Racing Home (9 page)

“I saw Lars yesterday,” said Rolf. “He was just back with a load of lumber from Hanley.” He took a sip of his coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The auction sale is only a couple weeks away, and he wants to be ready.”

“Auction sale?” repeated Elsa. “Are they auctioning the wood?”

“Don’t you remember what Mr. Haugen told us?” said Erik. “They’re selling the business lots in Green Valley at the end of August. Uncle Lars is hoping the people who buy lots will buy his wood, too.”

“I thought Olaf was doing the hauling,” said Inga.

“Apparently he found something else to fill his days,” said Rolf. His voice was stiff.

Erik left to get the oxen, wondering what it felt like to have a son who wouldn’t talk to you.

When he stepped outside, the first thing he saw was Tess standing in the garden, carrot tops hanging from her mouth.

“You stupid cow!” Erik yelled, tearing toward her. Up till now she’d run loose without a problem, always coming back to drink at the slough, but he wasn’t surprised the garden had caught her eye. It was the greenest place around, even though the plants were still small. They’d eaten a few carrots as Inga thinned them, and one day they’d had fresh potatoes, but the vegetables needed weeks of sunshine to get full-sized. Rain wouldn’t hurt, either.

Tess turned and ran into the prairie, stumbling over the uneven ground Rolf had broken. Erik let her go, but the next time he had her, she was going to be tethered like the oxen, though he’d be walking a long way to do it. He got the oxen from where he’d tethered them on the other side of the quarter and led them to the slough.

Nearby, Rolf was building a tripod over the well hole.

“This will make it easier to bring up the dirt,” he said. Erik nodded. They’d been working on the well in odd moments between other jobs, but progress was slow. This pulley should speed things up somewhat. Now they just needed something to make the digging easier.

Rolf yoked the oxen to the plough while Erik watered his trees. The leaves on one were wilted and drooping, but the other stood straight and strong, as if it had never been moved.

Picking up the scythe, Erik headed west, toward the river, looking for grass that no one else was claiming. He found a small patch at the bottom of a hill and cut it swiftly. Leaving it to dry, he moved on looking for another patch.

The sound of hoofbeats caused him to swing around. Two horses and riders cantered toward him. One pulled to a stop a short distance away, the other rode in a circle around Erik, stopping right in front of him.

“Hi, there, walking boy,” exclaimed Olaf in English.

Erik stepped back instinctively, then stretched his hand out to pat the horse’s neck.

“Is this your horse, Olaf?” he asked, sticking with Norwegian. “He’s beautiful.” The horse was all black, except for a blaze on his forehead and the raw skin of the fresh Boxed Q brand.

“Unfortunately not,” said Olaf. “One day I’ll have my own horse, but these belong to Pete. Jim and I are just trying them out.”

Erik greeted Jim. The man with Olaf looked at home on the horse in his wide-brimmed grey hat, cowboy boots and leather chaps. Jim nodded at Erik without speaking.
Pulling a pouch from his jacket pocket, he rolled a cigarette.

“I heard you’re not hauling lumber anymore,” said Erik, turning back to Olaf. “Are you working for the man who owns these horses?”

“Ja,
I work for Pete some. I was tired of driving to Hanley and back.”

Erik stared at Olaf. Tired of driving to Hanley? Erik was tired of working, too, but he didn’t have a choice. What would Ma say if he told her he hated cutting grass?

“We best be gettin’ back,” said Jim. He lit his cigarette, then snuffed the burning match between his thumb and index finger. Turning his horse around, he dropped the dead match at Erik’s feet.

As Olaf followed Jim across the prairie, Erik recalled the cowboys he’d seen in Hanley. One had been older, with a dark, drooping moustache. And the other? He’d had a wispy, brown beard, Erik remembered, and the older man had called him Jim. If he shaved off that beard, he’d look just like the man with Olaf.

CHAPT
ER TEN

Sold!

Throughout the night before the Green Valley land sale, rain drummed against the tent. Erik dreamed he was swimming and woke to find his feet in a puddle of water. After piling his bedding in the centre of the tent, he ran to get the milk pail, dodging raindrops all the way.

