[Return To Red River 01] - A Dream to Follow Read online

  His hands burned by the time he followed his father’s team into the barnyard. Like a fool he’d forgotten to take his gloves. Winter hands, that’s what he had. Soft and white, or red in this case. Blisters squished in the palm. He’d have to take a needle to them tonight so they’d drain.

  “You got out there mighty early.” Haakan helped him raise the yokes off the oxen’s necks.

  “I know.” It was all he could do to keep from blurting out his surprise. “Pastor sent me on an errand and said I didn’t have to go back today.”

  “You that far ahead?”

  “Ja. I usually help some of the others.” He hefted the yoke and heaved it up onto the peg rack built into the barn wall just for that purpose.

  Haakan followed him and draped the horse harness over its pegs. By the time all the animals were unharnessed and let loose in the pasture, peeper frogs were singing their evening medley, and a lamp glowed in the kitchen window. Haakan and Thorliff, with Andrew right behind them, headed for the milking barn, where two of the deaf students, along with Astrid, were sitting on three-legged stools, their foreheads leaning into cow flanks and milk streaming into buckets.

  Haakan nodded to the students as he passed them and stopped by Astrid. “How many yet to go?”

  “Four. The milk cans are nearly full.” Astrid nodded over her shoulder. Three cans, one with a strainer atop it, sat among an eager assortment of cats, some cleaning, some crying, and some pacing. “I fed the cats, but I think they want more.”

  “Looks like it. I’ll take the next one. Thorliff, you take the Holstein. When you’re finished, bring in another can.”

  Thorliff grabbed the handle of a bucket, flinching at the cold metal against the blisters on his palm. Milking was going to take real strength of character tonight. “Easy, boss.” He settled his stool, brushed the grass off the cow’s udder, and set his bucket in place. Hands on the two front teats, he squeezed and pulled in the ancient rhythm that drew milk from a cow, setting his hands to screaming. Thorliff bit his lip but kept on milking.

  The cow swished her tail, the coarse fibers catching him on the side of the face. “Hold it. You got no flies to swat now.” Fool critter. He blinked his eyes, fighting the watering, grateful he didn’t need to see to keep milking. When the last drops hit the foam, he lifted the bucket off to the side where the cow couldn’t kick it over and rose, one knee cracking as he did so.

  “I’ll let ’em out. You boys go on up to the house.” Haakan poured his full bucket through the strainer and slopped the last of the milk into the flat pan for the cats.

  Thorliff sighed in relief. “Mange takk, Pa.”

  “And get Mor to take care of your hands.” Haakan took the bucket his son had filled and poured the milk into the strainer.

  “H-how’d you know?”

  Haakan clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “No gloves when you drove in. You won’t forget ’em next time, you know?”

  “I know.”

  The deaf students and Astrid had already left when Andrew stripped the last cow and poured his bucket into the strainer. Haakan slammed the lids on the cans, and Andrew took the wagon handle to pull the rig over to the cheese house. In spite of what Haakan had said, Thorliff started lifting the drop boards that held the stanchions closed at one end of the barn while Haakan did the other. One by one the cows backed up, turned, and followed one another out of the barn and into the star-studded night.

  “I got a surprise up at the house.”

  Haakan slung an arm around his son’s shoulder. “What?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Thorliff ignored the burning hands and took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time, gasping for breath at the top of the steep stairs. He grabbed his letter and, hands bracing on the narrow walls, clattered back down. Back in the kitchen, he handed his father the letter.

  Haakan cocked an eyebrow as he took the envelope.

  “Hurry, Pa.” Andrew stopped at Haakan’s side.

  Haakan tapped the edge of the letter on his finger. “Good news, right?”

  Thorliff sketched a nod. Hurry. He glanced from the letter to catch the smile dancing in Haakan’s eyes.

  “Haakan, don’t tease the boys so.” Ingeborg joined the trio. Her smile widened in the lamplight, her hand settling on Thorliff ’s shoulder.

