A Land to Call Home (42 page)

“Glad to have you here. Why don’t you and your little girl go stand by the stove and warm up. I have hot soup and coffee.” She felt the boy’s forehead and laid a hand on his chest to feel his shallow breathing. Her hand barely moved.
Dear God, please, this poor woman doesn’t need any more heartache. You who can heal anyone, please pour out your grace upon this child. Please, I beg of you. Grant me wisdom in the use of the medicinals you have given us. Father, we will give you all the glory. In the precious name of your Son, Jesus
.

She stood there a moment longer looking at the sick child. His pale skin was so translucent she could see the tiny veins underneath. The poor boy’s cheekbones were far too prominent, and his ribs poked through the thin skin of his chest. “Oh, blessed boy, please try to fight this. Your mor needs you with her.” She whispered the words before kneeling at his side to spoon a tisane compounded of several of her herbs and honey. The first spoonful leaked from the side of his mouth. “Come on, son, swallow, please swallow.” She tipped the spoon between his thin lips, watching his throat intently. The prominent Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice. “Thank you, Lord.” He took five more spoonfuls before a tiny shake of his head.

“You did real good, son. I’ll bring some beef broth to strengthen
you up when I come back. You just sleep now.” She got to her feet, rejoicing in the small victory. If they could keep him drinking, even in spoonfuls, there was a chance he’d pull through.

“If you would sit down to the table, Mrs. Peterson, I will bring you some of this soup. That ought to warm you from the inside out.” She looked down at the little girl. “And what is your name?”

The child hid in her mother’s skirts.

“She’s some shy. Never did see too many folks outside her family.” Mrs. Peterson crossed her hands over her child’s back. “This here is Ellie, short for Elmira. I’m Gudrun, but most folks call me Goodie. I . . . I want to thank you, Mrs. Bjorklund. You and yours saved our lives.” She took her indicated place at the table and set the girl on her lap.

“It wasn’t us. It was Hjelmer who found you.” Ingeborg set the steaming bowls in front of them. “Now, you just eat up and you’ll all feel better. I’m going to give your boy—what is his name?—some of the broth.”

“Hans.”

“Good, Hans it is.” By the time the boy took another five spoonfuls and shook his head, the bowls on the table were empty. “Would you like more?” she asked. At the woman’s sheepish nod, Ingeborg refilled the bowls and put another plate of sliced bread on the table too. “Maybe Ellie”—Ingeborg paused and smiled down at the child—“would like some jam on her bread.” She set the pot of jelly directly in front of the pale waif. The child’s eyes lit up, and she gazed up at Ingeborg as if she’d just produced the sun and the stars together.

Ingeborg felt a catch at the back of her throat. Such a little one to have already endured so much. She took one of the slices of bread, buttered it, and spread the chokecherry jelly on, thick as it would stay. “Ellie, here’s your bread and jelly, all right?”

The girl nodded, one bony little hand reaching for the treat. She kept her gaze on Ingeborg as she took the first bite. “Mange takk,” she whispered around a mouthful of food.

“Velbekomme, Ellie.” It was all Ingeborg could do to keep from scooping the child up in her arms and hugging her close. For just a moment she hated the prairie and the cruelty it inflicted on the innocent beings who tried to tame it.

She looked up to catch the steady gaze of the woman who wore the mantle of suffering with her chin out and jaw squared. Goodie
Peterson might have been the mirror image of herself two years earlier.

The child on the bed coughed and choked.

Mrs. Peterson leaped to her feet.

“You just sit and rest for now.” Ingeborg waved her back. “I’ll take care of him.” She raced to the bed and held the thin body upright so he wouldn’t choke on the phlegm he coughed up. He coughed and coughed, bringing up more. When he finished coughing, he looked at her for the first time.

“I’m hungry,” he whispered.

She laid him back down. “I’ll get the soup.” She scooped up the soiled rags and dropped them in the stove. Then skimming off the soup broth into a bowl, she returned to the bed. When the liquid cooled enough, she spooned some into the boy’s mouth. Not counting the spoonfuls, she kept up a soothing murmur, one that both encouraged and calmed. At the shake of his head, she set down the bowl. “You did real well, Hans. Now let me clean you up a bit, and then you take a good long nap.”

“That was good. . . .” His whisper faded at the end.

Ingeborg patted his hand lying limp on the quilt and went for a basin of warm water, some soap, and a cloth.

When the boy lay clean again and sleeping, she gazed down at him. Gratitude flowed from her heart, rose to the Father, and returned as strength for the child. She watched as his cheeks pinked and his breathing eased. When she turned, she saw Mrs. Peterson with her chin on her chest and her sleeping daughter in her arms. Ingeborg went out to the lean-to, fixed a bed on the empty bunk, and returned for the child.

“Come, Mrs. Peterson, the two of you need rest as bad as Hans.” Carrying Ellie close to her chest, she led the way.

“I . . . I really should help you.” The woman sank down on the bed.

“No, you rest. You can help me later.”

The woman and child slept through the evening, the night, and into the morning.

“Mor, he sleeping.” Andrew stood at the edge of the bed and peered into Hans’ face.

“Shhh.”

Andrew’s whisper matched the first, only with more hiss.

