An Untamed Land (25 page)

“We must braid some grass or willow branches into baskets for just such a thing.” Kaaren sat down on the log by the fire and unbuttoned her dress for the whimpering baby to nurse. “When I think of all the food and utensils we had at home and now we must replace somehow, I feel like twenty-four-hour days are far too short.”

“Ja, and the sooner we get a garden planted, the sooner we will have more to eat. I found the patch of land where someone has already broken the sod. When you are finished, I will show it to you.” Ingeborg walked over to the wagon and, retrieving two mugs from the cooking box, poured them some coffee. Sipping the hot liquid, she watched as Roald and the team turned a corner and continued with the grueling sod breaking.
How fortunate that he is so strong
, she thought.
Keeping a firm hand on the plow so the sod lies over evenly would wear out a lesser man
.

As the sun neared its zenith, she hung the kettle with last night’s supper remains over the now crackling fire. Having finished nursing the baby, Kaaren helped with the meal preparations.

“I wonder how far Carl had to go to find game.”

“I haven’t heard a rifle shot, so he’s probably stalking something.” Ingeborg sliced off a section of the rising dough and, after setting the skillet to heat, cut the dough into smaller pieces and patted them flat to fry for their noon meal. The simmering stew and sizzling bread made her mouth water. One thing about increasing as she was, she felt hungry all the time. Thank the Lord she’d passed the sickness stage. Straightening from turning the frying bread, Ingeborg searched the sky for the geese she could hear honking their way north. If only one of the flocks would set down near them for the night. The meat, the feathers, and the rich fat would all be welcome.

The jingling harness brought her attention back to the moment. Roald was on his way in from the field.

“Mor, see me!” Thorliff hollered from the back of the white horse. “Far let me ride.”

Ingeborg felt a burst of love for this man of hers. Such a small thing, letting Thorliff tag along while his father plowed, and now giving the child a horseback ride. At home there had been no fields of their own to work, no time that a small boy could dog his father’s footsteps and collect fishing worms at the same time. She’d teach him to make a basket tonight.

Roald lifted Thorliff down and unhitched the team. “Carl is not back?”

“Nei, but your dinner is ready. I could take the team down to drink while you eat.”

Roald nodded and continued stripping off the harness, checking for sore spots. The horses needed a break as badly as he did. “Don’t let them drink too much, and then they can graze while I sharpen the plow. This sod wears the plowshare down as if it were made of wood instead of iron. Far would be amazed at this land.”

After dishing up a plate for him, Ingeborg took the horses’ lead shanks and led them down to the river. They needed to cut a decent trail, she decided, just one more thing that needed doing right now.

“Walking with you two is certainly different than walking by myself,” she murmured as she led them between trees and around a fallen log. “The back of my neck no longer says someone is watching.” Bob nudged her in the back as if to say “stop talking and walk faster.” She kept a tight grip on the lead lines as they reached the edge of the river. Both horses waded in fetlock deep and drank. Ingeborg jerked on their leads after only a few deep swallows. Bob jerked back, insisting he should drink more. Belle lifted her head, water dripping from her muzzle and, ears pricked, stared at the opposite bank. Bob copied her. Ingeborg felt a shiver run up her spine. What was over there? Was the river deep enough to protect them if it were Indians? Or wolves?

Both horses snorted and dropped their heads back for another drink. Whatever had gotten their attention had left. Ingeborg let them drink a little longer and pulled their lead shanks. Reluctantly the horses followed her. After they passed out of the tree line, she hobbled them on a patch of prairie they hadn’t already grazed. Letting the horses clean up the dried grass from the summer before
allowed the new grass to sprout up sooner. Soon they’d be able to graze on the rich green shoots.

“The horses saw something across the river, but I couldn’t see anything.” Ingeborg walked over to Roald and Kaaren.

Roald looked up from sharpening the edge of the plow with a file. The whine of metal against metal stopped. Right then the pop of a distant rifle shot made him nod and Kaaren smile. “Carl found something.” The rifle popped twice more and fell silent. “Bird most likely.” The whine of file on blade drowned out anything else they might hear.

“Onkel Carl said he’d bring us a deer to eat.”