  Haakan slid the paper from the envelope and unfolded it. He nodded as he read. “Good. Very good.” He looked from the letter to his elder son, who had shifted from foot to foot the whole reading while. “It will be a pleasure to read your story in a magazine. And to think you will be paid for it.” He handed the letter to Andrew.

  “Ten dollars!” Andrew’s jaw hit his chest.

  “Ja.”

  “I think that when the money comes, Thorliff should put it into his college fund.” Ingeborg raised her gaze to meet her husband’s.

  “Thorliff doesn’t need college to farm. You know how I feel about that.” Haakan turned away, a mask dropping into place as he did so. “Let’s get washed for supper.”

  Thorliff closed his eyes. Far certainly hadn’t changed his mind, no matter what anyone said. But Thorliff knew so much depended on the harvest. Already they were praying for a good harvest this year.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Morning chores of milking cows, slopping hogs, and feeding cattle and horses took time.

  Thorliff glanced at the clock. Instead of being early as he’d wanted, he was running late. And he knew he smelled like pig. But there was no time to wash again, so he’d changed clothes and scrubbed his boots.

  “Thorliff and Anji sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.” Astrid chanted the words around the piece of toast she chewed. The s’s came out more like th since she was missing two front teeth.

  “Astrid, don’t talk with your mouth full.” Thorliff clenched his hands in his lap so he wouldn’t reach over and pinch his little sister. He could feel the heat clear up to his ears.

  “Astrid Bjorklund, where do you learn such things?” Ingeborg turned from the stove where she was scrambling eggs. “You apologize to your brother this instant.”

  “Sorry.” But anyone looking at her knew she was not in the least bit sorry. The laughter dancing in eyes that matched the blue of her two brothers gave her away.

  Ingeborg set the plate, mounded with fluffy eggs mixed with cream and bacon pieces, in front of her eldest. At the look on his face she laid a hand on his shoulder. “You have to eat in order to think well.”

  He sighed and scooped up a loaded fork, grateful this wasn’t a meal where he had to chew a lot. Foot tapping, he gulped down the food.

  “Here comes Carl with the wagon.” Andrew, who’d already eaten, grabbed his lard pail and headed out the door.

  “Just a minute.” Ingeborg snagged him by the arm. “You didn’t comb your hair.”

  “Mo-orr.” But Andrew went to the sink, took the comb off the shelf, dipped it in water, and in front of the wavy glass mirror placed there for Haakan to use when he shaved, ran the comb through hair that waved back nicely when his mother combed it. For Andrew it flopped forward. With a quick glance to see if she was watching, he pitched the comb back in the general direction of the shelf and darted out the door.

  “Ma, where’s my slate?” Astrid shoved her arms into her sweater sleeves.

  “I do not know. Where did you use it last?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Look in the parlor.” Thorliff pushed his chair back. “Wish I had saddled Jack.” The mule was seldom used any longer for heavy fieldwork because he was getting up in years.

  “What is wrong with the wagon?”

  “I wanted to be early to talk with Pastor Solberg.” Thorliff motioned to the letter in his pocket.

  “That is all?” Ingeborg’s raised eyebrow said she was teasing.

  “Mor!” He could feel his ears flaming.

  Her gentle smile made him grin back.

  “I can’t find it.” The wail from the parlor made them both shake
their heads.

  “She couldn’t find her way out of a gunnysack.” Thorliff rolled his eyes and turned back to the arched doorway to the parlor. He reached under an afghan on the horsehair sofa and pulled out the missing slate. “You have to look, little sister.”

  “Tusen takk.” Astrid smiled up at her big brother and, with slate in one hand, took his with her other.

  “You are more than welcome.” He gave her a push. “Now hurry. They are waiting for you.”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I’m going to run. Faster that way.” Besides, he could cut across the fields, the distance being much shorter as the crow flies.

  “To see Anji?” Laughter floated back over her shoulder as Astrid kissed her mother good-bye, grabbed her lunch bucket, and ran out the door, her thick braids bouncing on her back.

