An Untamed Land (36 page)

Ingeborg shrugged, but the tilt of her head told Kaaren she agreed.

“Good, it is settled, then?” The statement ended in a question with all their eyes locked on Roald.

“If we spend all of our morning here, that roof will never get done.” Roald strode back to the soddy and hoisted the first block of sod from the wagon bed up to the roof.

Kaaren looked from Carl to Ingeborg and over to Roald. “Next Sunday, then.” They all nodded as one.

Several days later, they moved their boxes and trunks into the completely roofed soddy and stacked them along one wall. The men planned to build two beds along the back wall for the adults. The children would sleep on trundle beds that fit under the big beds during the day.

“Where is Ingeborg?” Roald asked when he returned for dinner the day before the party was to be.

“She took Thorliff to the river. She said it was to be a surprise, but you know Thorliff. He can no more keep a secret than that wind will quit blowing.” Kaaren brushed bits of ashes off her face. Strips of venison hung over the drying racks, along with fish that Thorliff and Ingeborg brought in almost every morning. With the heat of
August upon them, they alternately blessed and cursed the wind.

They were halfway through the meal when they saw Ingeborg striding along, carrying a bucket with a tall branch, complete with leaves, in it. Thorliff dragged something with one hand.

Roald and Carl looked at each other and shook their heads. But Kaaren knew immediately what it was. That was why Ingeborg had been digging a hole by the side of the house.

Ingeborg set the bucket in the shade of the soddy and, after washing her hands in the pan, joined the rest of the family at the campfire.

“What are you doing?” Roald asked around a mouthful of bread.

“Eating. Same as you.” Ingeborg handed Thorliff a full plate and fixed one for herself.

Roald didn’t say a word, but his expression said much.

“Far, we dug a . . .”

Ingeborg shushed him with one finger to her lips. “That’s a surprise, remember?”

“You dug up a tree?” Roald set his plate on his knees.

“Ja. For the west corner of the house. It is only a cottonwood, a small one. I want an oak, but that will have to wait until fall or next spring.”

“It will die in this heat.”

“Not if I shade it and keep it watered. You will see.”

“Mor said I should put horse manure in the hole for fertilizer.” Thorliff added, “We are going to plant more trees, all around our house.”

Roald shook his head. “What a waste of time.” His mutter carried back over his shoulder as he went to yoke up the oxen.

Maybe so, maybe no
, Ingeborg thought.
If it dies, I will
just plant
another. I will have trees around the house and flowers
. She glanced over at the garden where her marigolds were just coming into bloom. The splashes of yellow and gold against the deep green of the bean plants did her heart good. She knew she’d save extra seed so she could give some to other women as they came through on their way west. Even one blooming plant made a soddy a home.

Carl took a few minutes to help her plant the young sapling. “We’ll make a windbreak for it out of part of the canvas from the wagon. But it will take a lot of water.”

“I know. Transplanting it this fall would have been wiser, but I wanted to surprise everyone, and . . . and I needed this tree by the house. Just think, in a couple of years it will be taller than the roof
and shading us in the summer.” She wiped the sweat from the side of her face. “And shade is a premium out here.”

“That it is.” Kaaren joined them, Gunny perched on her hip.

They let Thorliff tamp the ground down with his bare feet, the water and soil turning to mud that squished up between his toes. He giggled, splashed some more, and laughed out loud. Gunny waved a fat little fist in the air and chortled along with him as if he were having fun just to entertain her.

Thank you, God, for children who help us smile more
. Ingeborg tickled Gunny under the chin for another belly laugh and chuckled along with her.

All three returned to their chores lighter of both foot and heart.

In the morning the leaves of the cottonwood drooped on their branches.

Ingeborg decreed that all the wash water be dumped on the tree. Up to now, it had been Thorliff’s job to carry wash water over to the garden and water as many plants as possible with it.

