A Land to Call Home (28 page)

Boots being kicked against the stoop announced George’s arrival. A smile split his tanned face and brightened the golden flecks in his hazel eyes.

“Mrs. Bjorklund, how good to see you.” He hung his brown wool jacket on the oak coat-tree by the door, setting his muffler and hat on top. “We didn’t think you would be coming again until spring.” He crossed the kitchen to rub his hands in the heat above the stove. “And who is your assistant this time?”

Ingeborg introduced them, watching George’s face. Sure enough, his smile broadened when he dipped his head in greeting. She was glad to see he suffered no pangs from Haakan marrying her out of the blue like he did. George had shown interest in her and had asked to come calling as a suitor.

“And how is your sister-in-law?” he asked of Ingeborg.

“She is the proud mother of twin girls born a little over a month ago.” Ingeborg filled them in on the news of the settlement growing across the river. All the while Mrs. Carlson continued bringing food to the table. The kettle of soup, a plate of sliced bread, sliced cheese, pickles, jam, and honey. The coffeepot took up residence on a hot pad near her elbow. When she finally took her place, George bowed his head and said the grace.

Soon with everything passed around the table, they all fell to, the talking lagging for a few minutes at first. Fluffy dumplings
floated in the chicken soup, probably made from one of the Bjorklund chickens. Ingeborg savored every bite. Mrs. Carlson was a marvelous cook.

When they got ready to leave, the older woman asked for the total she owed them and went to another room for her pocketbook.

“I hope you will come again.” George held Solveig’s hand slightly longer than necessary.

“Perhaps you can join us for a barn dance to celebrate our new barn.” Ingeborg swiftly figured out a date. “Saturday after next.” She hoped Haakan would agree. He’d already said a celebration was in order.

“Do you want me to bring my fiddle?”

“I didn’t know you played. Bring it if you like, but you needn’t feel you must. If your mother would like to come, bring her too.” As the words spilled from her mouth, Ingeborg wondered where she would house these people. They were used to much finer than the soddy.

“Thank you for the invitation. I will come for sure, and Mother . . . I don’t know. She doesn’t like long rides in the winter.”

“Which reminds me, this all depends upon the weather, of course.”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Carlson returned with the cash for Ingeborg. “There now. I will look forward to your return in the spring. When all our hands come back to work, we depend upon your produce to feed them.”

Once on the road home, Solveig sat silently, her feet warm now on the hot bricks Mrs. Carlson had insisted they accept.

Ingeborg ached to ask her what she was thinking but refrained at the expense of several tooth marks in her tongue.

The sun was sinking toward the west when they were finally loaded with goods from the Mercantile, including a potbellied stove for the shop in the barn—Ingeborg’s gift to the men. The harness and bells jingled as the horses picked up the pace, knowing they were homeward bound.

Protected in her pocket was the most important packet—three letters from Norway and one from Fargo. Though she had asked, there had been none for Penny. Hjelmer still hadn’t answered, and neither had any of the railroad companies Kaaren had written to. That was no surprise, since the letters hadn’t been gone that long. But Hjelmer. Where was Hjelmer? What had happened to him? Penny wouldn’t wait forever, would she? The letter from her friend Mrs. Johnson at the Headquarters Hotel in Fargo would tell the tale.

I
’m going with you.” Katja, the young washerwoman, tossed her bundle up into the open freight car.

“No, you’re not.” Hjelmer looked around to see who else besides himself and Leif were in the dark freight car. They had just swung aboard themselves.

“In case you haven’t noticed, this is a free country. I can go where I want, just like you.” She hoisted herself up into the open door and got to her feet. Ignoring Leif’s stunned look, she turned her attention and her ire to Hjelmer. “You were going to leave without a word, weren’t you?”

Hjelmer glared down at her, feeling like an idiot for being caught out in so transparent a web. “I ain’t made you no promises.”

“I know that. And I ain’t making you none either. But they’re closing up the camp, and I thought I might as well leave with the earlier ones than the later. Which don’t make no nevermind. You could at least have come to say good-bye.” She stamped her foot, setting her multicolored skirt in a swirl. The draft from the open door added to the motion, showing more than a glimpse of her calf.

Katja ignored the wind and her skirt, her entire attention focused on the man-boy in front of her. “And I thought we was friends.”

“We . . . we are . . . were.” Hjelmer hated himself for stammering. He sent a pleading look to Leif, only to receive a shrugged shoulder response.

“Then why not take me with you? You two are friends and you stay together.”

Hjelmer stared at her. She knew the difference, of course she did. Didn’t she? Had he been reading her signals all wrong? He rubbed
his hands over his head, knocking his hat back on the floor. When he stooped to pick it up, he noticed a broad smile of white teeth from the far corner. Sam’s face was too dark to see.

Great, now they had an audience. After all this time he’d tried to keep his friendship with the young woman a secret. Keeping a secret in a railroad camp was like pushing a water-soaked rope uphill against an avalanche.

With a jerk the train started forward, iron wheels shrieking against the track.

She clutched the front of his jacket for balance. “I won’t be in yer way, I promise.”

Hjelmer shook his head and shrugged at the same time. “Suit yourself.” He pulled away, picking up his pack and carrying it back to the end of the boxcar. Then he and Leif pulled the doors closed, cutting off all light except the rays coming in from a few places where boards were missing.

