An Untamed Land (32 page)

He looked toward the camp. If only he could see Ingeborg moving around from the garden to the drying racks and bending over the fire.
Dear Lord, please make her all right. I don’t think I can survive losing another wife
. The prayer flew heavenward in spite of his stubborn will.

By the time Roald left for Grand Forks, Ingeborg could walk again, even though the few steps from wagon to campfire seemed farther than a mile. The headaches continued, but she no longer became dizzy or suffered from blurred vision. She sat jiggling Gunny on her knee as Roald and Carl rode out of the camp. Carl would return with the horses that afternoon, now that they knew how close they were to St. Andrew.

“I wanted to go.” Thorliff kicked a clump of grass, sending dust rising around them.

“Maybe next time. Right now we need wood. You’ve been out on the horses so much we’ve nearly run out.”

“What if the wolf is there?” The boy kicked up another dust cloud.

Ingeborg felt the fear rise in her throat. “If you stay on this side
of the woods, there shouldn’t be any trouble.” The picture of the sitting wolf sprang to mind. “Remember Tante Kaaren said Wolf belongs to Metis. He won’t hurt us.”

The boy stared at her, doubt clouding his round eyes.

“Maybe Tante Kaaren will go with you.” How she would love to go pick up wood, get a bucket of water, or cut prairie grass to dry for the pallets. She looked across the waving grass that was beginning to head out in the spring sun. Soon it would be time to cut hay for the winter. The garden needed planting right now, and somehow they had to find time to hunt so they would have more meat to dry. And here she had made a supreme effort by simply dressing herself and playing with the baby. She felt worthless, as if a huge black cloud had taken up permanent residence right over her head, about to drench her.

She rose carefully to her feet and laid the now sleeping baby in her hammock. Whenever she stood up or bent over, her head rewarded her with a sickening series of throbs. But they subsided if she moved cautiously.

“Why not work that deer hide,” Kaaren said, coming to stand beside Ingeborg. “That is something you could do sitting down. I checked it, and the hair is turning loose.”

“I suppose. But planting the garden is so much more important.”

“Ja, well, I will do that. Carl has worked up half of what we need. Thorliff can help me. Do you think you can watch Gunny at the same time?”

“Ja, I will.” Ingeborg looked wistfully at the newly turned earth, black and steaming in the sun. Right now it looked infinitely more appealing than a hide that had been curing in wet ashes and mashed deer brains. She held out her hand for the scraper that Kaaren passed to her with a smile.

“Bring it on.”

By the time the sun stood straight above her, most of the hair had been scraped from the hide, and she’d stoked up the fire. They could have hot coffee and stew for dinner. In spite of her strong will, she felt like collapsing on the smelly hide.

Carl returned in midafternoon and sat down to drink a cup of coffee and rest. When he was finished, he hobbled the horses so they could graze. That done, he yoked up the oxen and returned to sod busting.

The days ran together, with Ingeborg’s periods of needed rest stretching further apart and lasting a shorter time. The tears flowed less, and when they came, she was never sure if they were for Roald or for the lost baby. She knew in her heart that Roald grieved alone, so if nothing else, she could cry for him.

Every day they listened for the signal they’d planned. Roald was to ask the riverboat captain to blow two short blasts, two long, and two short as they passed the homestead, to let them know he was back. What was keeping him?

When the signal finally came, Carl brought the oxen in from the field and removed the yoke, handing the lines to Ingeborg. “Please water them, and Thorliff will help you hobble them out.”

“Take him with you, please. It would be the most exciting thing that could happen to him.” Ingeborg spoke softly, only for Carl’s ears. She waited as Carl thought for a moment.

“We may have to stay overnight.” He grinned at her. “Hey, farmer, how’d you like to go to town with me?” Thorliff’s squeal said it all. “You help your mother hobble these oxen while I harness up. Kaaren, help me get the wagon ready to roll.”

When the wagon finally creaked out across the prairie, all their belongings were stacked together on the ground and covered by a canvas that stretched out to one side to make a small tent for the women in case the men didn’t get back right away. Ingeborg watched them go, the team finally becoming a dot on the horizon. Never had the prairie seemed so flat or so vast.

“Well.” The word seemed to evaporate in the air. The two women looked at each other, shrugged, and headed for the river. It seemed they always needed wood and water. Returning sometime later, they looked to the west. The sun was slipping behind dark thunderclouds, building like a mountain on the horizon.

The downpour struck with a vengeance. Wind slanted the rain under their canvas and sent them scurrying to fold the bedding before the driving rain soaked the quilts. The fire sizzled out under the onslaught. Ingeborg and Kaaren tucked Gunny safely between them and huddled under the canvas, keeping it from flapping with frozen grips. Lightning split the dark sky, forking in the west and to the north. Each time the thunder crashed and rolled, Ingeborg shuddered but couldn’t keep her gaze off the awesome beauty of it all. All around them, raindrops smacked the beaten earth and created miniature ponds, pocked by larger drops until they formed lakes with streams running between. The grass seemed to suck in
the life-giving moisture like a babe at its mother’s breast. Thunder rolled now to the east, and the deluge turned to rain curtains, shimmering between them and the sun that was emerging low on the western horizon. As the storm passed over them, the patter of individual drops could be heard on their canvas covering, and soon they were left with only the drips of runoff.

