An Untamed Heart (22 page)

“You wouldn’t like to stay and help us with the haying?” Ingeborg asked the next morning as Gilbert was loading the packhorse. “By the way, what is the other horse for?”

“To bring Nils back down. His father sent it up here. I’m sure he told Nils that.” He looked around. “Where is he?”

Her heart leapt, not a happy leap. “I do not know. He was not here for breakfast either. Did you hear him during the night?”

“No, but the roof could have caved in without waking me.”

Ingeborg ordered her jumping heart back into place. “Let me go look for him.”

She found him out in the barn, cleaning out the farrowing pen. The sow and her piglets were now out in the bigger pen with the others. Between both the sows they now had sixteen healthy and growing piglets.

“Do you know your far sent the horse for you?”

“I do. He informed me of that in the letter.”

“I see.” But she didn’t, not at all. Not that she wanted him to leave, but she understood that when a parent called, the son or daughter was to answer. “And what are you going to do?”

“Remain right here until you all go down. You have taken care of me all this time, after saving my life. Now it is my turn to repay you.”

“You need not repay us.”

“But I am going to.” He threw another forkful of dirty bedding in the barrow. “Is Gilbert ready to leave?”

“Ja.”

“Then I will give him the letter I wrote to mail to my far.”

“What will he do then?”

“He could come up and get me, but I doubt he will go that far.” Nils propped the fork in the corner. “I hope he will just
be content to let me stay up here. After all, I was supposed to have the summer in the mountains, and while this is not the way I had planned it, I am very content here and have no desire to do more hiking. Not that I can at the moment, but with hard work, the strength will come back. When I return to Oslo and school in September, I will attack my studies with the same zeal I am going to attack the hayfield, as soon as someone teaches me how to use a scythe. There is plenty of work here to keep me busy. Now, is that all right with you?” His blue eyes gazed firmly into hers.

How to reply decorously when she would rather sing and dance? He was not leaving! She’d awakened this morning sure that the other horse was for him, and it was. Instead, they would load it with more rolled-up fleece. Gilbert was already taking some of the soft cheese home with him. With an extra horse, he could carry more. She sucked in a deep breath and smiled. “Yes, that would be fine with me and all the others.”

Together they walked back to the house, where Nils went inside and brought back a packet. “Please mail this to my far,” he said to Gilbert. “The address is on it. Whatever the postage is, I will pay you when I get back to where my other belongings are.”

“Where is that?”

“They call their place Raggen Inn, not far from where I left the coach.”

“Not near Valdres, that is for sure. You came clear across the mountains from there?”

“Ja, I did, but I sure am hoping I do not have to return that way, since I would be lost within a couple of hours.” Nils smiled. “It was my pleasure to meet you.”

“And mine.” Gilbert nodded as he mounted his horse. “Do you think a month before you come down?”

Ingeborg shrugged. “It all depends on the weather, as you know. If you hear of a snowstorm, you come get us.”

Mari smiled up at her brother. “Tell Katrina I hope she is happy. Oh, and thank you for the letter.”

“You know, I think both you and Hjelmer have grown taller up here.”

“The good mountain air makes all things grow faster.” Ingeborg stepped back and bumped into Nils. She hadn’t realized he was so close. She turned to apologize and stopped at the look in his eyes. What was it? “What?”

“Nothing. I’m going back to finish my job. I dumped the first load on the manure pile off the barn. Is that right?”

“Ja.” For some reason, her mouth had gone dry, and her heart skipped like a little girl out to play. How easy it would be to drown in his gaze. She didn’t hear the horses ride out or the others laughing and waving and yelling, “Takk.” Gilbert had brought peppermint drops, a highly popular gift.

“Ingeborg. Ingeborg!”

She heard the sharpened tone and turned. “Ja?”

Gunlaug stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. “You said you would help me take this rug off the loom so I can get started on something else.” While she tried to look stern, laughter peeked out around her eyes.

“I am coming right now.” Ingeborg turned to see that Nils was just entering the barn.

“I called you three times.”

“Oh. Well, I am here now. Let us get to it.”

Would Nils’s far really come up here to get him? The thought made her shudder. While he was surely a good man,
it seemed that he required a lot of his children, his oldest son especially. All the fancy things they were required to do. What would it be like to wear a lovely silk gown and dance in a ballroom rather than outside or in a barn loft? The thought of strapping into a corset until she couldn’t breathe turned that vision on its head. And almost made her laugh.

