An Untamed Heart (29 page)

Her life had been ripped apart. And the Aarvidsons’ too. How horrible for Nils’s family to lose their son like that. Then she thought of her mor and far losing their son to Amerika. She knew what became of Nils, but they lived day to day never knowing for sure what had happened to Bjorn. Knowing made a world of difference, for good and for bad.

And while she was thinking about beaux, why was Gilbert
so angry and defensive about asking for Asti’s hand? Was it purely embarrassment, or was something else afoot?

And Gunlaug. Poor Gunlaug. Poor all of them.

And Anna and her newborn, and Roald and Thorliff.

And Onkel Frode. For some strange reason, he was beginning to fade in her memory. No, not in her memory but in her pain. It was a curious difference. His empty house would become home to a new family, probably Gilbert’s family, a change totally unanticipated half a year ago.

No wonder the whole world was topsy-turvy!

But now it was spring. New life, new beginnings, new hope.
Takk, Lord God. Please forgive me for doubting you these months, for my anger, for blaming you. I now know that you did not leave me, but I left you and wandered in my own dark land. But you are bringing spring back into my heart too. Such a lonely and sad winter. Now if you could please heal the anger between two brothers, who should be holding each other up with love and grace instead of closing the door and locking it. Amen.

Three weeks later winter was back and howling around the house, as if fighting the last battle of the season before spring could come and bring new life. But that was old and familiar too. Winter always did that—brought one last pounce when you least expected it. Ingeborg was on to it. She built up the fire and escaped the storm by spinning.

That last storm also brought a birthing. For some reason, babies seemed to prefer arriving during storms, so Mor wrapped up well and went out. When she returned, there was a letter waiting for her on the table.

Ingeborg met her mor in the kitchen. “How did it go?”

“All is well. Mor and baby son are sleeping soundly, and the far is very grateful.” She picked up the letter. “From my cousin.” Slitting open the envelope, Mor pulled out the page and leaned close to the kerosene lamp to read it. “Why, Alfreda writes that Roald is looking for a wife to go with him to Amerika and help with his son.” She looked up at Ingeborg. “She says she thinks you would make a very good wife for Roald and a good mor for Thorliff.”

Why, of all the ridiculous
 . . . Ingeborg shook her head. “What nonsense! I cannot become his wife Anna all over again. He needs time before he remarries. Time to heal.”

“But they are leaving in the fall or winter, I am not sure which. And that little boy needs a mor. Roald Bjorklund is a fine man, a hard worker and, according to Alfreda, has always been a good provider for his family. He is a good Christian man and his brother Carl and wife Kaaren will be going too.” She looked up from the letter. “Ingeborg, this is a good idea. You thought you loved a young man, but he is gone. Many marriages start with a situation like this, and the two people learn to love each other over the years. Besides, you will make such a good mor for that little boy who needs you so desperately.”

“He will find someone, but it will not be me. Good night.” Ingeborg nodded and headed up to the loft to her bed. How could Mor say such a thing?
“You thought you loved a young man.”
There was no
thought
about it. She had experienced true love. Lasting love. Amalia claimed Ingeborg taught Nils to love, but Nils taught her what true love is. And besides, what could Alfreda be thinking of to write a letter like that?

Only three days later, spring won the war. The snowbanks
melted back, and the grass greened up as soon as its snow cover left and it could reach for the sun. For the first time since Nils walked out of her life, her spirit did not just lift—it soared.
Thank you, Lord God!

A week later Ingeborg was gathering up the kitchen waste to take out to the pigs when she happened to glance out the window. A man rode into the yard and dismounted, flipping the reins over the rail out front.

He looked familiar.
Why, that is Roald Bjorklund. Whatever does he want?
She hastened out to answer his knock at the door. “God dag, welcome to our farm.”

He removed his hat. “Takk. I see that you remember me.”

“Ja, I do. How is your little Thorliff?”

“He is still staying with Anna’s mor so that I can continue working to raise the money for our trip to Amerika.”

“Oh, excuse me. Come in please. I am not sure what has happened to my manners. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“Nei, takk.” He stepped inside, and she realized that tall as she was, he made her feel small. That was unusual.

