A Land to Call Home (12 page)

Ingeborg crossed to the bed as the mewlings turned into a wail. “Hard to believe such a sound comes from one so tiny.” She smiled into Kaaren’s tired blue eyes. “Sophie is hungry again.”

“I can tell.”

“While you nurse her, I will fix a plate and help you eat. How does that sound?”

“Inge, I can feed myself.” Kaaren winced when she tried to sit up.

Metiz silently handed Ingeborg a steaming cup. “She drink first.”

Kaaren settled the infant at her breast and made sure the sling holding Grace was still secure. With both hands occupied, she shook her head. “You were right.” Like a baby bird, she opened her mouth for spoonfuls of the tea, and when that was finished, she managed to eat a bit of ham and eggs.

Later, leaving Metiz on the first watch as she insisted, Ingeborg set out for home. The sun looked warmer than it felt. The oak and maple trees along the riverbank shimmered in their autumn finery, the leaves casting up like feathers when the wind puffed them away. She should be hunting today. And Haakan had mentioned wanting to butcher now that the cold had come. Frost still lay on the north side of the grass hummocks and on the roofs of the soddies, both barn and house.

She lifted her face to catch every ray of sun. Geese and other waterfowl sang their way south but in much fewer numbers than earlier. They could always use more smoked goose and down for feather quilts. She thought instead of the tiny ones left sleeping on their mother’s chest. “Please, dear God, they are so weak and tiny. You who counts the sparrows, please find it in your heart to help these babies live. It is all up to you, I know that. I thank you that you saw us through the long night and brought them safely into their new life. I know that with you all things are possible.” She could feel tears gathering behind her eyes and shut off the thoughts that battered on the door of her mind. “And we will give you all the
praise and glory. Amen.” Sleep claimed her before she could even pull her boots off.

“Mor, Tante Kaaren needs you.” Thorliff’s tugging on her arm pulled her from a deep sleep.

I
brought your laundry back.”

Hjelmer stared at the young woman who stood on the rough plank steps before the doorway to the sleeping car. He’d said he would get the laundry himself. He looked over his shoulder to see who else might be in the car. Much to his consternation, the ring of men clad in wool long johns, their shirts hanging from the bunks, turned to see where the musical voice came from.

“Mange takk.” He dug in his pocket for change. “How much?”

She named her price and handed him his fresh-smelling bundle of clothes, taking her payment in the same motion. “I’ll pick up next Monday.”

“No, I ah . . .

“I didn’t do a good enough job?” She turned, planting her hands on hips that set her full skirt to swaying. Even when she stopped, the skirt continued to move as if it had a life of its own.

“No, it’s not that, I . . .” Hjelmer raised his eyes heavenward. He could hear the snickering behind him catch hold and pass around the circle like a flare in the forge, exactly what he was trying to keep from happening.

Her teeth glinted white in the lamplight that formed an oblong patch of gold on the steps and beyond. “See you Monday.” She spun and darted off before he could think of another thing to say. She didn’t seem to understand the meaning of his simple “no.”

“Ah, so Katja is after ye,” one of the hecklers said.

“She don’t go for nobody,” another added, masking a ribald comment behind his hand. The man next to him nearly fell off his stump for laughing.

Hjelmer could feel the heat begin in his neck and quickly work
its way up over his jaw. This he didn’t need, not now, not ever. In his heart of hearts, only Penny reigned. If Penny still cared for him. Why hadn’t she written? He snorted on the way to his bunk. Why should she write after he never answered the first one? Were all the letters—if she did write—stacking up in the Fargo Post Office, waiting for him to come pick them up?

He flung himself down on his bunk rather than going back to his carving for the moment. What a mess he was making of his life. Big Red’s men were after him to join the poker games, and as Leif said, they didn’t let up till you gave in and lost every dollar you had earned. He hadn’t written home to Nordland, either, let alone to his relatives on the bank of the Red River. Would they think him dead? A few more months and he would have a good stake put by. If only he could go home to the farm on the prairie. But if he did, that Strand would hold the shotgun on him until he married Mary Ruth. He slammed a hand on the post holding up the bunks. That baby was
not
his. He’d never disgraced her or any woman, in spite of the teasing on the fishing boat and now here.

Thoughts of swishing skirts and raven’s wing curly hair filled his mind. It wasn’t for want of chances, that was for sure. He heaved himself to his feet and rejoined the men around the stove. He might be a gambler, but he wasn’t a skirt chaser.

The men passed around a flat bottle, each taking a swig and wiping off the neck. “Here’s your turn, ye missed the last.”

“No thanks.” Hjelmer continued with his carving, fashioning the eagle’s eye with the tip of his knife.

“You don’t drink; you don’t gamble; you don’t go after women. Son, you sure are some boring.” A glob headed for the spittoon and missed as usual.

Sam chuckled, his grizzly head nodding in delight. “He got principles, he do dat.”

“Well, principles ain’t gonna protect him from Big Red much longer. After payday tomorrer, you better be ready to play or run.”

Hjelmer swallowed. He’d been afraid of that. Walking past a table set up for play was like asking a drunk to not drink. He could make some real money so easy that way. Double his earnings or more. He carefully wrapped the eagle in its soft leather blanket and tucked it into the sack along with his tools.

“Night, fellows.” He rose and stretched. “Don’t stay up too late. Workday tomorrow.”