The next day the Baards arrived, and the fun began. The men talked crops and sod busting nonstop; the women shared the trials and triumphs of creating a home on the prairie.

Penny took the boys off to play, promising they would bring full water buckets back with them. With the meal cooking, Ingeborg took Agnes out to see the garden. Together they picked the beans and pulled carrots for dinner.

“You ever made bean britches?” Agnes asked, holding up a particularly fine cluster of green beans.

“I do not think so. What are they?”

“You dry the beans in pairs like this so you can hang them over a rack to dry. Then when you cook them, you leave them together and add bacon, onion, whatever. I learned the trick from a woman who came up from the south. They do things different down there, you know.”

“We will try it. I have pickled beans in the past, but we must make vinegar first. And we don’t have the jars for canning. Oh, when I think of the pickled herring we used to make! Have you ever tried to pickle other fish?”

Agnes shook her head. “But we used to buy lutefisk in the winter. Maybe the store in St. Andrew will bring in dried lutefisk. And my mother made the best lefse.”

The thought of turning some of her potatoes into lefse made Ingeborg smile. But how would they do that over a fireplace? Lefse
needed a large flat surface to bake on, like a stove.

Agnes stood with hands on her hips and looked over at the small field they had planted to grain, corn, and potatoes. “That looks mighty fine. Your wheat will soon be ready for harvest.”

“And the oats. Thorly and I, we dug under the vines last night and stole a few small potatoes for dinner today.”

“New potatoes?” Agnes clutched the bunch of carrots she’d just pulled to her bosom. “You are a gift from God, my dear, sent to bring happiness to my soul. New potatoes. When I think of our garden in Ohio, I . . .” Agnes shook her head. “No, I won’t think back. My garden is late this year, but we will have food from it. Just pray God we have a late frost.”

When they had the vegetables cooking, they strolled over to the soddy.

“Now, ain’t that just fine.” Agnes stood in the center of the room and looked around. Just the night before, Roald and Carl had set the bed frames, using a board pegged into the wall for one side and a post for the footpost that worked for both beds. “Your men are mighty clever.” She looked up at the pitched ceiling. “You can hang bunches of herbs and even meat from up there. Keep from swishing you on the head, that way.”

“Once the beds are roped, we will sleep in here. I have sheeting to stuff with hay for the mattresses, or we’ll use the corn shucks.” Kaaren pointed to the future fireplace. “Carl wants to buy a stove, but I think we will do with this for at least a year. Have you ever cooked in an oven in the fireplace wall?”

“No, can’t say that I have. I miss my stove more than anything. But it was just too heavy to bring along. Joe says maybe by winter we can get one.”

After grace they all fell to the meal as if they hadn’t eaten for a month of Sundays. Kaaren’s plum pie was the hit of the hour.

“Looks like we licked the platter clean.” Kaaren held up the two pie pans. She’d baked them in the spider in a pit of coals.

“I never thought you could turn out such perfect baking without an oven. You two are geniuses, far as I can see.” Agnes shook her head. “Penny, you go on over to the wagon and bring me that parcel I packed.”

When the girl returned, Agnes drew out a jar. “Here. We found us a bee tree and helped ourselves. Thought you might like some too.”

“Honey.” Kaaren and Ingeborg passed the jar back and forth, admiring the deep golden color.

“There’ll be more where that came from. We left plenty for the bees, and they got right back to work.” Agnes snagged her toddler away from the edge of the fire. “You seen that Metis woman lately? I wanted to thank her for the hammock idea.”

“No, she goes farther north to be with her family she said. She will return before winter.” Ingeborg looked up in time to catch a scowl on her husband’s face. He hadn’t asked about Metis, and she hadn’t offered. He probably thought she’d gone for good.

Saying goodbye when the sun started toward the horizon was made all the more difficult after having become better friends.

“We will help you raise your soddy soon as you say the day.” Roald stood by the rump of the horses now hitched to the Baards’ wagon again.

