Racing Home (11 page)

He glanced quickly toward Angus and saw how he held his fork. Moving his into the same position, Erik tried again. This time he managed to lift the sheaf. Cautiously he stretched out his arms, and with a little toss, fed in the sheaf.

He’d done it! He picked up another and repeated the move. Slowly he found a rhythm, but even as he worked, he knew that Angus was doing three or four times as many.

Never mind, Erik told himself. He was working, and maybe they would buy a sack of oatmeal and a tin of coffee because he helped.

When the wagon was empty, Angus moved it forward and another quickly took its place. Angus and Erik jumped onto the new wagon and the driver took the empty wagon away. During the short break between pitching sheaves, Erik stretched his aching muscles and glanced around. There were men everywhere, but he didn’t see Rolf.

Erik threw the first sheaf into the threshing machine while Angus climbed up and grabbed his fork. They didn’t talk; the machine was too loud. Erik grew hot from the work, but didn’t take off his coat, knowing how scratchy the straw would be on his arms. Sweat ran down his face and he wondered how long it was till noon.

Dinner was more food than Erik had ever seen in his life. Roast pork and mashed potatoes, turnips and carrots. There were big round loaves of bread, cut into thick slices, and huge pieces of pie. Erik was amazed at how much the men ate.

“Do you work as little as you eat?” one of them asked Erik.

He felt his face turn red. Instead of answering he took another bite of pie, though he was sure there was no room inside for it.

Erik saw Rolf look at him from the far end of the table, but surprisingly it was Angus who answered.

“He works hard,” he said, pausing to accept another piece of pie from the cook. “He’ll eat more tomorrow.”

Erik leaned back against the wall of the wagon and wondered if he would. The man beside him looked at Erik’s pie. “You going to eat that?” he asked in an undertone.

Erik answered with a shake of his head. The man, bearded and thin, reached over and slid the plate on top of his own. “Hate to see it go to waste, good raisin pie like that.”

Raisin pie, thought Erik. He’d never tasted it before. It had been good, though. If Angus was right, he’d be able to eat a whole piece tomorrow, or maybe the next day. He leaned back and closed his eyes for just a moment.

The afternoon was just like the morning, only longer, with the wind blowing dirt in Erik’s face and chaff in his eyes. When the cook brought out doughnuts and lemonade, he didn’t know if he could lift the glass, let alone another sheaf of wheat. After dark, when they stopped for supper, Erik ate less than he had at noon, his only concerns being where were they going to sleep and how soon could he get there.

Just as there was a roofed-in wagon for cooking and eating, there was a wagon for sleeping. Erik and Rolf each found an empty bunk among those built into the sides of the wagon. Erik went to sleep immediately, oblivious to the talk and laughter around him.

The second day was harder than the first. Erik’s arms and back ached, but the blisters on his hands were worse. Even eating was painful. When Erik got up from the table at noon, Angus stopped him.

“Wait a bit. We’ll see if the cook can help your hands.

When Erik left the cook wagon a few minutes later, the palms of his hands were wrapped in strips of cloth. They still hurt, but he knew he could get through the day.

Saturday night, Erik and Rolf starting walking home, but were offered a ride partway. Erik leaned against his bedroll in the back of the wagon, glad the first week had only been four days long.

When they walked into the sod house, Erik knew he was home. It didn’t matter that it was a dirt house with dirt walls and a dirt floor. It was warm, and the lamp on the table had a welcoming glow.

His mother sat in her rocking chair close to the light, knitting something white. Elsa bounced up from the bench where she was writing on her slate. She hugged Rolf, and would have hugged Erik, but he stepped sideways. Digging into a pocket in his jacket, he pulled out two one-dollar bills and placed them on the table.

“Two dollars,” exclaimed Elsa, impressed.

“It’s not so much,” said Erik. “Rolf has eight.”

“Why don’t you have eight?” Elsa exclaimed. “Didn’t you work as hard?”

