A Land to Call Home (8 page)

Thorliff swiped the back of his hand under his runny nose. “Ja, me and the other kids took the young steers and calves over to Lars’ corral. We threw water over the pigs. The chicken house was far enough away to be safe.” He wiped his nose again. Ingeborg handed him a soaked handkerchief from her apron pocket and he blew. “Those were good kittens.”

Ingeborg only nodded. What more could she say?

Coughing and snorting, most of the people gathered looked down at their feet when she walked by and thanked them all for coming. Haakan was doing the same, and they met at what used to be the corner of the corral, posts and poles either charred or burned entirely.

“This won’t beat us.” Haakan looked deep into her eyes.

“Ja, I know. It’s only a setback.” Ingeborg tried to clear her throat, but the raw flesh only made her gag. One thing she knew with a certainty undimmed by fires or floods or whatever the land might send: God had delivered her from the darkness after Roald died, and if He could bring her through that, He would bring her through anything. “Good thing we hadn’t built the barn already. The lightning would have struck it instead.”

Was that a laugh? Haakan’s voice was so hoarse she wasn’t sure.
But the smile that showed white teeth against a smoke-blackened face let her know.

“Oh, Ingeborg, only you could look for the good in this . . . this . . .” He swept a hand through the air, encompassing the entire smoldering mess. His laughter caught on a cough, and he bent double with the force of it. His clamped grip on the pitchfork handle kept him upright.

“Kaaren taught me that, her and the Scriptures.” Ingeborg heard others laugh and cough as the story spread. If he only knew what price the lesson had cost her.

“Food’s on.” Agnes rang the triangle just in case anyone hadn’t heard her booming voice. The mound growing under her apron might swell her feet, but it wouldn’t stop her from doing for others.

Later, as the wagons headed for home, friend after friend assured them that if winter was harsh that year, they would deliver some of their hay by sled. The Bjorklund animals would not go hungry.

“I put up extra, you know,” Ingeborg heard more than once.

“You want we should start with the wood we still got and get as much of the barn up as we can?” Joseph and Agnes stopped their wagon for one more spate of questions. “Or ain’t you got enough to do even that? I saw the big timbers was on the other side of the barn. Mostly siding went up.”

Haakan rubbed the cleft in his chin with one still grimy fingertip, shifting his mouth to the right and massaging his left cheek with his tongue. He shook his head. “Think we better hold up. I haven’t really looked it all over yet.”

“If cash for the lumber is a problem, I could—” Joseph stopped when Haakan’s hand came up, flat out.

“Mange takk, but we ain’t so poor as to borrow from our friends. If we need more money for it, we will go to the bank.”

Ingeborg tried to hide a smile, but Agnes caught it and sent one back. These proud men of theirs.

“Ain’t so much a loan. Call it repayment for all you do for us.”

Haakan shook his head again. “Joseph, the owing side is all ours. Now git on home to your chores. We’ll raise the schoolhouse on Saturday like we figured.”

Joseph spat a glob of tobacco over the wheel of the wagon.

“Uff da,” muttered Agnes, shaking her head.

“Now, woman, a man’s got to have a weakness of some kind.”
Joseph touched the brim of his hat with one finger, winked at the Bjorklunds, and slapped the reins on his team’s backs. “Hup now.”

Ingeborg waved again. Surely another gift of today was the knowledge that they didn’t have just neighbors. They had good friends, the kind that would last for all eternity.

A cow bellered from the pasture and then another.

“Milking time.” Haakan turned to Iiigeborg. “Kaaren sent over that she will have supper ready after chores. Lars said she was feeling a mite blue since she couldn’t come and help fight the fire, so she said she was doing what she could.”

“I could milk so you and Thorliff could count the boards we have left.”

He put an arm around her shoulders and hauled her into the spot under his arm where she just fit. “Lars and I, we will do that tomorrow. You think we have enough in the bank and the money tin to buy more?”

“We could wait till next year.”

