An Untamed Land (35 page)

“Mange takk. You know my missus will be over to visit as soon as we can spare a moment.”

Ingeborg watched him ride off. One day they would have a road between their houses.

Now instead of breaking sod, Roald and Carl spent long hours scything the prairie grass so it could dry for hay. After the golden swaths dried beneath the sun, they raked it and forked it onto a dray,
a platform that dragged across the ground for the horses to haul into the yard. There they forked the dry hay up onto a fast-growing haystack right next to the sod barn walls. When she could, Ingeborg joined them in the raking and turning of the hay so it would dry completely. In Norway, they had draped the grass over fences to dry, but in this land of no fences, raking and turning sufficed. Thorliff helped pack the stacked hay, sliding down the hay pile when it was time to head back to the field.

“We are so blessed,” Kaaren said one day, watching as the men followed the team back out after the noon meal.

“Why now?”

“We four share the work. The men out there and we here accomplish far beyond what a man and woman can do alone.”

“That is true. And we have someone to talk to, also.”

“And argue with?” A twinkle in Kaaren’s eye reminded Ingeborg that she had not been very pleasant that morning.

“Ja, that too.” Her monthly had begun again, and that meant still no baby. It always reminded her of the one that never would be. Would she ever be able to give Roald the son he wanted?

T
oday is the day.”

Ingeborg looked up at Roald with a question on her face. “The day?”

“Ja, today we raise the ridgepole.” Roald dumped the dregs of his coffee on the ground and picked a bit of coffee grounds off the tip of his tongue. “You think between the four of us and the horses we can do that?”

“We could still lay the roof flat with only one side slightly higher.” Carl rubbed the pad of his thumb along his jawline.

“I know. But we will need the extra space inside that a pitched roof will give us. Either that or raise the walls farther.” Roald knew they could make do with the shed-style roof, but there was something about a pitched roof that said the man who lived here would go the extra mile to make his house a home. It was bad enough having to lay sod for the roof instead of shakes. For a brief instant he let himself think of the roofs in Norway. There they were covered with rows of overlapping slate or shingles, and steeply pitched so the snow would slide off. One day, one day soon, he would have such a house again.

He studied the sod walls. A house would come later. What was he doing dreaming the day away? He stood. “Let us be at it, then.”

The two men hitched up the wagon and drove out to the latest sod-cutting patch. They loaded the freshly cut sod and returned to the house. Standing in the wagon bed, they set the sod into a peak formation, with the high point dead center on the west end of the structure. On the east end, where half the wall would be fireplace, they laid a beam along the top of the sod half, from wall to wall, giving them support for the post they set next. In the post, they’d
notched out a bed for the ridgepole. Hammers rang as they drove into the wood the few nails they’d made themselves on the forge.

When dinner was ready, the two men stepped back from their handiwork. Roald nodded. “Ja, that will do,” he said, turning to Carl. “What do you think?”

“I wish we could put an opening in that east gable so we would have more light.”

“Ja, but one window is all that is required. We will make do.” The two men continued their discussion over the meal, and as soon as they finished eating, they returned to the roofing. Parallel to the north side of the building, they set the wagon loaded with the beam.

“Kaaren, Ingeborg, we need you now.” Roald hated to ask the wives to help, but he could see no other way, short of riding over and asking Joseph Baard for a hand. When the women stood ready, he looked from them to the beam and up to the wall. “We will hoist this up, and then you hold it in place until we get up there and can carry it to the peak. If you stand in the wagon, you will be tall enough.”

“If it starts to fall, get out of the way,” Carl ordered. “We do not need any broken bones.”

Ingeborg and Kaaren nodded.

“Thorliff, you hold the horses’ heads,” Roald said. “Go get them some oats first. That will keep them happy.”

Ingeborg started to say something but stopped herself. What if the horses bolted and ran over the boy? He wouldn’t be able to leap out of the way. They would just have to keep the beam steady, that was all.

“On three.” Carl took his end of the beam and Roald grabbed his. Kaaren and Ingeborg stood in the middle. The wagon bed felt hollow beneath their feet.

“One, two, three.” With a mighty heave the men lifted the beam waist high, then chest high, and on up to the top of the wall.

“Now hang on to this.” Roald made sure the women had the beam braced before he climbed down from the wagon and mounted the ladder. Carl did the same at the opposite end of the house.

Belle stamped at a fly and Bob took a step forward, setting the wagon to rocking.

“Whoa!” Thorliff jerked the reins.

The beam wobbled as Kaaren, thrown off balance by the moving wagon, lost her grip.

Ingeborg, caught in the same motion but braced more securely, pushed harder.

Kaaren regained her balance and managed to get her hands back up under the beam just as it wobbled again.

“You got it?” Carl bounded the last three rungs on the ladder and nearly threw himself over the wall to grab the beam.

“Hold those horses!” Roald sounded like the voice of thunder booming from the heavens. He grabbed the beam after Carl by only a moment. The four adults stared at each other, breathing hard.

“Thanks be to God,” Kaaren whispered.

“Amen to that.” Carl took a deep breath and flashed his wife a smile. “You are all right?”

“Ja. But that was close.”

“Thorly, you did fine.” Ingeborg dusted off her hands and climbed down from the wagon.

“They don’t like flies.” Thorliff looked up at his mother, hands still clamped on the reins. “It was a big fat horsefly that bit Belle. I saw it.” His lower lip quivered. He looked up at the men on the ladders as if afraid Far would come down and swat him.

Ingeborg couldn’t remember a time when Thorliff had been struck. He tried so hard, this son of theirs. “You did just fine, son. Just fine.” She spoke the words loud enough so Roald could hear and perhaps take a hint.