“Erik worked hard,” Rolf assured her. “They pay boys less.”

“That’s not fair,” she said.

“One of the men told me that at some places boys only get twenty-five cents a day,” said Erik. “I’m happy with this.”

“It will buy you winter boots,” said his mother, rising slowly from the rocking chair, and coming to hug them both. Erik let her hug him, startled to realize that she was bigger than she used to be, but only in the front.

She was going to have a baby! Erik stared at her, too surprised to say anything.

“What’s the matter, Erik?” she asked. “Is the work too hard for you?”

“No, no, of course not,” he stammered. He nodded at the money on the table. “I thought you could use if for food.”

“You will need boots,” she said, “Or you won’t be able to work outside.”

Erik didn’t argue. Taking off his coat, he spread his mattress on the dirt floor near the stove, then covered it with his blankets.

“Are you going to bed now?” asked Elsa, sounding disappointed.

Erik didn’t answer. He lay down and closed his eyes and that was the last thing he knew for a long time.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tapper

Inga was making breakfast when Erik woke up the next morning. He pulled on his boots and reached for his coat.

“I’ll eat when I get back from the spring.”

His mother smiled. “Rolf’s already gone.”

“What?” Erik swung around, glancing from the empty bed to the hook where Rolf’s coat usually hung. “I didn’t hear him leave.”

“You were sleeping so soundly, we let you be.”

“I’ll milk the cow, then.”

“I did that.” She set a cup of coffee on the table. “Have your breakfast.”

“Well,” said Erik, after a long pause. “I guess I will!”

When Rolf got back with the water, Erik helped unload the barrels, then they drove into Green Valley for church. The owner of one of the new stores had offered the upstairs whenever the travelling pastor was in the area.

Afterwards the men talked about a school.

“We have to get it built before winter,” one declared.

“But everyone is so busy,” another protested.

“We have a teacher,” someone else pointed out, “and we have students. If we get the school built, we can use it on Sundays till we have a church building.”

“All the churches will want to use it.”

“Then we’ll have to take turns.”

“We don’t have a pastor most of the time anyway.”

Erik was glad there was a Norwegian church for them to attend, even if it was only occasionally. He struggled with English enough; at least he didn’t have to do it at church. His mother, at home most of the time, still knew little English.

Erik and Elsa walked to Lars and Kirsten’s afterwards, arriving before Rolf and Inga with the oxen.

“Could you call Olaf?” Kirsten asked Erik as she tied her apron. “I’ll get the food on the table. I expect you’ll find him with the horses.”

Hearing sounds behind the stable, Erik found Olaf pouring a stream of water over the back of a dark bay horse.

The horse shivered and moved restlessly.

“You giving that horse a bath?” Erik asked.

“Oh, it’s you,” Olaf said, setting the pail on the ground. “Come and take a look.”

There was something wrong with the horse. Erik stepped up beside Olaf, staring at the animal. Its back was ripped in long, jagged strips from its neck to the Bar C brand on its hip, the flesh showing red and raw.

“What happened?” Erik asked, horrified. “How did he get those gashes?”

“Some kind of cat. Bobcat, cougar. No one knows for sure.” Olaf wiped some of the water away from the horse’s sides, careful not to touch its injuries. “See those bite marks on his neck?”

Erik came closer. “It’s a wonder he’s still alive!”

“Pete was going to shoot him. I asked if I could try to help him. He said, ‘If that crowbait can walk, you can have him, he’s no good to me.’ He walked, so I brought him here. Folks tell me he won’t heal unless I can keep the wounds clean, so that’s what I’m doing. He doesn’t like this one bit, but he stands like he knows it’ll help.”

Olaf grabbed a handful of oats from a pail and offered it to the horse. “Here, Tapper, have a treat for being such a brave fellow.” The horse lipped up the grain from his flat palm, then looked around for more. Olaf laughed softly and untied the lead rope.