Erik’s mother and Rolf were at the table when he brought the milk into the house. Erik filled the water pail from the barrel outside the door, then came back in, shaking rain from his hair. His mother handed him a towel, then poured him a cup of coffee.

“You better eat,” she said. “Lars will be picking you up soon.”

“I want to go, too,” said Elsa.

She was curled up on a straw-stuffed mattress, watching them.

“Ah, you wouldn’t be any help,” said Erik. “Uncle Lars needs someone who can pile lumber.”

“It’s raining outside,” Inga reminded Elsa, shaking her head. As she spoke a drop of water dripped from the roof onto the table. Erik glanced up and saw another drop hanging on the edge of the tarpaper, ready to fall. Inga set a bowl to catch the drips. The sod roof always leaked when it rained for more than a couple of hours.

“I’m sorry for the men sleeping in tents at the townsite,” said Rolf.

“I slept in a tent last night,” Erik reminded him. Trust Rolf to sympathize with strangers rather than his own stepson.

“Were you cold?” asked Elsa. “Did you get wet?”

“Rain came in at the edges.”

“Bring your bedding in here to stay dry,” suggested his mother.

Erik glanced at the pool of muddy water accumulating in the dish. “It’ll be all right.”

“I’m coming to the townsite later,” said Rolf. “Lars asked me to help him for a few days.” He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bread. “Then I’ll look for work in town. I expect it will pay better than stooking.”

Rolf had stooked for a neighbour for a few days, but instead of cash he’d been paid a roll of barbed wire and two sacks of oats.

Someone pounded on the door. It flew open and Lars and Kirsten stepped inside.

“They’re moving my house,” said Kirsten with a laugh. “Hope you don’t mind if I spend the day with you.”

“Of course not,” said Inga. She hurried over to take Kirsten’s wet coat and hat.

“You ready to go, Erik?” asked Lars. “Olaf has the wagon loaded with lumber and is already on his way to the townsite. As soon as we buy a lot, we’ll unload it and go back for more.”

“You’re moving the building today?” Erik asked.

“Ja!
I’ve got Rolf and another fellow lined up for that.”

“Is it going to be a store now, Uncle Lars?” asked Elsa.

“That it is. I spent the last few days getting it ready.”

“My kitchen has become a long sales counter,” said Kirsten. “I tell Lars he has to build a house for me soon. I can only live in a store for so long!”

Erik pulled on his thick jacket and peaked hat and stepped out into the rain. He needed a wide hat like the cowboys wore, he decided, to keep the rain off better. The horses stamped their feet impatiently. Erik greeted them both, then climbed into the buggy and picked up the reins.

When Lars joined Erik, he took the reins with a friendly smile. “I’m glad Rolf brought you along when he came here.”

Erik wondered if Rolf felt the same way.

The Green Valley townsite was just east of the valley with the big trees. The last time Erik had gone past, it was still a wheat field, but now the grain was gone and the lots were surveyed and staked.

Erik was amazed at all the tents he saw. Parked beside them were every kind of wagon and buggy and even some automobiles, the first Erik had seen since coming to Canada. The auctioneer stood in a buggy where he could be seen by everyone, giving information about the sale. There were a few boys in the crowd, but Erik couldn’t see any women. In the excitement, no one seemed to care about the rain or the mud.

Erik scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face. Most of the men looked like businessmen, with long coats over their black suits. The few people he recognized as neighbours looked warmer in their work jackets. Occasionally he heard someone speaking Norwegian, but most of the talk was in English.

“Good morning, Erik. Isn’t this a fine day?” Erik felt a hand rest heavily on his shoulders. He glanced up to see Gunnar Haugen. “All ready to buy a lot and start a business?”

Erik grinned back. “I think I’ll just watch today.”

“You watch us, then,” said Mr. Haugen. “We’ve got some good ones picked out.”

The first lots sold for more than Rolf was paying for their hundred and sixty acres. Erik looked anxiously at Lars. Maybe he couldn’t afford that much.