  Ingeborg handed Thorliff his lunch pail and reached up to kiss his cheek. “You are a good brother, my son. Go with God.”

  Thorliff leaped down the steps, caught up with the wagon before it cleared the yard, handed Andrew the lunch bucket, and headed out across the field toward the Baard house. The laughter of the children in the wagon rippled like birdsong on the breeze. Spring in North Dakota burst on the plains, redeeming the land after the long hard winter. Dandelions glowed like miniature suns, sprouting up from deepgreen serrated leaves, mounds of richness begging to be harvested. Tiny purple violets managed to bloom right next to recalcitrant snowdrifts, like their cohorts the snowdrops. Spears of grass grew fast enough to be measurable each day.

  Thorliff ’s long legs covered the ground like a racing Thoroughbred. He snatched the porkpie hat off his head before it could be blown away and, arms pumping, ran on. He leaped a drainage ditch, the act of flying releasing a shout he could not contain. The air he sucked in no longer cut like daggers as did the winter air but filled him with joy that bubbled like the root beer they’d capped last fall.

  He slowed to a jog when he reached the Baards’ yard and waved to Knute, who had gladly given up school several years earlier so he could help his father on the farm. Neither he nor his older brother Swen had much tolerance for sitting in a classroom.

  “If ya come for Anji, she’s helping Ma hang clothes on the line.” Knute clucked his four span of mules forward to hitch them to the plow.

  “Thanks.” Thorliff headed on around the house to the lines stretched between two posts, each with a crossbar at the top and set into the ground. Sheets flapped in the breeze, nearly hiding the girl fastening them in place with clothespins. Hair the rich brown of a beaver pelt and braided for a crown was all he could see of her until he ducked under the line. Her smile caught him in the chest. Never sure when the childhood friendship had deepened, his reactions to her still surprised him. Wild roses blossomed on her cheeks, and chunks of summer sky filled her wide-set eyes. But her smile—how could her smile make him warm all over?

  “Why, Thorliff, I didn’t hear the wagon,” she said, stepping away from the clothesline.

  “No, I ran.” He removed the letter from his pocket with trembling fingers and held it out to her, all the while his gaze swimming with hers.

  “What . . . ?” She took the letter and read the return address. “Oh, Thorliff.” Her whisper of his name was all the approbation he coveted.

  “Read it.” His feet, not yet tired of running, shifted so he had to order them to stand firm. He sucked in a breath, feeling beads of sweat trickle down behind his ear.

  She read the short letter and, throwing her arms wide, threw herself at his chest. He caught her and swung her in a circle as if they were dancing the Pols. When he set her down, she stepped back, her face as red as he knew was his own.

  She patted her chest. “Oh my.” The words hung between them, caught on the moment like feathers on a breath. They’d danced together often. Why was today different? But this embrace was different, and they both knew it.

  Anji broke the silence first. “Your story will be in Harper’s Magazine .” She shook her head slowly, as if she knew it to be true but still could scarcely believe it. “How wonderful.” She read the letter again. “And they will pay you.”

  “Ja, I now can say I am a writer.”

  “Nei, you’ve been a writer for years. Who else has written all our Christmas programs and the play we did last year? Who else writes the lines for the Fourth of July celebration? The first graders learn to read from some of your stories.” Her gaze dropped to the letter in her hand, then curtained by dark lashes, rose to meet his again. “Who else has sent me poetry?”

  Thorliff clenched his hands together to keep from reaching for her. Her words strangled any response, no matter how he tried to force them out.

  A dog barking shattered the moment. He could hear it fall like shards of glass at their feet. “I need to show this to Pastor Solberg before all the others get to school. Can you come with me?”

  Anji glanced down at her apron and reached behind to untie it in the same motion. “Of course. I’ll tell Ma.” She flipped her apron over the clothesline and started toward the house. “You start out, and I’ll catch you.”

  Instead, he followed after her and waited at the door, watching teams plowing the fields—the three Baard rigs and off in the distance Haakan and Uncle Lars. Much as he loved school, today was a day to be spent out of doors and riding a sulky plow behind the heavy rumps of a good team. Or hunting or fishing, of course.