“Are your mor and far here? I would like to talk with the three of you.”

“Far is up at the barn, and Mor is out hanging bedding on the line. We are in the middle of spring cleaning, so everything is in disarray. I will go get them.”

She hurried up to the barn and asked Far to come down, then out to the clothesline to ask Mor.

Mor frowned. She didn’t like spring cleaning to be interrupted. “Who is it?”

“Roald Bjorklund, your cousin’s son-in-law.” She wasn’t
sure if that title still fit, but she couldn’t think of what else the relationship would be. “He says he wants to talk with the three of us.”

“He came all this way? To talk to us?” Disbelief colored her voice. “Of course, I will come. Did you offer him coffee?”

“I did.”

“Berta!” She waved an arm toward the line. “You finish hanging these up. I will be back soon.” She walked beside Ingeborg to the house. “Did he say for what?”

“Nei. Just that he wants to talk to the three of us. He is sitting at the table.”

When they entered the house, Far was shaking hands with Mr. Bjorklund.

Ingeborg hung back and let Mor join them. Whatever could he be there for? It had to be important to have come this long way.

“The nerve of that man!” She could not believe what Mr. Bjorklund had asked of her yesterday. How could he think any woman would agree to it.

The cow she was milking shifted her back feet, a warning.

Not wanting a tail across the face, Ingeborg sucked in a deep breath and unglued her shoulders from her earlobes, which took concentrated effort. She could feel her hands relax. The cow settled back down.

“Sorry, girl, I get carried away. I’ll go bang on the barn wall later.”

Consciously choosing to think of something else, she thought about the lesson she had heard in church that morning.
Forgive as Christ forgave you.
She wished Onkel Kris had been there. She had sneaked a look at her far’s stony face. He was always sober in church but not granitelike as today.
Lord, let there be forgiveness from and for these two proud men.
She had been praying this all winter, but so far they were as far apart as ever. At least that she knew about.

When she finished milking, she poured the milk in the can
and waited for Gilbert to finish too. Tonight was Hjelmer’s turn to milk, but she told him she would, just to get out of the house.

“I am going to take a walk.”

Gilbert nodded. “I will finish the chores, then.”

“Takk.”

“Do not be long. Supper will be ready soon.”

Ingeborg set out, trying to stomp Mr. Bjorklund right into the sloppy mud, thanks to the thawing going on. She thought of the discussion around the table yesterday after he arrived. . . .

“I know this is no longer the way we do things in Norway, but I have a great need, and I am running out of time. So may I be forthright?”

Far nodded for him to go ahead.

“You know that my wife, Anna, died a few weeks ago in childbirth. The baby did not live either.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

“We were so sorry to hear that. Our condolences to you and your family.”

“Ja.” He cleared his throat again. “Takk.”

Ingeborg felt like reaching out and patting the broad hand digging fingers into the tabletop. So much sorrow.

He began again. “You know I have a small son, Thorliff.”

Ingeborg’s mind went immediately to the little boy with the striking blue eyes, eyes that matched those of the man sitting across the table from her.

“He is a good boy, and I do not want to leave him here in Norway with Anna’s parents. I want him with me, and to do that I am in desperate need of a wife.”

“Good thinking.” Far nodded as he spoke.

Mr. Bjorklund looked across the table at Ingeborg. “Anna spoke very highly of you, and her mor told me you are not married.”

She felt herself nodding and wanting to run at the same time.

He turned back to look at Arne. “I am here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. I vow that I will be a good husband to her. I will provide for her to the best of my ability. I have a good reputation as a worker, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to take care of my family. Mr. Strand, I live up to my word. My brother Carl and I are emigrating to Amerika. We have our tickets already, so your daughter would have passage too.”

He stumbled. “I know I am saying this badly, and it sounds more like a business venture, but I also know that arranged marriages can be solid and beneficial to both parties.” He heaved a sigh and looked down at the table then back up at Ingeborg’s parents.

Arne Strand looked at his wife and then down at his hands.