“Now what?” Gunlaug asked in a suspicious tone.

“I was just thinking about women in the city who have to wear those horrid corsets under their lovely clothes, and I cannot believe anyone could be so willing to do that. You did get yours back?”

“I found it on my bed one day. Did Nils ever comment on being lashed into a woman’s corset to help his ribs?”

“No, not a word.” The two looked at each other and giggles just erupted. They hadn’t laughed like that for a long time. “We have been too serious.”

Now it was Gunlaug who turned thoughtful. “I agree. A little teasing would lighten things up around here. Especially the gloom from Nils when he is usually so cheerful. Even all through that pain, he never was grumpy.”

Ingeborg shook her head. “I know. The letter from his far was not a good thing. You know, I have been thinking. Being wealthy does not necessarily make people happy.”

“Being terribly poor doesn’t either. I think we are fortunate to be right in the middle. We have enough, we work hard, and we have learned to laugh and trust God for all things.”

Ingeborg stared at her. “Gunlaug, sometimes you amaze me. Let us remain best friends all our life.”

“Ja. Of course. Unless you go to Amerika some day.”

Ingeborg shook her head. “That will never happen.”

Nils stood in the doorway of the house, looking out over the field they were to start to hay today. Hjelmer had told him several weeks ago that they would not be grazing that section any longer but would take the cattle and sheep into the higher meadows each day to graze. How he could know so much for being only twelve years old was beyond Nils’s comprehension.

“We have to wait for the dew to dry off before we start cutting with the scythes.” Hjelmer stood beside him. “You did real well sharpening them yesterday, you know. Takes a natural rhythm.”

“Thanks to you.” Nils tossed the dregs of his coffee out to the dirt. They’d had porridge for breakfast again. He understood that that was pretty much a staple around here, but he was looking forward to having eggs. Or breakfasts like the cook at home made for them every day, one of the few things he looked forward to back in Oslo.

The boys, who were more men than boys, gathered by the barn, where they had sharpened the scythes on the grindstone
the day before and finished the edges with files. Daily Nils was learning new skills, skills he had never even dreamed of, let alone planned on learning. Getting the knack of pedaling the spinning wheel and then holding the scythe blade at the right angle to the stone looked easy. It was not. As far as he was concerned, nothing the others took for granted was easy. The blister on one hand had already taught him the value of leather gloves.

“We will walk close together, each a few paces behind the other, in order to not leave clumps of grass uncut.” Hjelmer looked at Nils. “We do not chop the grass; we stroke it and draw the cutting blade across it.” He nodded to Anders. “We will show them.” The two reached the edge of the field and Hjelmer swung his scythe in a half circle that laid the grass out flat and smooth. Swing, step forward, swing, step forward. Andres started behind him with the same rhythm.

Hjelmer stopped and looked to his two new men. “Anders, you take up my line, Tor, you go next, and Nils, you will be the third.” He handed his scythe to Nils. “I will walk along and help the two of you until you do it well, and then we will trade off.”

Tor was quiet today, making Nils wonder if something was wrong. But rather than think on that, he paid close attention to what he was doing. He held the tool just the way he had practiced and cut his first swath of the day. It did not lie down smooth and straight like Hjelmer’s had. He stepped and swung again.

“You need to keep the swing smooth.”

Nils glanced ahead. Tor’s looked better than his did. “Has he cut hay before?”

Hjelmer shook his head. “Not that I know of, but he has
probably used a scythe at home sometimes. Keep on. It will get better.”

“Ja, it will.” He said it more like a vow than an agreement. By about the tenth stride, he could see some improvement. But before long his arms started to ache, then increase to pain, and his right shoulder cramped. With gritted teeth he continued.
You will not get behind.
This was indeed a vow.

By the time Hjelmer called for a switch, Nils rolled his shoulders and tipped his head from side to side, stretching muscles that screamed in protest. He glanced up at the sun. Had it even moved?

“Go walk around and lean against something in the shade. If you sit down, you will never want to get up.” Hjelmer spoke softly so the others wouldn’t hear.

Nils nodded and relinquished his death grip on the scythe.