“Ja, I know. But next year I am building you a house—with plenty of windows.” He looked up at the sky, the clouds purpling as night triumphed over the setting sun. “I think we should go ahead.”

“It’s up to you.”

Haakan stared into her face. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Lord above, the fire must have affected her mind.” He raised both hands skyward. “Thank you, heavenly Father.”

Ingeborg elbowed him in the ribs. “Uff da, the way you carry on.” But this smile she didn’t try to hide.

Lying beside her sleeping husband that night, Ingeborg shifted from side to side, trying to find a comfortable spot for all her aching places. Words of praise continued to flow through her head. Perhaps the fire
had
affected her mind. She wrapped an arm around Haakan’s rib cage and snuggled next to his back, spoon fashion.
And most of all, Father, thank you for this man you sent me
.

Saturday morning found them all in the wagons by daybreak, chores already finished and food packed in quilts to keep warm or cold. Two sod cutters lay in the back, a clanking testimony to the labor ahead. Today was the day Kaaren had been longing for—the
raising of the schoolhouse. The two outfits followed each other down the road to the five-acre plot fenced off on the southwest corner of Bjorklund land for a cemetery. Roald had planned from the first to donate land for the school and church, his dream of a town rising there at the corner of his property on its way to becoming reality. First the school that would double as a church, then they would build a real church. Now with Hjelmer—if and when Hjelmer returned—there would be a store and blacksmith shop. And if the railroad did indeed stop here, the town would grow farther than even Roald had dreamed.

“You really think the railroad will plan on a water stop here?” Kaaren asked as they neared the cemetery.

“Good a place as any. They need a water tower about every twenty miles, and we’re at nineteen. That’s if they come this way at all. Sure wish we knew what their plans are.” Lars studied his wife’s face, looking for any sign she was wearing out.

Kaaren smiled up at him. “Now, don’t look at me like that. Today I feel wonderful, as if I could race you across the prairie.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Now that would be a sight.”

“Oh you.” She slapped his knee, her playfulness evident for the first time in days. She shrugged. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. My own school, and today the walls go up.”

“Brought enough froes and mallets, along with tree butts, so all the boys can split shingles. We might even get half the roof up. Did you hear Joseph say he would donate a stove? And Johnson is building you a table for a desk.”

“I heard you and Haakan volunteered to make desks for the children.”

“That was supposed to be a surprise.” Lars wrapped the reins around the brake handle.

“Then you shouldn’t have told Mr. Anderson. His wife can’t keep a secret for more’n a minute, if that.”

“That’ll learn me. You kind of keep an ear cocked after dinner for the riverboat. If she comes today, Solveig can meet half the county.” Though they were the first ones there, other rigs could be seen plodding their way across the prairie.

Kaaren waited for Lars to help her down from the high wagon seat, sharing a smile with Ingeborg when she stepped lightly onto the wheel spoke of the wagon parked beside them and down to the ground. Soon now, too soon if Metiz was right, she would be able to move like that again.

“You sure you should be here?” Ingeborg reached in the back of the wagon and swung Andrew to the ground. “Now, stay by me,” she ordered in the tone that even Andrew knew meant he’d better obey.

“Had to be.”

Ingeborg nodded. “Thought as much. You could take a lie-down here in the wagon later.”

“Ja, I thought of that.”

“Andrew!” Ingeborg spoke sharply in her no-nonsense voice.

The youngster, still in the dress of babyhood, looked over his shoulder, with Bjorklund blue eyes pleading for freedom. “Find Tor.” He looked around the end of the wagon, then back at his mother.

Ingeborg shook her head. She moved to the rear of the wagon and assisted Haakan in unloading the tree trunks cut in two-foot lengths, just right for shingles.

As soon as the Baard boys arrived, they pitched in, and before long, Haakan had his shingle-splitting class all set up. Each splitter sat on a stump with the butt in front of him, grasping a froe in his right hand and setting it at a slight angle on top of the butt. With the mallet in his left, he tapped the top of the metal froe and the shingle split away. It sounded easy and Haakan made it look that way. But if the froe wasn’t held just right, when hit with the mallet the steel blade bounced or fell flat, neither of which action split a shingle.

