Racing Home (4 page)

“The cattle –” Rolf began.

“They will wait till you greet Kirsten and have some coffee,” Lars said firmly. “The pot is on.”

Erik saw a water trough off to one side. He started to unfasten the yoke.

“No, no, boy. Coffee for you, too. The oxen will wait.”

Erik hesitated. His grandfather had taught him to care for the livestock first. “They can’t do it themselves,” he’d explained to Erik. “So you have to do it for them.”

“It won’t take long,” Erik said.

“Can we tether them on the grass?” Rolf asked.

Lars waved his arm in a wide circle. “Certainly,” he said. “There is grass all around.”

A few minutes later, Erik joined the others in the house, a single room with a bed in one corner. Mr. Haugen had said the building would become a store after they moved it to Green Valley. Erik could see it was built in the same style as the stores they’d seen in Hanley.

Lars and Rolf drank coffee at a small wooden table by the large front window. A woman flipped a circle of dough at the stove. She turned to Erik with a smile as Lars introduced them.

“Hello, Erik,” she said warmly.
“Velkommen.”

Erik greeted her, looking hungrily at the stack of fresh potato flatbreads on the table.

Kirsten placed a thin brown-flecked circle on a plate and handed it to Erik.

Lars indicated a stool and poured Erik a cup of strong black coffee.

Erik spread the
lefsa
with soft butter that melted on contact, sprinkled it with sugar, then folded it into quarters. Firmer than Mrs. Haugen’s white bread, softer than his mother’s dry flatbread, the
lefsa
tasted faintly of the potatoes used to make it.

“So you’ll be looking for land, now, will you, Rolf?” Lars asked as he settled back into his own chair. “It’s a pity there’s so little homesteading land left right around here.”

“So little?” asked Rolf. “We saw uncultivated land most of the way from Hanley.” He set down his coffee cup and accepted a warm
lefsa
from Kirsten.

“Most of it belongs to the railroads,” said Lars. “It’s still a good price, but not free like the homestead land. The only homestead quarters available within miles are hilly pieces close to the river, and no good for crops.” He turned to Erik, “But you, Erik, you’re too young to buy a farm.”

Erik swallowed quickly. “I helped my grandfather,” he said. He took another bite of
lefsa
so he wouldn’t have to talk.

“He will help me,” Rolf said. “We must find land and a place to live so we can bring Inga and Elsa here.”

“Inga?” repeated Lars. “Elsa?”

“My wife, Inga,” said Rolf. “I wrote to you about her. Didn’t you get my letter?

“I’ve had no letter since you wrote to say that
Mor
had passed on.” Lars turned to Kirsten. “Did you hear that, Kirsten? Rolf has a wife after all these years.”

“I’m happy for you, Rolf,” she said, plopping a fresh
lefsa
down in front of Erik.

“I’m guessing that you are Inga’s son,” she said with a smile. Erik nodded, but Rolf answered before he could.

“Yes, she has two children, Erik and Elsa. Elsa and Inga are in Hanley with Gunnar and Luise Haugen. Erik and I need to find a home, then we will bring them to join us.”

“This is excellent,” exclaimed Lars. “I’m so happy to have a new sister, and a nephew and niece,” he added, smiling at Erik. He reached for the coffee pot. “One more cup, then we look for land.”

Erik and Rolf spent the next few days with Lars in his buggy. Leaving the oxen tethered by the piles of lumber, Rolf and Lars talked and Erik listened as they met people, looked at land and learned about sod houses. One of the settlers, Mr. Johnson, told them how to build the house, even lending the plough needed for cutting the sod.

To Erik, everywhere looked the same. It was a land without landmarks. Each night they returned to sleep in the canvas tent. Once they saw lumber had been added to the piles, but again they’d missed Olaf.

After much thought, Rolf arranged to buy a quarter section from the railway company. It cost $2.50 an acre, much more than the ten dollars required for homestead land. He paid seventy dollars immediately, with the remaining three hundred and thirty dollars spread over the next five years.