“You have blood on your glove. Do you have a blister?”

Nils nodded. “Do I need to see Ingeborg?”

“Ja.” He waved at Hamme, who was bringing out a bucket of water. “You are just in time.”

“I was watching.” She dipped out some water for each of them, noticed the bloody glove, and rolled her eyes. “Ingeborg is going to yell at you.”

Nils just nodded.
She couldn’t yell any louder than he already was
. He would continue with the scythe. He would.

———

“Tomorrow you will go out herding with Jon” was all Ingeborg said after she had smeared something vile smelling on his palm and wrapped his hand.

“I will continue in the hayfield, so wrap it well.”

Ingeborg started to say something, then obviously
recognized the steel in his eyes and didn’t say any more. “Dinner will be soon.”

“Takk.” He turned and headed back for the hayfield, fighting hard not to limp more than usual. Now that he thought about it, his leg ached something fierce too. But he could tell the difference between the bone ache and the muscle pain. He’d had those many times when hiking up steep grades.

He stepped into Tor’s place. When he saw Tor trying to cover the aches, Nils felt better. It wasn’t just he.

When the sun was straight up, they broke for dinner.

They all filled their plates and brought them outside to sit in the shade, since the sun had indeed grown hot. The tiny breeze blowing on his sweat-soaked shirt made him and the others close their eyes in delight. Nils tipped his head back against the log wall, grateful for the block of wood he was sitting on.

“Hot out there.” Anders wiped his face on his sleeve. “But that means the hay will dry like it should.”

“So we can turn it tomorrow.” Gunlaug sat down, the last one out of the house.

“Hope so. I doubt we will finish cutting today, but with three of us, we are moving pretty fast.” Hjelmer looked to Ingeborg, who nodded.

“Let’s say grace.” He started it and the others joined in. “And thank you, God, for good weather. Amen.”

Nils smiled at Ingeborg and nodded, then whispered. “Those three are fine young men.”

“That they are.”

“Far older than their years.”

“Not really, but they do know how to work hard. They will make good farmers one day.”

“Ja, like right now.”

“They have a lot to learn.”

Nils just nodded but thought so clearly he was afraid he had said it out loud.
Just like all the rest of us.
And no matter what he learned at school, was any of it of value compared to what they were all doing? Yes, learning to run a business was important, but how did Latin and Greek help that? And philosophy and ancient history and speaking several languages? He drank another cup of water. Philosophy? Not so much. But speaking French and German could well be a help. He had heard and believed it to be true that if one did not learn from the mistakes in history, one was bound to repeat them. He knew the one who wrote it was referring to nations, but he could see it applied to individual people too.

His mind returned to a discussion he and Ingeborg had had late one evening in front of the fire. He had commented on the Israelites not learning from their mistakes and making God angry. She had asked in return if we were any different today. Her words had stayed in his mind for him to mull over.

“Like Paul said, I want to do right, but something makes me not do that, but instead what I know is wrong. Well, not exactly, but that is the meaning of it. I should have that one memorized by now.”

“You have a lot of verses memorized,” he told her.

“I know, but it is never enough. Like now, when I do not have a Bible up here. The Bible is not always handy, but what is in my mind is. Mor and Far always taught us that, as did Reverend Berger, who knew whole books of Scripture by heart. He made a deep impression on me, on all of us, actually.”

And that had set Nils to thinking about the large formal church his family attended.

Family. Far. Again thoughts of his far swept in and took over. Would Far actually come up and get him? Grasp an ear and drag him home like a six-year-old? He might. He sometimes treated Nils like a six-year-old. But then, compared to these boys right here, Nils
was
a six-year-old. These boys took on men’s labor and absorbed grown farmers’ knowledge.

And another thought came. Nils’s far would consider a farmer beneath his station. Farmers were dolts, oafs, lazy people. How wrong Far was! These people were smart and creative and highly specialized. It simply was not the same specialization that Far knew. No, up here Nils had learned a healthy appreciation and respect for farmers, something very new to him.

Ingeborg’s voice brought him back. “Let me see your hand.”

Nils held out his hand, feeling like a little boy again, who had come crying because he fell down and hurt himself.

She unwrapped the bandage and shook her head, tsking at the same time. “You are not as bad as Tor was, but the more you continue to cut hay, the worse it will get.”