“You got to hold on to that handle.” Haakan adjusted the upright handle for Swen. “Now, you don’t have to hit hard, just enough to drive the blade into the butt. The wood will split by itself.”

The tip of Swen’s tongue showed between his clamping lips. When he hit the froe just right and the shingle split away, a grin to dazzle the eye creased his face. “I did it!” He set the froe again and repeated the action.

“You got it, son. Keep on, and when you have a stack of about ten in front of you, pick them up all at once and lay them in the frame there. That will help form the bundles, and then you can tie them so it is easy to carry them to the roof.”

He walked between his eager pupils, all of whom now had the rhythm—most of the time.

As others arrived, the boys joined the splitters until ten lads were busy splitting shingles, and two others tied bundles and carried
them from the three-sided square frames to the growing stack of bundles. They traded off jobs, and soon laughter and joking punctuated the slam of mallet on froe and the screech of wood splitting into shingles.

With each boy set and producing to his satisfaction, Haakan unhitched his team and drove them to the site Lars and Joseph had already marked out with pegs driven into the corners. They would use four teams or more to cut sod, and the men could rotate laying the strips, hauling, and cutting.

Some people brought wood for the fire, others brought hams and fried chickens, baked beans, the last vegetables of the season from their gardens, and pies and cakes for dessert. Tools appeared alongside the men, and soon the walls of the schoolhouse began to rise. Joseph ran the crew laying the three-foot-by-eighteen-inch sod blocks, overlapping the ends in the manner of bricklayers the world over.

After agreeing not to discuss the fire at the Bjorklunds anymore, the women got the cook fire going, the coffee started, and hauled out the water bucket and dipper. They assigned Penny to trot water to the workers and two of the younger girls to oversee the small children. Agnes arranged quilts for Kaaren to lean against on a stack of small tree trunks that would eventually become the rafters.

“I don’t need such babying,” she said with a laugh.

“Sit!” Agnes tried to look and sound stern as she pointed to the impromptu chair. “You can tell stories to entertain the youngsters, if you like.”

“But I . . .”

As two women lined up on either side of Agnes, all with matching crossed arms and frowns, Kaaren did as told.

“Uff da.” But leaning against the padded logs felt good, and with the breeze lifting the strands of gold from her forehead, she beckoned the children. They gathered around her, one little girl laying her head on what remained of Kaaren’s lap and another snugging up against her side. She stroked the white-gold hair of the child at her knee and began. “Long time ago in the northern part of Nord-land, an old troll lived in a cave right beside a beautiful stream that danced and sang its way from the snowfield on the mountaintop to the valley below. Now, the old troll was so-o-o old that he helped build the mountain.”

“How old was that?” asked Gus, the youngest Baard boy.

Kaaren shook her head. “No one knew how old he was.” “They couldn’t count that far?”

She nodded. “That’s a wonderful answer.” As the story continued, she kept an eye on the rising walls of her schoolhouse. When she finished, the children begged for another. By the time the women had dinner ready, she’d fought the battle of Jericho, visited Daniel in the lion’s den, and staggered across the desert with the Israelites.

Penny came over and handed her a cup of water. “You sure tell a good story, Mrs. Knutson. Makes me wish I could come back to school just to hear you.”

While the children scampered off to take the plates their mothers had filled, Penny took a place on the quilt. Tracing the colorful patches with a fingertip, she sighed.

“I take it you haven’t heard from Hjelmer.”

The younger woman shook her head. “Not a word. Makes me not want to write to him, but I promised, and as Tante Agnes has drummed into my head, a promise is a promise no matter if the other person keeps their part or not.” She looked up with swimming eyes. “Do you think something’s happened to him?” She swallowed hard. “I mean, what if—?”