Ingeborg looked over at her son, sitting with his back up against the log they used as a bench. In spite of himself, his eyelids drooped, and his head wobbled on a weary neck. “Did you find more worms?” she asked.

He nodded and dug in a pocket. The worms lay limp in his hand. “They don’t look so good.”

“No, they can’t breathe very well in your pocket. Worms need dirt to live.”

“Oh.” Even the single syllable sounded exhausted.

“If you sleep for a while, you’ll be able to help Far again.”

“Or Mor.” Roald put his file carefully back in its place in the tool box and rose to his feet. “Mange takk for maten.”

“Velbekommen,” Ingeborg responded. He had appreciated the meal and said so. It seemed like forever since she’d heard those words. She watched him go to the horses, calling their names as he approached. Belle raised her head and nickered, then pricked her ears and looked up the river. All three turned to look where the horse did, just in time to see Carl step out of the woods. He raised one hand that clutched two geese by the necks in salute, while his other hand helped balance the deer carcass he had slung over his shoulders.

Thorliff darted out across the prairie to meet his uncle. “You shot a deer and gooses. Let me help.” But when Carl laughed and handed the little boy one of the geese, Thorliff dragged it on the ground. “It’s heavy.”

“They’re beauties, they are. Here, you take this instead.” Carl pulled a rabbit carcass from his coat pocket and gave that to Thorliff instead. “Now we can have rabbit stew for supper. What do you think of that?”

Thorliff stroked the soft fur and proudly carried the still-warm
body over to the fire. “Here, Mor, feel. You could make mittens for me and Gunny from this, couldn’t you?”

Ingeborg smiled at him as she took the rabbit by the hind legs. “Ja, we could. If we can find time to tan the hide.” She looked at the deer with admiration. “Now you won’t have to hunt for a long time. And I only heard three shots.”

“I set a snare for the rabbit. There are trails all over the prairie. Soon I’ll have to teach Thorliff how to trap and snare. He can keep us supplied in meat that way.” Having laid the deer on the ground, Carl straightened up and stretched his shoulders. “That got heavy. Guess I’ll hang it from the wagon hoops to dress it out.” He turned to Roald. “How’s the sod busting going?”

“Slower than I’d like, but the horses can’t go any faster.”

“You want me to work the plow for a while, and you dress this deer out?”

Roald flexed his hands. “If you’d like.” He picked up the harness again and headed for the horses. “You eat while I get them ready.”

Kaaren bustled about to fill Carl a plate while he washed his hands at the basin. “You made every shell count. Such variety: rabbit, goose, and venison. We’ll be busy now.”

Ingeborg looked longingly at the garden spot she wanted to work over with the mattock. Just the night before, Roald had finished carving a handle for the heavy, broad-headed tool, shaped something like a two-headed hoe. When she had asked Roald if they should leave the garden place for the old woman in case it was hers, he’d shaken his head as though she were losing her mind. It was Bjorklund land now. Ingeborg stifled the fear of reprisals. Roald’s word was law. She straightened her back. The garden would have to wait, since they couldn’t let any of the meat go to waste. “Come, Thorliff, you can help me pick the geese. Soon there will be a feather bed for you to sleep on.”

Roald swiftly skinned out the deer, being careful not to slit the hide in the process. Carl had bled and gutted the animal where it fell, keeping the heart and liver for them to eat. With the hide pulled free, Roald stood back to look at the carcass. “He wintered well, even has some fat left. If only we had a tree here to hang it from.” He glanced to the woods. “Maybe we should move camp closer to the trees.”

Ingeborg and Kaaren swapped an “oh no” look. Not after all the time they’d spent digging the cooking pits! Ingeborg went back to stripping the feathers and stuffing them in a cloth bag that already
held those of the duck. A goose feather caught on the air and floated up to her nose. She sneezed, making Thorliff laugh.

“Feathers all over!” He blew at one that escaped his hands, sending the bit of down across to Ingeborg, who blew it back. The boy clapped his hands, floating more tiny feathers.

By the time they finished, they both looked as though they’d bathed in goose down. Ingeborg picked several feathers out of Thorliff’s hair. “You have been a big help, son. See how full our bag is?” She held up the puffy sack. “Now we need more firewood to dry all this meat. Think you can find some?”