Hans turned his head, eyes open.

“He wake.” Andrew flew across the short space and grabbed his mother’s skirt. “He hungry.”

“How do you know?” Ingeborg looked down with a smile and continued stirring the cracked oats and wheat that had been simmering all night.

“I hungry.” Andrew clamped his hands on his hips and stared up at her as if he couldn’t understand why she didn’t get the connection.

“Good. Get up to the table.”

Goodie Peterson and Ellie blinked their way out of the lean-to.

“Breakfast’s ready.”

Ingeborg fed the woman and children first, then the men and boys when they came in from chores.

Hjelmer was ready to leave soon after. “Thank you, Ingeborg, Haakan, for taking these folks in. I need to get back to St. Paul, but first I want to call on the Baards.” He nodded to Haakan. “Thanks for the advice.” With hat in hand, he shifted from one foot to another. “Ah, can you tell me where Penny is living and working so I can write to her?”

Ingeborg started to speak, shared a look with Haakan, and amended what she’d been going to say. “I think you need to ask the Baards about that.”

“You mean Penny might not want to hear from me?”

“I just think you need to talk with Joseph and Agnes. After all, Penny is their niece.”

Hjelmer nodded. “I’ll be heading west again with the railroad as soon as the weather breaks.” He nodded to Mrs. Peterson, who was rocking Ellie in the chair by the stove. “Good-bye, ma’am. I’ll take care of that business for you. I hope your son gets all better and strong again.”

Ingeborg and Haakan followed him out the door.

He stood by his horse. “Inge, did . . . what . . . ah . . . Mary Ruth?”

Ingeborg shook her head. “Slim as a stick.”

Hjelmer sighed and seemed to gain three inches in stature. “I knew it wasn’t mine.”

“
It
wasn’t nobody’s ‘cause it wasn’t real.” Haakan shook his head. “I sure as heaven hope you ain’t getting yourself in more trouble.”

Hjelmer stared a moment at the rein in his hand. He looked up,
a smile and one raised eyebrow lighting his face. “I’m not, but I am getting the money together for my shop and Penny’s store—if she’ll still have me, of course.” He mounted. “Good-bye, and thank you for taking those folks in. That Olaf, he sure does know his building. That barn is some wonderful.” He turned the horse toward the west. “I’ll be back.”

Ingeborg cupped her elbows in her hands and shivered in the cold. Haakan put his arm around her shoulders. “Why do I get the feeling there is something going on that he isn’t telling us?”

“You mean like that business for Mrs. Peterson?”

Ingeborg nodded. “He looks awful prosperous. You suppose he’s gambling again?” They turned and headed for the house.

Haakan shook his head. “I hope not.”

No one answered the door at the Baards’. Hjelmer checked the out buildings, too, but all were empty save for the animals that lived there. No one was home. Ignoring the pang in his heart, he started to write a note and leave it on the table but changed his mind. Joseph and Agnes deserved a full explanation, not just a note. As he rode on, he felt the weight of sadness press him into the saddle.
Too late, too late
. The thoughts kept time with the trotting hooves of the horse beneath him. Why, oh why, had he not written again? What was the matter with him? He could no more answer the questions than he could keep the moon from rising.

By the time Hjelmer reached Grand Forks, he had eight deeds in his pocket and five hundred dollars still remaining of his twelve thousand. He filed the deeds, put the money back in the bank, and caught the train for Minneapolis. Two farmers would stay on through harvest, giving him twenty-five percent of the harvest as rent. The rest were planning to leave as soon as the weather broke, including Mr. Booth. While he’d asked them each to not say anything about the sale, he knew just the leaving would create interest and questions. But by then the surveyors would be through, and he’d have sold his land to the railroad. What they didn’t take, he would keep or sell to some of the immigrants Ingeborg had said were coming from Norway. Either way, he would make money above what he paid.

“You’re a day late,” the boss growled the next morning. “Have half a mind to let you go.”

“Sorry, sir, some things happened I hadn’t planned on.” Hjelmer held his breath.
If I get fired now
. . . The thought made his stomach flutter. He waited, forcing his body to remain still.

“Ah, get on back to work.”

“Thank you, Mr. Reggincamp.” He dipped his head and headed for his forge.

“ ’Bout time you got your sorry hide back here,” the foreman grumbled. “Work’s getting backed up, got a couple sick men, and you’re off seeing the country.”

“I’ll work over to make up if that would help,” Hjelmer volunteered.

“Might have to. They’re gearing up for the spring track laying. If the weather breaks, you could be leaving soon.”

Hjelmer felt his heart leap. Perhaps they would go through Fargo and he could find Penny. That is, if Penny would see him.

Y
ou look to be ’bout running out of hay,” Joseph said one March morning. He pointed to the two-foot remains of the hay pile.

“We still got some over to Lars’. We shouldn’t have to buy much.”

“What if we have a late spring?”

“Then we’ll have to buy more.” Haakan leaned on the pole corral where the sheep were enjoying the sun, even though it had little warmth yet. The lambs cavorted around their mothers and played tag over the snowdrift in the far corner. The boys had already shoveled out the drift that had covered the corral fence so the animals couldn’t get out.