An Untamed Heart (7 page)

Between his tight jaw and Amalia’s cheerful persistence, they managed to get some of the soup into his mouth, improving with practice. By the time the nurse finished his grooming, he vowed to never associate with a nurse again in any capacity whatsoever, no matter what.

“Would you like me to shave you?”

Over my dead body
, but when he shook his head in the barest motion, pain slammed him again. A cough burst forth, no matter how he tried to stifle it.

“You must cough!”

Had he ever contemplated murder before?

He coughed enough to relieve the pressure and collapsed against the pillows.

“I’ll let you rest a bit, and then before your far and mor come in, we’ll get you sitting a bit higher with more pillows.”

Was that a threat or a promise? Without a decision, he promptly fell down the black well again.

“Welcome back.” His mother’s voice cleared the fog from his brain. He opened his eyes to see her smiling at him, perfectly coiffed and dressed as modishly as always.

“Takk.” He let his gaze travel the room and the closed door.

“Your father had to return to the office for a meeting. He said he’ll come back tonight.”

A reprieve. Now, that was something for which to be thankful. “Amalia?”

“She had an appointment. She should be back any time.” She took his hand between her own. “You gave us quite a fright.”

“Sorry.” She had no idea how sorry.

“We want you to come home, where you can be cared for.”

He refrained from shaking his head, but the look he gave her must have sufficed.

“I know you don’t want to do that, but . . .” She paused. “Your father is insisting.”

And if RA Aarvidson insisted the world was to stop, it probably would. A stubbornness that he’d only recognized recently, perhaps because he was pushed to the limit, prompted him to a soft answer. “His insisting will do no good this time. I will stay here. I have a good nurse, and Hans will come in to help tomorrow.” A white lie perhaps, but he was certain that would happen as soon as he sent a message. Surely Amalia would take care of that.

Sonja Aarvidson clicked her tongue in a tsking sound. One he knew well. She had always done what RA ordered.

“I’m sorry, Mor, but I cannot do that. I must be near the college so that I can employ a tutor to read to me and help me prepare for the end of the term. Far and I have struck a bargain, and I will not go back on my word. No matter what he orders. I know this will be difficult for you, but this accident cannot stop me.” He hoped he sounded firm. Nothing could stand in the way of his last summer in the mountains. Nothing. “You do not have to be the bearer of the bad tidings. When he comes, I will tell him. I think you would be wise to return home before he arrives.”

“But you are wounded. Badly wounded.”

“Not so badly that I cannot make decisions for myself.” If
only he could be sitting in a chair before his father strode in the door. Dressed would be even better. Was that possible? If only Hans were here. Nurse Daggen would have to help him. After all, who was the boss here?

He sighed. He might want to assume the reins of power, but it would be the pushy nurse who called the shots. And his father. Even his mother. Come to think of it, Amalia had been ordering him about too. Nils Aarvidson, feckless ne’er-do-well.

V
ALDRES
, N
ORWAY

Ingeborg caught herself humming. If she wasn’t careful, she might slip into whistling, but since Mor insisted that girls weren’t allowed to whistle, she’d save that for the seter. Here it was the third week of May, and they were finally packing to head up the mountains. The delays had been one thing after another. Weather, a sick cow, more weather. She’d begun to think they would never leave. And then Katrina asked why they couldn’t wait a couple more weeks so they would not miss her wedding. That would make a big difference in the amount of time they had to spend up there.

Two more days. Not that Ingeborg was overly eager or anything. In two days there would be a line of teams and wagons with the chickens in crates and the hogs in a box-like wagon, with the older boys and children herding the sheep and cows.

“I would rather ride on a wagon,” Gunlaug had muttered more than once.

Ingeborg laughed. “If we all ride in the wagons, who will herd the livestock?” She closed her eyes. What she’d prefer
doing was riding one of the horses. Riding, they would arrive more quickly and could start the cleaning. But riding would not happen, not on a horse or in a wagon. Feet and legs were made for walking, or so Mor often reminded them.

Two more days until they left, if all went well. Two wagons loaded with wood had already left and should be back again by evening. They’d stack the firewood when they got there.