Kaaren and Ingeborg looked at each other and shook their heads. Now the firewood that had been protected by the wagon would be soaked too.

“Well, I hope they don’t plan on hot coffee when they get back.” Kaaren stretched an arm, cramped from holding the baby close.

Ingeborg felt a giggle starting somewhere deep inside her. It erupted before she had time to stifle it. Together the two women chuckled as they untangled themselves from their canvas cocoon. When Ingeborg slipped on the ground where the top layer had instantly turned to gumbo, their chuckles turned to laughter that tugged at their bellies and brought joyful tears to their eyes.

“Wha-what are we laughing about? He . . . here we are, two women alone in the middle of the prairie, soaked to the skin, no dry firewood and I . . . I can’t stop laughing.” Kaaren tried to take a deep breath but hooted instead.

“M-m-me too.” They leaned against the stack of boxes and trunks, wiping their eyes with the corners of their aprons. “Thank the good Lord there’s no one around to see us.” Ingeborg held her side with one hand and her head with the other. She wasn’t sure which hurt worse, but this time she knew the pain would go away—and soon. “Coffee anyone?”

Shortly after breakfast the next morning, Ingeborg heard the jingle of harness and looked up from softening the hide. She leaped to her feet and, with a quick motion, stripped off her apron and waved the white banner over her head.

A cheery “halloo” floated back to her on the breeze. As they drew closer, she could see Thorliff jumping up and down on the wagon seat between the two men.

“Mor . . .” She couldn’t understand the middle, but the last word “cow” came through loud and clear. Kaaren left her bread kneading and waved too.

“Mor, Tante Kaaren . . .” This time one of the men clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth.

“You’re spoiling the surprise.” Carl spoke loud enough for them to hear.

To Ingeborg it felt like Christmas and birthday all rolled into one. What all had Roald done?

When Roald finally pulled the wagon to a halt, he swung Thorliff down first before the child could scramble over the wheels. He glanced up at his wife and shook his head, obviously relieved at getting the boy out of the way.

Ingeborg smothered a grin. Thorliff did manage to wear one down with all his questions.

“Mor, come. Come now.” Thorliff tugged at her hand, pulling her toward the rear of the wagon. A haltered red-and-white cow, heavy with calf, had already dropped her head to graze.

“Oh, isn’t she beautiful?” Ingeborg walked up to the animal to stroke the silky neck. “We will have milk again soon.” A glance at the flaccid udder told her the cow was completely dry. “A month or so?” She asked Roald the question.

“Ja, maybe a bit less.” He swung back over the seat and, stepping around boxes, sacks, and the plow, flipped back a canvas covering a small slatted crate.

“And chickens.” Ingeborg clasped her hands in delight.

“We will have to build a coop right away if we don’t want them roosting in the wagon.” Carl had climbed down and joined them at the tailgate.

“Eggs to cook with . . . fried eggs for breakfast.” Kaaren looked up at her husband. “I will make a cake as soon as we have two eggs.”

“Then you’d better begin.” Carl dug in his pocket and brought two eggs out to hold up for all to see. “I found them in the crate just up the way. Our hens didn’t let a little thing like a riverboat trip or a wagon ride keep them from their duties.”

Thorliff couldn’t stand still. “Show them the . . .” He got the hand-over-mouth treatment again.

“There’s more?”

Was that a twinkle in Roald’s eye? Ingeborg blinked and looked again. She must have been mistaken. She leaned into the wagon bed, but leaped back when the bundle she’d leaned her hand on jumped away with a startled “ba-a-a-a.”

Thorliff let out a shriek of delight. “A sheep. Far bought a sheep.”

“I wanted to buy you several ewes and a ram, but the farmer would only sell this feeder for now. But I know where to go back and get more. I thought she could be a pet for Thorliff, besides giving you wool for yarn.”

Ingeborg could find no words to thank him with; her eyes had to do it for her. He knew how much she loved her sheep back in Norway. And now he’d brought her one for her very own. Surely this was a gesture from a man who cared in spite of his lack of words. The lamb was indeed a gift. A gift that dimmed the edges of the hole left in her heart by the loss of the baby.

“We’ll unload the rest while you make breakfast.” Carl swung up in the wagon to begin handing out bundles, including a wooden churn that made Ingeborg gasp with pleasure again.

“Ja, your food will be ready in a minute. I knew you would be home soon.” Kaaren cradled the two eggs to her breast as if they were the crown jewels.

Ingeborg took the thong tied around the lamb’s neck and tugged at it until the lamb leaped nimbly to the ground. “Baaa.” How friendly the sound. She looked at Thorliff, who stared up at her, his eyes dancing to match his feet. His grin stretched near to cracking his face.

“You must think of a name for her.”