiting for a sense of relief. When none arrived, he shivered and hoisted the drink again.

The barkeep pushed two more down the counter.

His father’s voice beat in his ears.
“Lazy, my son is lazy . . . doesn’t live up to his word . . . wastes his time. You are lazy! When will you grow into the man I thought you were becoming? So much talent and you don’t use it!”

The second beer went down, but the voice didn’t stop.

“Are you all right?” The voice penetrated the fog that seemed to be rising.

Nils blinked. No, the fog was not in the room, it writhed within. “Ja, of course.” He pushed the tankard across the bar. Glancing at the man beside him, he raised his eyebrows and asked if he wanted more too.

He shrugged. “Not finished with this one yet. Perhaps you should slow down.”

Should.
Another of those words drumming in his head in his father’s voice.

“You should study. You should make an effort. You should want to run the company. You should graduate. You should graduate with honors.

“You should not run away to the mountains. You should assume responsibilities. You should make your mother proud of you.

“We are deeply disappointed in you. Lazy!”

Nils gritted his teeth. Tearing this man limb from limb would not help. His fists clenched. The third beer appeared in front of him. He turned to look at his friend.

“You said something?”

“I said you should slow down.” He wore a worried look.

When Nils shook his head, the mirror behind the bar rippled. He closed his eyes and opened them again. Clear.
Should. Should. Should
.

“Mind your own business.” Picking up the tankard, he drank, but more slowly. A right to the jaw should shut him up. Nils sucked in a deep breath and let it out. Violence was not his way. Where had the fist thought come from? He’d not struck anyone since his boxing class, when he knocked his opponent out and resolved never to strike anyone again. Never!

He threw some money on the counter and heaved himself
to his feet. Was his head whirling or did the room really tilt? Only slightly but . . . He grabbed hat and coat off the pegs and shrugged into them.

“Wait, let me go with you.”

“No! I’m fine.”

The wind-driven rain slashed at his face. Ducking his head, he stepped into the cobblestone street. Ignoring the voice behind him, he started across. A shout! A screaming horse. Falling. Crashing.

“Nils, wake up. Nils.”

What was his sister doing at the tavern? He blinked but didn’t try to open his eyes again when pain slashed through his head at any effort. Where was he? Maybe he was dying. Why would he be dying? Maybe that was the answer to all his suffering.

“Just move your finger if you hear me.”

Move a finger. He could do that. He ordered his right forefinger to move, and it did. That was good news.

“Excellent.”

The voice lilted gently on his ears. Amalia. He felt a soft hand slip under his. Warm. Was he cold? He didn’t think so. He could feel blankets over him. He tapped again, twice.

“You are in your bed, in your lodgings. The doctor has been here.”

Doctor? What happened? But when he tried to talk, not only his head screeched, but the air was tight. Tight? Was he having trouble breathing? Why? He tapped his finger again, flinching at the pain stabbing behind his eyes. Why? He had moved his forehead. Oh.

“The doctor was here. You have a head injury and some broken ribs. Thankfully, that is all.”

“How?” The one word took a superhuman effort. Could she hear or had he imagined he spoke?

“You were knocked clear by the rearing horse, or you would have been run over by a four-in-hand. And the coach would have run over you too. That is why I say thank you, God, for saving my brother.”

“Far?” Did that guttural voice really belong to him?

“I’ve not told him yet.”

Yet. His father and mother would have to be told. Perhaps he was better off dead. She said something else, but he was fading and not able to understand.

“Mr. Aarvidson.” A male voice this time. An unknown male voice.

“Mr. Aarvidson, this is Dr. Jorge. If you can hear me . . .”

Nils raised a finger. When he tried to blink, it worked. Pain but not as severe.

“You are at your home near the campus. It has been eighteen hours since your accident. You have two broken ribs and a nasty cut on the back of your head, leaving you with a concussion. Both injuries are extremely painful, but not life threatening, unless complications set in. So breathe gently and don’t try to talk right now.”

Nils raised the finger to earn a
Good
from the doctor.

“Miss Aarvidson has returned to your father’s house but will be back later this morning. I assured her that Nurse Daggen would see you through the night, and she has. She will clean you up some and make you presentable if your father and mother learn of this and come to see you.”

A nurse. Eighteen hours. Surely someone would inform his
father. After all, the accident happened on a major street in Oslo. Right in front of the tavern. Far would know his son had been drinking. Again. Not living up to his potential. Again. And here he dreamed of the mountains. He would be lucky not to be moved to his parents’ home, where they could watch over him. Stand guard would be more like it.

“How bad?” Two words. Progress.

“You’ll be in bed for a day or two. The pain and dizziness will keep you there. As that passes, you will want to move around. I recommend staying in for two weeks. You will find reading impossible. Concussions are like that. I stitched up the scalp wound. That will heal quickly.”

If it does not get infected. Nils supplied the addendum.

“I have taped your chest to make you a bit more comfortable. Ribs take time to heal, but you can move around as much as you can tolerate the pain. Coughing is hard, but you need to cough or pneumonia could set in. That is our biggest fear, so the sooner you can sit up and stand the better.”

Pneumonia. Infection. Not exactly inspiring thoughts.

“Takk.”

“You are welcome.” The doctor listened to his lungs and patted his hand. “The nurse says your sister is here. I will speak with her and leave you. I believe Nurse Daggen should stay with you for at least a few days and nights. If you have questions, I will return tomorrow morning.”

Nils listened as the doctor crossed the room and exited at the door. Footsteps of doom or footsteps of hope? He drifted away again while waiting for Amalia to come. The land of darkness was much easier than the pain of being awake.

Sometime later, or was it only the blink of an eye . . . His eyes did that of their own accord. Blinked open. Dim light
through the drapes, separated just enough to . . . to . . . He blinked again and the ceiling came into focus.

“You are awake,” Amalia said.

He started to nod, thought the better of it, and blinked twice.

“Good. Nurse Daggen is bringing some chicken broth. You know that is Mother’s panacea for everything.”

“Mor?”

“Yes, I had to tell them. They’ve been here for the last two hours.”

Waiting. His father did not wait well. He heard the door open and flinched, but the footsteps were not the strides of his father.

“Here you go, young man. Your sister insists on feeding you, so I will put another pillow under your head. That will hurt, but the pain shouldn’t be as severe as yesterday. I’ll be quick.”

Either she was a liar or she’d never been in his situation. Gritting his teeth did not help. Screaming might have, but only a slight groan acknowledged her actions. He was now halfway sitting but still lying down. Like the rest of him—in a neither-nor world.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Definitely a liar, erring on the cheerful side.

“We’re going to wash your face and comb your hair. We will be careful, I promise.” Her accent sounded more Swedish than Norwegian. We? Was someone else assisting her?

Round of face, round of body, with a determined smile that boded ill for her patient. He closed his eyes again, the easier to imagine her away.

“You want to look as good as possible for Far and Mor.” Amalia understood. Amalia had always understood. It was a
shame she was a woman and could not run the business. She loved the world of business and finance. She should be the one in college, not he. He’d thought that for the last several years, ever since his grooming for the role began.