“Even with it wrapped?” Although how he was to put a glove over the thick wrapping he couldn’t imagine.

“There is plenty you could do without injuring it further.”

“Like what?”

“Like holding your hands out for measuring yarn.” Gunlaug held her open hands about fifteen inches apart.

“Or reading to us while we spin and weave,” Kari added.

“Or make butter.” Hamme made a face. She was the one assigned to plunge the dasher in the churn up and down to turn cream into butter. Not her favorite job.

“Or you could straighten the hay.” Was there a suppressed sort of giggle in Gunlaug’s voice?

He looked at Gunlaug. “What do you mean?”

Ingeborg gestured over the cut hay out there. “Make sure it is all lying the same direction and flat. Although you boys did a very good job. Straightening it will not take a lot of work.”

“Who usually does the straightening?”

Kari giggled. “The girls. The boys mow and the girls go behind and straighten.”

Nils raised an eyebrow. They were teasing him. The thought made him feel like he was a real member of the family, no longer a guest to be taken care of. “Perhaps Gunlaug will teach me to weave on the loom.”

“Men weave too, so ja, I will teach you.”

“And they spin?”

“Not usually as much. Unless they are wounded and cannot work at men’s work.”

“You think I am so wounded I cannot do a man’s work?”

“No, no . . . uh . . . um . . .” Gunlaug stared at Ingeborg, as if imploring her assistance. Was that red creeping up into her face?

Nils tried to keep a stern look on his face, but when Hamme snickered into her hands, no matter how tight he held his jaw, he could not keep from choking on the laughter bursting out. As soon as he laughed, they all snickered, then true laughter broke out and rocked them all.

Ingeborg dipped her fingers in the vile-smelling salve and slapped some on his palm. “Uff da, such carrying on,” which only made them all laugh more.

Nils watched her and recognized the laughter dancing in her eyes until she gave in and laughed out loud too.

“I am sorry Mari and Jon missed out on this,” Ingeborg said when they quieted. “She needs a good laugh.”

“We can tell her what happened, and she can laugh then,” Hamme said with a grin at Nils. “But we will not let you tell her, because you will not tell her the whole truth.”

Nils tucked his chin and looked at her from under his eyelashes. He pointed a finger to his chest and shrugged.

Ingeborg tied the knot on the back of his hand. “We all need to get back to work. Any other blisters that I need to look at? Tor, how are your hands?”

“Tougher than shoe leather.” He held them out. “I put an extra layer of leather in the palm of my gloves. See?” He turned them partway out. Nils knew this was the first pair that he had finished.

“When will mine be done?” Nils asked.

“I didn’t put an extra layer in yours, but soon. I keep falling asleep in the evening when I would be stitching them.”

Nils nodded. He was well aware of that, since he had sent the boy up to bed more than once. “I will be pleased whenever you get them done.”

Kari followed the boys out to the hayfield, pitchfork in hand to smooth out the rough spots. Hamme washed the dishes, and Ingeborg carried the spinning wheel outside.

“That is not fair,” Gunlaug complained. “I cannot take the loom outside.”

“I will trade you jobs.” When she returned with her basket of wool for spinning, she also brought out part of a fleece and the carding paddles and handed them to Nils. “Here, you should be able to do this—if you want, that is. Hamme will be out to help card in a bit.”

He nodded, keeping a sober face, since that was what she was wearing. But if his eyes danced as much as hers, he knew they were in for more laughter.

“Do not laugh now,” he ordered, as he laid some of the wool on the metal teeth.

She tried not to laugh, but when he gave her a stern look, she giggled like a little girl, then laughed along with him.

“You need to laugh more.”

“We all need to laugh more.”

“Very true.” He smiled at her and held up the paddles. “Am I doing this right?”

“You will get better with practice.” She looked out across the field to where the others were hard at work. With a bit of a nod, she picked up her straight-lying strands of wool, pulled out a small piece, and drew it through her fingers, feeding it through the flyer hooks onto the bobbin. She made it look so easy, and the yarn winding onto the bobbin was absolutely even—no lumps, no thin spots. Nils would not attempt spinning this year. He would never, in the time remaining, master that skill.

With the wheel humming, she looked back at Nils. “You are doing better.”