“I figure September—late like. I got to get a beam cut and braces.”

“We could bring one or come a day early for the cutting.” Carl put one foot up on the wheel spokes.

“I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You did not ask. We offered.” Carl looked to Roald, who nodded.

“Well, then, we’d be obliged,” Agnes said as she laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “You know us Norwegians; we have a hard time accepting help.”

“Ja, we know.” Carl turned to flash his wife a grin. He jiggled Gunny on his hip and helped her chubby hand wave bye-bye.

“I will let you know when I am ready.” Baard slapped the reins on his horses’ backs. “Gidap, there. Mange takk for the party and congratulations on readying your soddy.” He lifted a hand in farewell and drove out of the yard.

“Bye, bye. Come see us,” the boys yelled out the back of the wagon.

The Bjorklunds stood watching until the dust settled and the rig was hidden by the tall grass beyond their property.

“Ja, well, that was a good visit.” Carl turned and headed for the sod barn. “Think I’ll work on the beams for the roof, here, so when we can find the time, they’ll be ready.”

“I will milk so you can return to busting sod.” Ingeborg blinked back the moisture that blurred the sight of the disappearing wagon.

When they woke in the morning, the little tree had perked up,
and the rounded leaves sparkled with dew. Ingeborg couldn’t resist caressing one as she poured water into the well they’d created around the base. Like the Bjorklunds, the tree would make it. She wouldn’t let it die.

The next weeks passed in never-ending toil from before dawn until well into the night. They picked and dried plums from the bushes along the swamp and turned the chokecherries into preserves. What wouldn’t store fresh in the root cellar that was yet to be dug they dried. Beans, both as seeds and in the pods, corn, both on the cob and off—all lost their moisture quickly in the hot Dakota sun and incessant wind.

They harvested the wheat and oats, bundled and tied them, then hauled them to the barn to flail later when they could no longer work outside. The size of the crop astounded them. So much yield from such a small tract.

“If only we’d had twenty acres of this,” Roald was heard to mumble more than once.

When they dug the root cellar, they laid the sod off to the side to use for the roof. Since the land was so flat, they had no mound to dig into, so they had to go deeper. By throwing the dirt up for walls, they cut down on the depth somewhat. By the time they finished, they had a new bump on the prairie. With the sod house, the sod barn, and haystacks, their land was beginning to look like a real farm.

One day Thorliff came running into the soddy where Ingeborg and Kaaren were stuffing corn shucks in the casings they had sewn. “Mor, company’s coming.” He ran in place, waving a finger to the south. Both women dropped what they were doing and ran out the door to see. Sure enough, a wagon drawn by a team of oxen was approaching.

“Go get Far.” Ingeborg gave him a gentle push on his way.

As Thorliff scampered off, Ingeborg shaded her eyes. Her sunbonnet hung by its strings down her back, its normal place. “We better put the coffee on. Is there enough for supper?”

“I’ll add more vegetables and make dumplings. That should be a treat for travelers.”

Slowly the wagon drew nearer, and with each turn of the wheels, it became more evident that the travelers were at the end of their
endurance. Or at least their equipment was.

Ingeborg was afraid they could see clear through the shaggy-faced man driving the squealing wagon. How he stood up to a good wind was beyond her.

“Good day, missus.” He stopped the oxen, which stood with lowered heads, their ribs sticking out like barrel staves.

Ingeborg replied in English but prayed he spoke Norwegian. “Good day.”

“Name’s Abel Polinski and my wife’s Caroline. Them’s my boys, Reuben and Esau in the back.” He gestured to each with a tired thumb. “We was hoping you could let us stay for the night.” He spoke slowly in German.

“Ja, you are welcome. This is Bjorklund land.” Ingeborg introduced the members of her family and pointed to the men driving the teams in from the field. “Coffee is ready if you would like to sit.” She reverted to Norwegian and pointed to the stump and log seats around the cook fire.