The four of them sat close together for warmth, making desultory comments as the morning passed. Hjelmer leaned his head back against the car wall and let his mind wander. At least he knew where he was going, and that he had work when he got there. The big boss on the job had come to him several days before, just as they were putting their tools away for the day.

“You want a job for the winter?” he asked, standing close so his voice didn’t carry.

“Ja, I do.” Hjelmer tucked his pigskin gloves in the ties of his leather apron.

“We need some good men at the roundhouse in St. Paul. The pay isn’t quite as good as out here on the line, but it’s better than average. You ask for John Reggincamp when you get there and tell him I sent you.”

“Can Leif come too?” The words surprised Hjelmer as much as the boss.

The big man squinted and ran his tongue over his lower lip. Finally he nodded. “He works hard, and there’s no shortage of locomotives to repair. There should be a place for him too. But I want you back here in the spring. I’ll let you know when.”

Hjelmer nodded in response. “Thank you.”

Leif let out a whoop when Hjelmer told him the news. “Thankee, my friend. I owe you for that.”

“You owe me already.” The two jostled each other on the way to the meal car.

“No, you owe me. Remember the night I saved your bacon with Big Red? That’s worth lots of paybacks.”

Hjelmer brought his mind back to the frigid railcar. They should have hoisted a barrel in here to build a fire in. He untied his quilt from his bundle and wrapped it around himself, then lifted the edge to let Katja, whose teeth were clattering in the cold, crawl under it too.

“Didn’t you bring a blanket?”

She shook her head. “I was in too much of a hurry.”

Warming each other, they fell into an uneasy sleep. The train stopped in Fargo before heading farther east. Leif jumped down and promised to bring back some food for all of them.

“How far you going, Sam?” Hjelmer asked.

“St. Paul, like you. Thought to go on home, but dey need money more’n dey need me.”

Home. Is the Red River Valley my home now? Is Penny still waiting?
He thought of heading north before he continued east, but what if the job disappeared because he didn’t get there right away? He would write to her as soon as he had a place to live, that’s what he’d do.

Pleased with that decision, he fell to the bread and cheese Leif brought back. Bellies full and the train again in forward motion, the four of them shared their blankets and took advantage of the chance for some extra sleep.

Once in St. Paul, the four pooled their resources to rent a small house not far from the roundhouse. With no furniture other than a cookstove, the men took over the main room and gave Katja the bedroom. Since they’d arrived on a Friday night, the men headed out on Saturday morning for the roundhouse to find Reggincamp.

“I will find us a table at least,” Katja promised.

“Or some lumber so we can build one. And we need either coal or wood.”

“We need everything.”

“Ja, well, we will make do.”

When they got home again, after being told to start work on Monday, the fragrance of simmering stew met them at the door. A kettle bubbled on the stove, now hot from coal chunks like those in the box beside it. One upturned box made a table, and three
smaller ones served as makeshift chairs.

“How?” Hjelmer and Leif exchanged puzzled glances.

“I found the coal along the tracks and the boxes in a heap. There are more boxes there if you want. The kettle I bought for a nickel from a peddler and the meat and vegetables came from . . . well, you don’t want to know where they came from.” Katja gave the stew a stir with a scrubbed stick. “You want to eat first or go out and look for more? I heard there’s some real fine houses up on the hill. Those folks usually throw good stuff away. You just got to be there at the right time.”

Sam chuckled. “She be right.” His soft southern accent rounded out the words.

“You could carve us some spoons, Hjelmer. I seen your animals and birds. You are some good with a knife.” She fetched four tin cans she’d scrubbed clean and poured the stew into them. “Take your places.” She set a loaf of bread in the middle of the table. “That’ll have to do for spoons for now.”

When Hjelmer smiled at her and shook his head, she grinned back, giving her an impish look. “Told you I wouldn’t be no burden. Katja carries her own weight in this world.”

On his scouting trips that day and the next, Hjelmer found himself thinking of the places he passed where he knew men played cards. He could be in there, warm and comfortable, making real money instead of searching the city for things they could use. His cold fingers itched to feel the crisp cards, to finger the ones he would keep and the ones to discard. He forced his mind back to the hunt. He’d sworn off gambling.
Remember that
, he ordered sternly.

The evenings were spent turning their finds into useful tools. They tore apart more boxes, carefully saving the nails to be pounded straight again. When Leif produced a hammer head he’d picked up in the camp out west, Hjelmer fashioned a handle for it. They nailed some boards over one window that had no glass and used others to make a chair. What was left they stacked in the corner to be used later. One box became their food store and another the kitchen counter and cupboard. Keeping things cold wasn’t a problem; keeping themselves warm proved more difficult. They needed bedding desperately. If a real cold spell hit the area, they could all be frozen by morning. Roughing it in the camp was luxury compared to this. At least there they’d had plenty of hot food and heat.

Picking up coal along the railroad tracks became habit for all of them. No one went out without the bags that Katja stitched up from
some ragged curtain material she found behind a house.

Hjelmer thought of all the wages he had sent to the bank in Grand Forks. How he wished he had some of it now. He’d paid off his chit at the company store and already spent the rest of his last pay. He couldn’t get into a card game if he wanted to. He had no more cash. But after payday, that would change. Vow or no vow, he—they—needed money to live here in the city, and he knew how to get some fast.