Ingeborg felt as if she were standing up in the corner looking down on someone else. Was he really talking about her? About a marriage to her and she to him? Surely this was all a dream and not really happening. He was a stranger. A very cheeky stranger. She stared at Far, willing him to look at her. When he continued to study his hands, she jerked around to Mor, who was not saying a word.

She pushed her chair back, but Far said so softly she almost did not hear him, “Stay here.”

Surely you cannot be serious! This is insanity! Far, look at me.

Finally he raised his head, but still without looking at
Ingeborg. “You have given us a great deal to think about. I cannot give you the answer you want right now. We must talk about this.”

Mr. Bjorklund nodded. “I understand, sir. I know this is a very heavy decision. When can I expect an answer?”

Never!
Ingeborg’s mind screamed, but she did not move. At that point, she did not think she
could
move. She was frozen to the chair. If she tried to stand, she might shatter into a thousand pieces.

The effrontery of the man!

Mr. Bjorklund licked his lips. “May I return in two days?”

Far’s eyes narrowed, like they always did when he was thinking hard. He nodded. Pushing back his chair, he stood. “Ja. We will see you again in two days.” He held out his hand, shook hands with Mr. Bjorklund, and saw him to the door.

“You . . . you did not . . .” Ingeborg choked on the words. “You did not tell him no. That you would not put your daughter on the auction block!”

“Ingeborg, Ingeborg. He did not offer to buy you. This is not an auction.” Mor finally looked at her daughter, but Ingeborg wondered if she really saw her or was looking at something else. “We will have to pray about this and talk and think.”

“There is no reason to think.”

“Ja, there is. He came here in good faith, and we will honor that. He is not a monster.”

“He is still in love with his wife. He has to be!”

“But she is gone, and over time, he will come to terms with that. Something to keep in mind: That little boy needs a mor—now.”

No. This was so wrong! Her thoughts were so scrambled she could not make sense of them.

She could not sleep that night. The confusion became fear, and now it had turned into anger. Anger and sorrow fighting each other to be first in her heart. . . .

So here she was out walking as Gilbert was finishing up the chores, trying to distance herself, trying to calm the fury. And not succeeding.

Ingeborg reached a cove of birch trees that she dearly loved. Mr. Bjorklund would be here tomorrow. It was obvious to her that Far and Mor both thought this was a good idea, her marrying Mr. Bjorklund.

“Lord God, what can I do? I mean, they will not force me into the marriage.” She paused to think, studying the yellow-green catkins hanging from the birch branches. The leaves were tiny bumps that promised to grow.

Yes, they could force her into marriage. She was growing past marriageable age. She had loved Nils, and they forbade her to even consider a union. But here was a man with an outrageous proposition, and her parents seemed to be open to it. If banging her head on a tree trunk would help, she would do so. Maybe that hurt would outdo the ache she felt in her heart right now. She breathed deep, hoping that would soothe the sorrow.

But you said you wanted to start over, and you thought about Amerika
, her inner voice reminded her.

“But that was with Nils. I thought perhaps the new country would be different than here.”

But Nils is gone, and you have a life to live
.

She couldn’t argue with that. She had realized that over the last couple of months.

Her heart, though, still insisted,
Nils, I cannot let you go.

And the cold, relentless answer,
You must.

But marriage to a man she did not love, did not really even know? Her thoughts wandered to a story she had heard about mail-order brides. Norwegian men who had gone to Amerika were writing back and asking for a woman to agree to marry them in exchange for a ticket and a home in the new country. Any woman. Any unknown man. She and Gunlaug had laughed about it. Was this any different?

There were no easy answers. She gave up and trudged back home.
Let not the sun set on your anger.
Was that the quote, or was it something similar to that? Well, she was certainly violating the Bible’s rules, because she could not think of anything else.

———

“Is Mr. Bjorklund indeed coming back tomorrow?” Berta asked from her bed in the stillness of the night.

The dark night was not just from the lack of light. “Ja, I believe so.”

“What will you do?”

I will not laugh in his face. And I will not say yes when all of me is screaming no
. “I will wait and see what Far says. I am sure he will say no.”