“I am thinking there might be a pancake left from breakfast that would go well with molasses for a boy who did such a fine job.” Kaaren stopped beside the two. “You make sure the horses are in the shade, and come with me.”

Ingeborg and Kaaren walked back to the fire. “Mange takk.”

“Ja, to you too. I should have been braced better.” Kaaren shot a look over her shoulder. “I don’t like standing on things to get higher. The way they go up and down the ladders—that is not for me.” She shuddered.

Ingeborg didn’t answer. She knew that if she had to she would climb ladders and roofs and whatever else needed climbing. She’d been a better tree climber than her brothers, another one of those secrets she was careful to never tell her mother.

By moving the beam a bit at a time, pounding a peg to hold it, then moving the ladder and repeating the exercise, Roald and Carl finally dropped the heavy length of wood into the cradle they had carved for it.

Thorliff set up a cheer. Ingeborg and Kaaren clapped their hands.
The men both removed their hats and wiped their foreheads with the length of their arms.

“Thanks be to God,” Kaaren murmured.

“Uff da.” Roald shook his head. “That is one heavy chunk of wood.”

“Ja, but we did it, and on the first try.” Carl set his hat back on his head and straightened the brim. “Now we will put up the rafters. They will go up much faster.”

“I am going to make us a special treat for supper, unless you need me anymore.” Kaaren paused in her retreat. At that moment, Gunny let out a lusty wail. “After I feed her, of course.”

By the time it came to do evening chores, all the rafters, some bent and gnarled as branches tend to be, were lashed in place with crosspieces creating small squares up one side. Ingeborg and Thorliff did most of the fetching and handing of things. Ingeborg looked longingly at the ladder. She could tie off the crosspieces as well as the men, since it took nimble fingers instead of brawn. It would free the men up to return to breaking sod.

She gathered all her courage together through the good supper Kaaren had prepared and, after the coffee was poured, said, “Would not you rather be in the fields than working about the house?” At their looks of doubt, she continued. “I could tie off the crosspieces now that the rafters are in place. Thorliff would help me. Then you could return to . . .”

“I will not discuss this further. The answer is no. Tomorrow we will lay the sod on the roof. A woman’s place is not on the roof.” Roald spoke as though she had just suggested he cook the supper while she plow the field.

Ingeborg rose to her feet and dusted off her skirt. “If you will excuse me, I believe I will go for a walk.”

She heard his muttered “confounded woman” as she left the campsite.
I was only trying to help; what is so wrong with that? Men are so bull-headed. Leaving Norway didn’t change that
. She clasped her hands around her elbows. The newly fallen dew was already dampening the hem of her skirt. The stars seemed so low that if she stood on the ridgebeam of the soddy she could almost pick them from the cobalt sky and save them in her pocket. She swatted the mosquitoes and kept on walking. She didn’t fear getting lost, for their campfire stood out like a beacon on the prairie. As long as she stayed out of the tall grass, she was all right.

What difference does it make who does what as long as the work gets done?

Roald and Carl were just putting away their carving tools when she walked back into camp.

“Mor,” Thorliff called as soon as he saw her. “Where did you go? You missed the römmegrot Tante Kaaren made for a treat.”

“I am sure it was very good. Now you be a good boy and go climb in bed. I will be right there to say your prayers.” Ingeborg poured herself a cup of coffee and followed Thorliff to the wagon. She sat down beside his pallet in the wagon bed and rested her chin on her knees as he prayed. Together they said the Lord’s prayer, the age-old words bringing a measure of peace to her heart. Was the order of things God’s will as her mother had always preached, or did man have a hand in it? She kissed the boy good-night, got into her nightdress, and spread the bed on the ground where she and Roald slept. She fell asleep dreaming of ways to help her husband see the wisdom of her desires.

Finishing the roofing took two more days. The space had narrowed between Roald’s eyebrows as his frustration grew with their missing time in the field. They tried to hurry.

Roald’s pained “Uff da!” caught Ingeborg’s ear. She looked up to see him pulling his leg out of a hole in the row of sod just laid. Crossbars underneath had given way. She could see the debris hanging since she was opposite the gaping open wall the fireplace would fill.

The men stripped back the laid sod, repaired the break, and continued.

“I thought that roof was strong enough to hold a buffalo,” Carl said to Kaaren later.

“Thank God no one was hurt.” Kaaren looked up at the soddy. “You are so close to finishing. It looks like a real house now.”

“Ja, a house with a hayfield for a roof.” Roald drew up his pant leg to see blood soaked into his boot. “Uff da,” he muttered again and went for a washcloth and water.

“Uff da is right.” Ingeborg took the pan from him, pointed to the log stool, and went to the wagon for a clean cloth to use as a bandage.
You are so stubborn you could not even look at your leg. Surely you felt the pain when this was cut
. As she cleaned and bandaged the wound, she kept her words to herself. She was getting much better at doing that.

“I think we should have a party when we move into our house.”
Kaaren made her announcement the next morning. When no one bothered to contradict her, she continued. “Good then, I will walk over to the Baards and invite them. Which day do you think would be best?”

“We have no time for parties; we have lost too much time as it is.” Roald kept shoveling the eggs and venison into his mouth as if the matter was settled.

“Now wait, brother. A party would be a good idea. We need to take time to thank the Lord for what He has given us, and a little laughter wouldn’t hurt us either.”

Kaaren came to stand by her husband’s shoulder. “True.”

Ingeborg kept silent, watching the scene unfold before her. Would Roald give in to his brother?

“The Baards won’t take a day off. They are further behind than we are.”

“It never hurts to ask.” Kaaren glanced over to where the chickens were scratching in the dirt of their yard. “Those young roosters are about the right size for frying, and I imagine that if we looked under the potato vines, we would find enough new potatoes to make a meal. What do you think, Inge?”