Up to the seter. Up to the seter. Freedom at the seter
. She kept the words to herself. If Mor had ever loved the seter, the daughter had yet to hear of it. Other people told stories of their times up in the mountains. Mor never had. Ingeborg stopped for a moment to think on that. Should she ask point-blank if Mor spent summers up at a seter? Probably not today, since the others who were staying at the homeplace were stitching like their lives depended on finishing the linens for the chest and the dress for the bride. After all, June was just around the corner.

“Ingeborg!” Mor calling.

“Out here packing the wagon.”

“Come here.”

With a shrug and a sigh of disgust, she did as told. The dim house made her blink after the brightness outside. “Do you need something?”

“I have decided that Berta needs to remain here. With Katrina leaving, I will need help with the garden and putting food by. Hjelmer is going with you and Mari. Besides, Katrina wants Berta to be in her wedding party.”

Since when? But Ingeborg swallowed the words. “Does Berta know this?”

“She will do as she is told. I have hinted at it.”

“Does Far know?”

“He agrees.” Mor held her stitching up to the window. “Ah, good, one more done.”

I’m sure he does.
If she argued now, however, it might delay their leaving. She held her peace. Poor Berta. Sacrificed on the altar of Katrina’s wedding.
Please, Lord God, keep me from ever falling in love
. Look what a mess it can make for other people. Katrina and Oscar seemed oblivious to the problems, both of them working toward their new life together. And since Katrina was a good girl and never questioned, Mor granted her every wish. Sometimes Ingeborg wished she could take lessons from her sister.

Well, this bad girl has plenty to do too
. “I wish Katrina every happiness.”

“I know you do. Some little sacrifices are a good thing to build character.”

Ignoring the barb, Ingeborg went back out to packing foodstuffs into three wooden boxes, already in place on the wagon bed. The cleaning supplies had been jammed into another box. The bedding was airing on the clothesline, the sheets and pillows folded and ready. She stopped to stare at her handiwork. Something was missing.

“Ingeborg, I’m sorry.” Berta carried the box of cheese and butter molds out to the wagon. “I would rather go, but I do so hate to miss Katrina’s wedding. She needs at least one of her sisters there.” Her eyes grew dreamy. “And besides, I might get ideas for my own wedding.”

“You better not go falling in love yet. You are too young.” Ingeborg stacked the new box near the front of the wagon, since it was easier to move than the food boxes. “Besides, there are so few eligible men around here.”

“Maybe at your age, but not mine.” Berta’s arched look made Ingeborg smile.

“Well, maybe, but those your age have a lot of growing up to do yet.” She paused and studied her sister through slitted eyes. “You are thinking of someone, Berta. Confess.”

“I . . . uh . . . no . . . uh . . .” Berta grimaced, again eliciting a smile from her older sister and a pat on the shoulder to go with it. “Lars Bornstadt is smart and a hard worker and trustworthy and—”

“Cute as can be. Actually too cute for a man, but his face will mature. He is big and strong, that’s for sure.” Ingeborg paused, a knowing look lifting her eyebrows. “Do you think he likes you? He would be stupid not to, of course, but men—er—rather, boys can be fickle.” And tongue-tied and silly and . . . Ingeborg kept those thoughts to herself. Just because she wanted a man who could carry on a decent conversation, along with have a sense of curiosity and wonder, that’s not to say Berta looked for the same things. Of course, when one was fourteen, one went more on attraction and good looks than truly thinking things through.

Berta nodded. “I know he does. Carly told me so.”

Carly was Lars’s younger sister, who was close friends with Berta.

Ingeborg strolled with Berta back to the house to bring out the stored fleeces to pack around other boxes and keep them secure. A place for everything and everything in its place. Now, that was a Mor-ism Ingeborg totally agreed with and practiced.

Not that her mother wasn’t wise—they all knew she was—but, there was always that
but
, a stumbling block for sure. Understanding was important to Ingeborg, and the way her
mother treated her, she absolutely did not comprehend. She forced herself back to what Berta was saying.

“Sorry, my mind went woolgathering. What did you say?”

“Oh, Ingeborg, you are so funny. I asked you how many fleeces you were taking. I saw both spinning wheels already packed, in fleece no less. There is justice or something there, don’t you agree?”