  The wagonload of schoolchildren was turning into the yard when they trotted down the lane to the schoolhouse, which stood right next to the steeple-topped white church the community of Blessing had built years before. The soddy that had started as a church and became a school was now used for storage. The wood-framed building had replaced it two years earlier.

  Just as Pastor Solberg drove his wagon carrying his adopted nieces, Manda and Deborah, into the shed built to shelter the horse and to hold coal and firewood, the two young people dropped, panting, to the three front steps of the one-room schoolhouse. Like other buildings in the area, the structure was several feet off the ground to allow for flooding in the spring when the Red River often overran its banks due to the still-frozen mouth up north at Lake Winnipeg.

  Thorliff watched as Manda, who also was graduating, unhitched the horse, took off his bridle, and tied him to the manger. He and everyone else had learned through trial and error not to offer to help her. Not unless they wanted to be told off in no uncertain terms. Even Pastor Solberg let her have her way in this while he and Deborah carried things to the schoolhouse.

  “Good morning. You two look like you’re about to bust with something. Care to let me in on the secret?”

  Thorliff grinned over his shoulder at Anji, then pulled the letter from his pocket and held it out. “This came yesterday.” He crammed his hands into his pockets to keep them still.

  Pastor Solberg tipped his dark fedora back with one finger. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Smiling up at Thorliff, who now topped him by half a head, he pulled the letter from the envelope.

  “What is it?” Deborah, now a sixth grader, danced in place at his side, trying to peer over his arm. She switched to Thorliff. “What is it? Who’s the letter from? Come on, tell me, please?” At a gentle look from her uncle she sighed and rolled her eyes.

  Solberg nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and slightly lifting his well-trimmed mustache. “So you’ve done it, young man.” He reached out to shake Thorliff ’s hand. “Let me congratulate you. I know you’ve had many nays on the pieces you’ve sent out.” His gaze returned to the letter, nodding all the while.

  “Who? What?” Deborah peered from one face to the other.

  “Thorliff has sold one of his stories to Harper’s, a rather famous magazine back East.” Anji laid a hand on the dancing girl’s shoulder.

  “Does that make Thorliff famous?” Deborah looked up with questioning eyes.

  “Not yet, but maybe someday.” Anji smiled at Manda, who’d just joined them. “Thorliff h
as sold his story about all of us being trapped in the schoolhouse during that blizzard.”

  Manda nodded. “Good. He should sell some of his other stories too. That one about Andrew being lost in the tall grass is really good.”

  Thorliff gave Manda a raised eyebrow look. He’d not heard her string that many words together at one time ever since she came to town.

  “Well, you are good.” Her chin came out in its usual fashion, and her lips thinned. She squared her shoulders as if waiting for him to take the first punch.

  “Mange t-takk, tusen takk.” Thorliff stuttered in his surprise, reverting to Norwegian as he sometimes did when caught by surprise or shock.

  “We better get ready for the day.” Pastor Solberg handed the letter back to Thorliff and clapped him on the shoulder. “You want to share that with the whole school, or . . .”

  “Ja, I do.” Thorliff fingered the envelope. “But . . . but would you read it?”

  “To be sure.” Solberg opened the door to the cloakroom. “How about raising the windows and letting that warm spring air come in? We don’t need a fire today. Manda, you want to fill the water bucket?”

  Anji and Thorliff pushed up the three windows on each side of the long room. The floors had been swept and the blackboard washed the night before, so there was little to do since they didn’t need to light the stove or bring in wood. Laughter and shouts floated in as children of all ages arrived by foot or wagon or even on horseback, as did the two who lived way south of the small town of Blessing. Dinner buckets clattered on the shelf, and their owners pounded back outside to get in one game of Red Rover before the bell rang.

  Pastor Solberg came to stand beside Thorliff as he stared out the open window. “I imagine your ma and pa are right proud of you.”