Lars wrote something in a notebook. Gunnar Haugen, on his other side, nodded.

A few minutes later they bought two lots, side by side.

Mr. Haugen went to arrange payment in the auctioneer’s tent while Lars looked around the crowd. “Where’s
Olaf?” he asked. “We need to unload that wagon.”

Erik ran beside Lars as he strode toward his new lot. Olaf was already there. “I saw you bid,” he said, pulling a long timber from the wagon. “I knew you’d want to move quickly.” The cowboy, Jim, grabbed the other end of the board.

Lars pulled out a plank. Erik caught the end as it came off the wagon.

Together the four of them unloaded the wagon in minutes. Jim left to see if Pete had bought a lot, while Olaf and Lars climbed onto the wagon seat.

Lars looked at Erik. “You coming along?” he asked.

Erik climbed into the wagon box, kneeling behind the seat. Now that the rain had stopped, he hoped the sun would come out and dry his clothes.

Gunnar Haugen waved as they drove away. “Hurry back,” he said. “I should have this all sold by then.”

“What are you going to do with the land where you’ve been living?” Erik asked.

“It’s not mine,” said Lars. “I just rented the land for a few months. We wanted to be close to town so we could do what we’re doing right now.”

“Move your building as soon as you bought a lot?” asked Erik.

“Ja,
and sell lumber as soon as people want to buy it.”

On the way they met two wagons loaded with lumber. “It looks like other people had the same idea,” said Erik. “Maybe there will be no one to buy your wood.”

“Not everyone hauled their own lumber from Hanley. We’ll sell it all, you’ll see.”

Up ahead, Erik saw a building where there hadn’t been one before. Fascinated, he watched it move toward them, seeming to float over the prairie. As it drew closer, he wasn’t surprised to see it was Lars’s house, pulled by six oxen. Rolf walked beside the building and a man Erik didn’t know walked by the oxen. The last two oxen were Black and Socks.

Heavy ropes stretched between the skids and the oxen.

“This is what I like to see!” exclaimed Lars. “Hard-working men.”

“Don’t tell us you didn’t buy a lot!” Rolf called back.

“Don’t worry, we have two!” Lars replied. “They’re in the northeast corner. Gunnar is there.”

“Oxen move too slow,” said Olaf as they drove past.

“But they’re strong,” Erik defended them.

When Lars, Olaf and Erik got back to town with a second load of lumber, the house was in its spot, looking just like the store it was now going to be. Erik looked proudly at the building, the first in the new town of Green Valley.

The auction was over, but people still milled around, ignoring their wet clothes. Builders laid out lumber on some of the lots. The ring of hammers was heard from several directions. The lumber Erik had helped stack earlier was gone. Some of it might already be part of a new building, he decided, liking the thought.

He reached to help Olaf unload the second wagonload just as a stranger laid his hand on the board. “We’re building today,” he said. “I need to buy this whole load.”

A man talking to Mr. Haugen looked up. “Sorry,” he said, “I just bought most of it.”

“Then I’ll take the rest,” said the first man.

Olaf stopped unloading and leaned against the wagon. “So where do we put the lumber?” He grinned at Erik. “No reason to load it again if we don’t have to.”

Lars hired Erik for several days to watch the store while he and Mr. Haugen built a lean-to onto the back of the former house. Olaf and Rolf worked non-stop, hauling the lumber piled outside town to the new lumberyard. Olaf drove Lars’s wagon and horses while Rolf used his own wagon and oxen. When they drove into the yard, Erik joined them outside to help unload.

Aunt Kirsten was in the store, too, but she hung sheets to divide the space so she could spin or bake out of sight of the customers. “I’m not going to live in a lumber shop,” she told Erik. Erik knew his mother would have said the same thing, but he liked the smell of the sawdust and the look of the milled lumber.

He sold other supplies, too, almost anything people needed to build. He counted change from the big wooden cash register and weighed nails. Every time a customer walked into the store, he practiced his English and learned new words.