“I agree that you are sounding and acting more grown up all the time. I’m afraid that by the time I return, you will be a woman and I won’t know you.” She tweaked her sister’s single braid—she no longer wore two, a sure sign of growing maturity.

By evening Ingeborg had two of the wagons packed and covered with canvas to keep out the dew or rain, if it appeared, which was doubtful with the red sky at night. Not that true dark night ever happened these days.

The evening before they were ready to depart, the family gathered around the kitchen table like they always did. Far bowed his head and waited for them to settle. “God above, we thank you for our seter and the good cheese that will come from there. Thank you for those willing to travel up there and live away from so many good things here.”

Ingeborg’s mind balked at that. She’d rather be up there than here, any day. Well, not in midwinter, not that high up in the mountains, but summer days for certain. She jerked her mind back to his prayer.

“Guard our cattle and our children from wild creatures and storms and accidents. We will give you all the praise and glory. Grant us thy grace and peace. Amen.” He looked
around the table. “Jesus said, ‘And lo, I am with you always.’ We all count on that.”

The nod went around the table. Ingeborg wished she could take the family Bible with her, but through the years she had copied from it, verses and whole chapters that she wanted to study. Not that there was a lot of study time up there either. She paused to snag a thought that flitted through her mind. It was true. She did feel closer to God in the higher mountains. And who knew what kinds of adventures He would guide them through this year.

“Ingeborg, is your medicinal box packed and loaded?” Mor asked.

“Ja. I wrapped it in more canvas and sheepskin to keep it safe and dry. I put in all you said.” And then some.

Mor nodded and turned to Mari.

Ingeborg snapped her mouth shut. There had been reprimand with the question. Now, that was something to remember.
Ingeborg, you are being sarcastic. No I’m not. Not this time. Just relieved and thankful, is all.
Did all people have two of their own voices arguing in their minds, or was she stranger than she thought?

“Wish I were going,” Gilbert said under his breath to Ingeborg the next morning. “Not to stay particularly, but I’d like to go up and back.”

Ingeborg nodded. Far’s comment that the man needed to stay home in case of emergencies made sense, since all three brothers were going. No matter how excited she was about heading up the hills, she hated to say good-bye too. She had already learned that one never knew what was coming, and
she didn’t always have to like it. Like their Bjorn, so excited about going to Amerika and their never hearing from him again. What had happened to her favorite brother?

Gilbert gripped her arm. “Take care.”

She dipped her head and pressed it to his shoulder. Strand men were indeed tall. “Takk. Tusen takk.” She watched him turn away to open the pasture gates. Berta came to stand beside her.

“I do wish I were going. After all, this might be my last year to do so.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Ingeborg hugged her younger sister, who was nearly as tall as she. “You can write to me, you know.”

“I will, and you write too.” Even though the mail made it up to the high mountain valley only two or three times in the season, letters were always precious. News of home came up with the rider who brought extra supplies and letters and carried back the same.

Ingeborg called to the sheep as they flowed out of the pasture that would now be left for hay later in the summer. The lead ewe, her bell clanging with each step, snatched up a mouthful of grass and made her way to the woman she trusted. The lambs gamboled beside their mothers. If they strayed far, the ewes bleated their warning signal, calling them back.

Frode’s herding dogs nipped at the cows’ heels, driving the stock forward, nimbly leaping aside to avoid the occasional impatient kick.

They all said their good-byes, and the wagons rattled out across the valley, the animals behind snatching mouthfuls of grass if allowed to slow down even for a second. Since the sheep followed her, Ingeborg led the way, as did the sheepherders
from the other two farms. The milk cows placidly nodded their way on the road, their calves settling in beside them, the herd dogs now largely ignoring them. By the second day, the young stock would realize that staying by their mothers, rather than running and jumping, was far wiser, probably what their mothers had been telling them. Ingeborg was always delighted to see the comparisons between animal and human behavior. No wonder Jesus referred to people as the sheep of His pasture.

They stopped at a favorite spot for a break when the sun nearly hit its zenith. Both animals and people drank from the brook that tumbled down rocks in some places and made serene pools in others, an ideal place for the animals to drink safely.