“What did you call him?” asked Erik, following them into the stable.

“Tapper.”

“Tapper,” repeated Erik. It was the Norwegian word for brave. “It’s a good name for him. He’ll need to be brave to recover from this.”

Tapper didn’t look brave now. His head hung down and his brown coat was dull.

“How long have you had him?”

“Just a few days, not even a week. He’s already looking better.” Olaf led the horse into a stall and forked in some hay.

Looking at Tapper now, Erik didn’t want to see him a week ago.

Elsa poked her head into the stable. “There you are!” she announced triumphantly. “Erik, you were supposed to bring Olaf in for dinner.”

“Sorry. I forgot.”

Elsa stared, horrified, at Tapper. “Oh, the poor horse,” she exclaimed, her eyes shiny with tears.

“Looks a mess, doesn’t he?” said Olaf. He smiled and touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’s already getting better.”

Tapper took a mouthful of hay and looked back over his shoulder at them.

“See,” said Erik. “He’s fine.”

“Did you say dinner?” Olaf asked.

Erik took Elsa’s arm and led her out of the stable. “Come on. Let’s go eat.”

Kirsten had made a big pot of stew and vegetables. Erik was hungry and filled his plate twice. He was still working on his second helping when Olaf stood up.

“Going out?” Lars asked.

“Ja,
I’m meeting a friend.”

“Can’t that wait?” asked Kirsten. “We have guests.”

Olaf’s eyes flicked quickly to Rolf and away again.

“I made plans,” he said. “They’re expecting me.”

He grabbed his coat from a hook near the door and was gone. Lars opened his mouth to say something, then looked at Kirsten and closed it again.

“How is threshing?” Kirsten asked Erik. “I hear it’s hard work.”

Erik told her about his days with the crew. The conversation turned to the new people in Green Valley, but Erik’s thoughts stayed with Olaf. He was relieved when he was able to go outside.

He glanced up and down the street, but saw no sign of Olaf. Inside the stable, he found Elsa talking to Tapper.

“I brought him a carrot,” she said. “He liked it.”

Erik eyes flicked to Tapper’s back, then quickly away.

“It makes me feel sick,” Elsa said softly, “but if you look real close you can see where it’s starting to heal.”

Erik didn’t want to look close. Instead he moved around the stable, talking to the buggy horses, Molly and Star, and the two big horses Olaf used with Gunnar Haugen’s team for hauling lumber.

“Want to go for a walk?” Elsa asked. “I want to see the whole town.”

“I guess so.”

It had warmed up quite a bit since morning, but to Erik, something in the air said winter was coming.

A few men were building, but most had taken Sunday off. Other people were walking around like Erik and Elsa, seeing the town that had sprung up so quickly.

North of the buildings, children played near three or four large white tents. Erik saw the boy he’d met earlier in the week, talking to a younger boy.

“Colin,” Erik called, heading in his direction.

Colin saw him, a big smile crossing his face.

“I thought you were moving to a farm,” Erik said after they’d greeted each other and introduced Elsa.

“We were going to homestead, but there’s no free land close by,” Colin said. “Da’s talking about moving further west.”

“That’s too bad,” said Erik.

“Why did you come here,” asked Elsa, “if there’s no land?”

“There were advertisements in the newspapers in Ontario,” said Colin, “talking about Green Valley, the next boom town. It sounded like a good place to live.”

They walked together down the street as they talked. Erik and Elsa stumbled over their English, but also found Colin’s Irish accent a challenge.

A couple of blocks away, the livery stable was taking shape. Erik saw the cowboy, Jim, on a ladder, holding a roof beam in place as Olaf swung a hammer.

“You watch yourself in those fancy boots,” they heard Olaf say. “You could fall.”

“You should get a pair of these,” Jim retorted, “instead of those sodbuster boots of yours. Can’t ride a horse in anything that looks like that.”