“I am not so sure about that. I do not want you to go to Amerika. Bjorn left and we never heard from him again.” Mari’s voice ached of tears.

“Those kinds of things do not happen often.”

“Maybe not, but it happened.” Mari padded across the darkness and crawled into Ingeborg’s bed. “Mor said the little boy needs a mor. You would make him a good mor. Maybe you could offer to take care of him but not get married.
Then when he grows bigger, you can come home. What do they call it?”

Ingeborg said, “A nurse,” just as Berta said, “A governess.”

Ingeborg hugged her little sister close. If she left with Mr. Bjorklund, would she ever see her family again?

When Mr. Bjorklund rode into the yard the next day, he had the little boy seated in front of him. The child had such beautiful eyes.

Ingeborg watched through the window as the man dismounted and then lifted his son down. Thorliff patted his father’s cheeks with both his hands, and Mr. Bjorklund hugged him before setting him on the ground and leading him to the door. Against all her instincts, she invited them in.

“Thorliff, you remember meeting Miss Strand at your grandma’s house?”

Thorliff shook his head and tried to hide behind his far’s leg.

Arne Strand crossed the room and shook the man’s hand, taking over the manners that his daughter neglected. “Welcome to our house. Mrs. Strand has the coffee started.”

“Takk, sir.” He turned to look at Ingeborg and nodded. “It is good to see you.”

Not really
. But she knew if she were impolite, Mor would be displeased, very displeased. “Velkommen.”

“Please be seated.” Far gestured toward a chair at the table.

Ingeborg motioned for her mother to take her seat, and she would pour the coffee when it was ready. If she had her way, it wouldn’t be ready for a long time.

“So how are your preparations going for the trip?” Her far talked as if they were journeying to Oslo or Bergen, not clear across the ocean to Amerika.

Thorliff clung to his father like a lifeline.

Ingeborg did not blame him a bit. His far had better not betray him like hers had betrayed her. When she saw the child before, he had been so happy and had even smiled at her before he ran off to play again.

How could this sad little waif be the same boy? But she knew he was. The eyes were a giveaway.

Ingeborg cut the coffee cake, dished it up on plates, and set them around with a cream pitcher in the middle of the table. She poured the coffee and again set the cups around, listening as the men talked about the weather and farming, getting around to the seter when Arne mentioned that Ingeborg ran the seter every summer and was an exemplary cheese maker.

“People around here vie for her cheese. I know we could sell a lot more if we had it, but we cannot take care of more cows over the winter than we have now.”

“Because my oldest brother owns the family farm, my brother Carl and I have worked many different jobs besides farming. But we are looking forward to having our own land in Amerika. We will be going to the middle of the country, to a place called Dakota Territory. I have heard nothing but good things about the land there.”

“And it is free?”

“One has to prove up a claim. There are, of course, requirements. I have all of that information.”

When Ingeborg sat down, Far cut into his cake, so the others did too. The talk continued, but Ingeborg watched Thorliff’s eyes following every bite his father took. He almost smiled when he was given a bite.

“May I fix Thorliff some coffee cake?” Ingeborg asked when there was a slight lull.

“Ja, and perhaps a cup of milk.”

She brought it to the table. “Would you like to sit on my lap to have your cake?”

Thorliff looked up to see what his far said, then took the long way around the table, keeping one eye on his far. He stopped by Ingeborg’s side.

“I will lift you up.”

He nodded.

She did so and held him on her knee so he could reach the table easily. He turned to look up into her face. “Takk.”

She smiled down at him.

He finished off the cake and drank the milk without a word, then slid to the floor and returned to his far. It was all Ingeborg could do not to brush his hair back off his forehead and hug him close. She turned back to what Far was saying.

“You have a fine son.”

“Ja, he is a good boy.”

“How old is he?”

“Four.”

“I . . . we have given your request much thought and prayer. Ingeborg has a fine mind and a strong faith in our Lord. Our second son left for Amerika, and we never heard from him again, so letting Ingeborg start a journey like that is not easy for us.”

Good. Far was letting Mr. Bjorklund down easy.

“While we feel this would be a good thing for our daughter—”