Erik watched Rolf count out the bills, surprised Rolf still had seventy dollars left after paying for their trip from Norway and all the supplies.

Now they had to get a crop or they’d lose it all.

When Rolf and Erik drove to the land on their own, they stopped a couple of times to check the survey markers.

“This is it,” said Rolf, looking at one of the markers. “My land.” He stretched his arms wide.
“Our land.”

Erik eyed the expanse of short grass, trying to imagine a home, a barn, corrals…built from what? All they had was the land on which they stood and a wagon full of furniture and supplies.

Not far away, he saw what looked to be short, weedy plants growing among the grass. As they drew closer, he realized they were short bushes growing around water that had pooled in a dip in the land.

“It’s a slough,” said Rolf. “Lars says that’s what they call ponds here. It dries up when there’s no rain, and fills with water in the spring.”

Erik tried to imagine the slough full of water. If there was more water, wouldn’t the plants and bushes drown?

“We must choose a spot for our house. Close to the slough, for water,” Rolf suggested, “but not too close, or we may have too much water sometimes.”

Erik nodded. In the shelter of trees would be good, he thought, if only there were trees.

Rolf started to untie the canvas covering the wagon. “What do you think?” he asked abruptly.

“Think?” Erik repeated, surprised. “I – I don’t know.”

Rolf pulled a spade from under the canvas. “Where’s the sun going to rise in the morning?”

Erik pointed east and Rolf nodded. He turned slowly in a circle.

“A hill would be better,” said Rolf. “When you build against a hill, you only need to build three walls.”

Rolf walked a short distance, turned, walked again. Finally he stopped about thirty metres from the slough and drove the spade into the ground.

“This is where our house will be,” he said. “But if it is a bad choice, it doesn’t matter. We will build a new house soon. A house from wood, next time.”

Erik nodded. He hoped his mother wouldn’t be too
sad to move into a sod house. Erik wasn’t happy about it, himself. The ones they’d visited were dark, with low ceilings. Some had wooden floors, but most were packed dirt.

“It’s good we’re not the first,” Erik said suddenly.

“The first?” repeated Rolf.

“Ja,”
said Erik. “The first to settle here. This way we learn from others, and we can eat Aunt Kirsten’s cooking.”

Rolf smiled. “You’re right, Erik. It’s good we’re not the first.”

Erik couldn’t help smiling back. He and Rolf had agreed on something!

Rolf moved the wagon closer to where they would build, then tethered the oxen by the slough. Erik tethered the cow nearby and lifted down the chickens.

“We can’t tether these,” said Erik.

“I don’t know anything about chickens,” said Rolf. “You decide what to do with them.”

Erik carried the crate awkwardly down to the slough, setting it out of the wind beside some of the shrubby bushes. He brought grain and water, watching them doubtfully. One of the hens pecked at leaves through the mesh of the chicken wire. There were just five birds in the cage, four hens and a rooster.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he said at last. “I’ll let you out tomorrow.”

Rolf used his spade to mark out the walls of the sod house. He planned for two rooms, the smaller with bunks for Elsa and Erik. The main room would serve as kitchen and sitting room as well as a place for Rolf and Inga to sleep.

“We might as well get started,” said Rolf, looking at the marks he’d made in the dirt.

Erik nodded. He didn’t want a sod house, but it was better than no house at all. He helped Rolf hitch the oxen to the borrowed plough, then watched as he cut strips of sod from the rectangle that would be the house. When he was finished there, Rolf paced off the perimeter of the yard. He and the oxen began cutting sods from around it to make a firebreak while Erik started to build the house.

He cut each strip of sod into metre-long lengths, then laid the heavy, awkward blocks in a double row to start the walls. He overlapped the second row like bricks. The roots of the grass held most of the soil in place, but small pieces fell out as Erik carried them.

They stopped at noon to set up the tent. Rolf unloaded what they needed from the wagon while Erik boiled water from the slough for coffee. When they finally sat down to flatbread and
gjetost,
Erik was so hungry that he forgot he was sick of the goat cheese.