“Payday, you mean.” A cackle followed Hjelmer outside to the
privy. When he returned and crawled under his quilt and blanket, he sighed. Tomorrow he would decide. After all, did the vow not to gamble ever again really count when he’d made it only to himself?

And to God.
He could hear his mother’s voice plain as the night was dark. He hadn’t said the words to God, had he? And besides, God didn’t seem to matter much out here on the prairie where you heard His name mostly as a swear word.

When morning came, he’d made a choice. He would play dumb like Leif had so they wouldn’t plague him anymore. He hated losing his paycheck to prove the point.

That evening after picking up his pay, he hustled into the store set up four cars beyond the cookshack and paid off his chit. New gloves and blankets cost dear at the company store, but he needed them both. A sheepskin coat was next on his list. On a whim he laid down the cost of the leather thigh-length jacket.

“You want to buy the coat now?” The clerk shook his head. “Ain’t got none in stock.”

“I’m paying in advance. Let me know when they come in.” “Waal, I don’ know. We ain’t never done this afore.” He scratched the bald spot glowing under the lamplight.

“So this is the first. Just write it in by my name like you did the other things and mark paid.”

Tongue between his teeth, the scrawny man did as told.

“Mange takk.” Hjelmer jingled the remaining coins in his pocket. Now if he could just get to his eagle bag, he’d insert some of his remaining pay into the hollowed-out hole in the base of the prairie dog he’d carved earlier. A plug filled in the hole in the meantime.

One day he’d have to take time off to get to a bank. Perhaps after the snow got too deep to work. The foreman, Hanson, had asked him if he’d like to work in the roundhouse at Fargo or maybe St. Paul. He’d not given an answer yet.

“So, you gonna try out my idea?” Leif fell into step with him when he left the bunkhouse.

Hjelmer nodded. “If I can manage this, I oughta go on stage like that actor fellow we saw advertised in the store.” Posters told of a handsome man starring in a stage play at the theater in Fargo.

“I’ll be a-watchin’ your back. They think I’m dumb as a drunk rooster when it comes to cards.”

“Just so they don’t think we’re in cahoots. Got run out of another town ’cause a big guy thought I was cheating.” Hjelmer lifted the
tent flap and ducked inside. Smoke grayed the tent and set him to coughing after the crisp evening air. Four tables, each with a lantern above and four to six men sitting around it, about filled up the available space except for that set aside for the bar.

His gut seemed to purr. He forced a blank look across his features and strolled over to the table where Big Red presided. If he was going to play, he might as well play in the lion’s den.

“I see you finally decided to play smart.” Big Red removed the cigar from his mouth and waved it in Hjelmer’s direction. “Just in time, right, boys?” Heads nodding around the table warned the young man of what he might have missed out on.

“I told you I don’t know much about cards. My far didn’t hold with wasting time on such things.” He hoped his father wouldn’t mind taking the blame.

“Wasting time, is it?” Red’s sandy eyebrows lowered. “We’ll see about that, yes we will.” He pointed to a man two off from his right and jabbed a thumb toward the door behind them. The man near to crashed his chair over in his hurry to vacate his seat.

Hjelmer caught the rocking chair and slid into it. He shook his head at the bartender’s offer of a drink and looked around the table.

Most of the chips mounded in front of Red.

Not surprised, he tried to think how he would act if he really knew nothing about cards in general and poker in particular. How much would a greenhorn know? The names of the cards? Surely not the plays or how to count.

“We’re playin’ Five Card Draw.” Red shuffled the deck one more time and began dealing the hand.

“So, what does that mean?”

Snickers came again but died the moment Red looked at the guilty ones.

“You told me you would teach me if I came to play. Now, I ain’t playing a game I don’t know nothing about.” Hjelmer leaned his elbows on the table, making the now silent man next to him look about the size of a yearling compared to a full-grown bull.

“Sorry. I forgot I said that.” Red licked his lips.

“Just want to keep everything on the up and up here. I heard about you fellows taking advantage of newcomers and . . .”

Red waved him silent. He laid out a few simple rules and dealt another card.

“Maybe if I could write down some of that, like what a full barn means and . . .”

A look of pain caused Red to squint. “I ’spect that would help but it’s called full house.”

“Not barn!” exploded on a guffaw across the table.

“Oh, sorry.” Hjelmer waved to the bartender. “You got any writing paper and pencil behind that counter? I need to make some notes.”

“How about if we play out a hand and you watch.”

Hjelmer caught the wink Red sent to one of his friends. “Fine with me. But can I ask questions as you go along?”

Leif covered his snort with a coughing fit. “Smoke.” He fanned his face with his hand.

When the paper arrived, Hjelmer stuck the tip of his tongue out between his teeth, gripped the pencil till it screamed, and wrote full house. The cards had all been dealt, and silence hovered, a pall above them like the smoke. He looked up. “Now, what did you say makes a . . . a full house?” He glanced down at the paper, as if needing the reminder.

A sigh to his left cut off at Red’s look.

Red smiled like a friendly uncle. “That’s three cards of one rank, say the queen, and two of another, like maybe threes or sumpin’. Whatever guy has the highest in the three is the winner.”

Hjelmer nodded. He’d never written so slow since he entered school.

By the time Hjelmer had written down all the ways of winning and which cards won over which, the man across from him, who’d been drinking steadily from the bottle by his side, exploded.

“I thought we came here to play cards, not wet-nurse some Nor-sky kid.”

“Ears!” The one word was enough to stop him from further tirade, but he continued mumbling into his hand.