The laughter left Thorliff’s face as he glanced over his shoulder to the trees. His look pleaded for her to help him, but he took a deep breath and nodded.

“You must stay where we can see you, so only pick up branches along the edge.” At that his face brightened again.

“I can get plenty of wood.” His voice sounded like a younger version of his father’s. “I can drag big branches back.”

Ingeborg tickled his nose with a feather she plucked from his shoulder. “I know you can.”
Such a brave little boy
, she thought.
What a miniature of his father. Would that the elder could see it
. She sent a plea upward, along with a heartfelt sigh.

While he marched off, she cleaned the geese and hung them alongside the deer on the wagon box. “That would make a good deer robe even though he was already shedding.” She turned back the hide that Roald had rolled with the hair side in. “I have never tanned one myself, have you?”

“Ja, though we sold most of the pelts we trapped as young men.” Roald looked up at the sound of a bird call. “You know, deer aren’t so plentiful in Norway anymore. But when we killed a steer, we tanned the hide and used it for making harnesses and shoes. My father was an expert at making boots and shoes. One day I will have to make a last to form the boots over.”

“Is there nothing your father could not do?”

Roald appeared to think for a moment. “I don’t believe so.” He began cutting thin strips of meat off the haunch to hang over the spit to dry. “Best you bury those entrails so we don’t draw coyotes.”

Or wolves
. Ingeborg tried to stop the thought and the accompanying shudder. She picked up the mattock and the goose residue and headed for the garden plot, where she ran into Thorliff. He was dragging a branch behind him and carried sticks in the crook of his arm.

“That is good, son. Why don’t you go help with Gunny when you are finished. I think she needs a nap.” Thorliff just nodded, making Ingeborg aware how exhausted he was. When Thorliff was too tired to ask questions, he was really tired. But he still protested the thought of a nap. Naps were for babies, not for big boys. However, watching Gunny was becoming one of his assigned chores. If he fell asleep too, so much the better. She watched him trudge back toward the fire pit before she set off to bury the entrails. They would make good fertilizer for her garden.

But by the time she’d swung the heavy mattock over her head, slammed it into the soil, and then drawn it back to loosen the soil a few dozen times, she could feel the familiar ache in her back, compounded by the weariness in her arms and shoulders. Would that there was time to plow this patch, but the horses were needed more in the field. If only she knew which of the sprouting plants were safe to add to their diet. Surely that was a dandelion at her feet. She fingered the green, serrated leaves, always recognized at home as the first taste of spring. Pinching off one leaf, she rubbed it between thumb and forefinger and sniffed.

“Dandelion—I’d know that smell anywhere.” She bent again to pick the leaves and searched out others. When her apron was full, she returned to camp feeling as though she’d been gardening after all.

Kaaren was setting the bread to bake when Ingeborg returned to camp. Fat dripped from the drying meat and sizzled on the coals below. The rising smoke would help the meat-drying process.

“Oh, look what you found.” Kaaren picked out a small, tender leaf and bit the tip off. “Now we’ll recover from the winter quickly. Mother always said dandelion was the best physic around. She picked the first of the greens herself and cooked them with bacon. What I wouldn’t give for a side of bacon or ham. Maybe by next year we’ll have a smokehouse.”

“Use the strips of dried venison to flavor these. I keep wondering what roots around here are edible, what seeds, which trees and bushes will have berries and fruit to eat.” Ingeborg dumped the dandelion leaves on a cloth at the back of the wagon and leaned the mattock against a wheel. Then, kneading her lower back with both fists, she turned to watch where Roald had joined Carl at the ever widening square of broken sod. To think they couldn’t plant the black earth as they would an ordinary plowed furrow. The laid-over sod would now rest and rot, to be backset again in the fall. With
plowing and dragging the following spring, the ground would finally be ready for planting.
No wonder so many homesteaders fail to prove up their claims
, she thought.
There is far too much time before they can reap a harvest
.

She turned toward the river and studied the piece of already broken land. Roald said it was about an acre and a half in size. He planned to plant it to wheat and oats—wheat flour for them and oats for the livestock. The plot looked too small to do all that it needed to, especially since some of it would be in corn and potatoes. She let her gaze sweep the land. If what they said about the prairie grass growing waist high was true, they wouldn’t have a shortage of hay; that was for certain.