After lunch, Erik laid the sods for the third layer at right angles to the first two rows. Mr. Johnson had said that was the key to strong walls.

The work got suddenly harder when Erik laid the last sod cut from the floor of the house and began carrying them from the firebreak. A metre long by half a metre wide and ten centimetres thick. Who knew dirt was so heavy?

CHAPTER FIVE

Cousins?

The next morning Erik woke to birdsong. The sun was already hot on the walls of the tent, filling it with the odour of warm canvas. He stretched cautiously, his arms and back aching from carrying sod.

The rooster crowed and one of the oxen bellowed. Rolf was still asleep.

The rooster crowed again as Erik crawled out of the tent.

“Ja, Ja!”
said Erik. “I’ll let you out.” As soon as he opened the crate door, the chickens crowded through the opening.

He jumped out of reach of a hen trying to peck his bare toes, then checked the cattle. Black was eating the short grass by the slough. Socks lay nearby, chewing his cud, but Tess’s rope lay useless on the ground, the end frayed and broken.

Forgetting his tired muscles, Erik ran and pulled the tether stake out of the ground. He wrapped the rope around his arm and looked around. He should be able to see the cow, since there was nothing to block the view. Shading his eyes against the morning sun, he saw something move far off in the east. He started running, keeping his eyes on the brown shape in the distance.

Yes, it was definitely a cow. A little closer and he saw Tess was not alone. At her side was a brown-and-white calf.

Erik stood still, watching Tess lick the calf’s head. The calf wobbled a bit and fell down. Tess nudged it with her nose. It scrambled back to its feet, hind end first, while Tess licked along its back.

It was a miracle. They’d bought one animal and now there were two.

Erik grinned as the gangly legged calf head-butted its mother in the side, then, tail wagging, started to suck.

Erik’s stomach growled, urging him to get back for breakfast. Moving slowly, he circled around till the cow and calf were between him and the yard site. He put one cautious foot forward, then the other.

Tess took a couple of steps away from Erik. The calf bleated in protest.

Erik moved closer to the cow. Tess kept walking, but the calf didn’t move.

A sudden pain knifed through Erik’s foot. He yelped in surprise, hopping on one leg. The calf turned at the sound, saw Erik, and ran to its mother.

Drops of blood dripped from the Erik’s bare foot. Looking at the ground, he saw a plant with a yellow flower and pointed spines all over its fat green leaves. Touching a spine carefully with the tip of a finger, he found it sharp as a needle.

Erik rubbed the sole of his foot for a moment, then gingerly set it down. Tess was licking her calf again. Speaking softly, he limped over to the cow, slipped the rope around her neck, and tied it quickly. The calf dropped to the ground, closing its eyes.

“You can’t stop now!” Erik nudged the calf with his foot. “If you stay out here, a wolf will get you.”

Getting no response from the calf, he grabbed it with his free arm and pulled it to its feet. The calf bleated in protest and flopped back on the ground.

Erik pulled it up again. It took a few steps, then stopped. Erik let it suck for another moment, then gave Tess’s rope a tug.

By the time they straggled back to the yard, Rolf had eaten breakfast and hitched the oxen to the plough. He watched Erik lead Tess to the slough.

“You and the cow went for a walk?” he asked.

“Ja,”
Erik replied. “But Tess went first.”

“Good you came home together.” Rolf scratched the calf’s head. “Fine heifer calf.”

“It’s a tired calf,” said Erik, hammering the cow’s tether stake into the ground.

“We haven’t built a barn or ploughed a field,” said Rolf, “but our farm is already growing.”

Erik looked from Rolf to the calf and back again. “It’s a start,” he said.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a chunk of the hard, dry flatbread his mother had made in Minnesota. Still chewing, he grabbed the knife and went to cut the sods as Rolf ploughed. His foot still stung from the spiny plant, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his arms from carrying the sods.