An Untamed Heart Page 7

  “You better not go falling in love yet. You are too young.” Ingeborg stacked the new box near the front of the wagon, since it was easier to move than the food boxes. “Besides, there are so few eligible men around here.”

  “Maybe at your age, but not mine.” Berta’s arched look made Ingeborg smile.

  “Well, maybe, but those your age have a lot of growing up to do yet.” She paused and studied her sister through slitted eyes. “You are thinking of someone, Berta. Confess.”

  “I . . . uh . . . no . . . uh . . .” Berta grimaced, again eliciting a smile from her older sister and a pat on the shoulder to go with it. “Lars Bornstadt is smart and a hard worker and trustworthy and—”

  “Cute as can be. Actually too cute for a man, but his face will mature. He is big and strong, that’s for sure.” Ingeborg paused, a knowing look lifting her eyebrows. “Do you think he likes you? He would be stupid not to, of course, but men—er—rather, boys can be fickle.” And tongue-tied and silly and . . . Ingeborg kept those thoughts to herself. Just because she wanted a man who could carry on a decent conversation, along with have a sense of curiosity and wonder, that’s not to say Berta looked for the same things. Of course, when one was fourteen, one went more on attraction and good looks than truly thinking things through.

  Berta nodded. “I know he does. Carly told me so.”

  Carly was Lars’s younger sister, who was close friends with Berta.

  Ingeborg strolled with Berta back to the house to bring out the stored fleeces to pack around other boxes and keep them secure. A place for everything and everything in its place. Now, that was a Mor-ism Ingeborg totally agreed with and practiced.

  Not that her mother wasn’t wise—they all knew she was—but, there was always that but, a stumbling block for sure. Understanding was important to Ingeborg, and the way her mother treated her, she absolutely did not comprehend. She forced herself back to what Berta was saying.

  “Sorry, my mind went woolgathering. What did you say?”

  “Oh, Ingeborg, you are so funny. I asked you how many fleeces you were taking. I saw both spinning wheels already packed, in fleece no less. There is justice or something there, don’t you agree?”

  “I agree that you are sounding and acting more grown up all the time. I’m afraid that by the time I return, you will be a woman and I won’t know you.” She tweaked her sister’s single braid—she no longer wore two, a sure sign of growing maturity.

  By evening Ingeborg had two of the wagons packed and covered with canvas to keep out the dew or rain, if it appeared, which was doubtful with the red sky at night. Not that true dark night ever happened these days.

  The evening before they were ready to depart, the family gathered around the kitchen table like they always did. Far bowed his head and waited for them to settle. “God above, we thank you for our seter and the good cheese that will come from there. Thank you for those willing to travel up there and live away from so many good things here.”

  Ingeborg’s mind balked at that. She’d rather be up there than here, any day. Well, not in midwinter, not that high up in the mountains, but summer days for certain. She jerked her mind back to his prayer.

  “Guard our cattle and our children from wild creatures and storms and accidents. We will give you all the praise and glory. Grant us thy grace and peace. Amen.” He looked around the table. “Jesus said, ‘And lo, I am with you always.’ We all count on that.”

  The nod went around the table. Ingeborg wished she could take the family Bible with her, but through the years she had copied from it, verses and whole chapters that she wanted to study. Not that there was a lot of study time up there either. She paused to snag a thought that flitted through her mind. It was true. She did feel closer to God in the higher mountains. And who knew what kinds of adventures He would guide them through this year.

  “Ingeborg, is your medicinal box packed and loaded?” Mor asked.

  “Ja. I wrapped it in more canvas and sheepskin to keep it safe and dry. I put in all you said.” And then some.

  Mor nodded and turned to Mari.

  Ingeborg snapped her mouth shut. There had been reprimand with the question. Now, that was something to remember. Ingeborg, you are being sarcastic. No I’m not. Not this time. Just relieved and thankful, is all. Did all people have two of their own voices arguing in their minds, or was she stranger than she thought?

  “Wish I were going,” Gilbert said under his breath to Ingeborg the next morning. “Not to stay particularly, but I’d like to go up and back.”

  Ingeborg nodded. Far’s comment that the man needed to stay home in case of emergencies made sense, since all three brothers were going. No matter how excited she was about heading up the hills, she hated to say good-bye too. She had already learned that one never knew what was coming, and she didn’t always have to like it. Like their Bjorn, so excited about going to Amerika and their never hearing from him again. What had happened to her favorite brother?

  Gilbert gripped her arm. “Take care.”

  She dipped her head and pressed it to his shoulder. Strand men were indeed tall. “Takk. Tusen takk.” She watched him turn away to open the pasture gates. Berta came to stand beside her.

  “I do wish I were going. After all, this might be my last year to do so.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Ingeborg hugged her younger sister, who was nearly as tall as she. “You can write to me, you know.”

  “I will, and you write too.” Even though the mail made it up to the high mountain valley only two or three times in the season, letters were always precious. News of home came up with the rider who brought extra supplies and letters and carried back the same.

  Ingeborg called to the sheep as they flowed out of the pasture that would now be left for hay later in the summer. The lead ewe, her bell clanging with each step, snatched up a mouthful of grass and made her way to the woman she trusted. The lambs gamboled beside their mothers. If they strayed far, the ewes bleated their warning signal, calling them back.

  Frode’s herding dogs nipped at the cows’ heels, driving the stock forward, nimbly leaping aside to avoid the occasional impatient kick.

  They all said their good-byes, and the wagons rattled out across the valley, the animals behind snatching mouthfuls of grass if allowed to slow down even for a second. Since the sheep followed her, Ingeborg led the way, as did the sheepherders from the other two farms. The milk cows placidly nodded their way on the road, their calves settling in beside them, the herd dogs now largely ignoring them. By the second day, the young stock would realize that staying by their mothers, rather than running and jumping, was far wiser, probably what their mothers had been telling them. Ingeborg was always delighted to see the comparisons between animal and human behavior. No wonder Jesus referred to people as the sheep of His pasture.

  They stopped at a favorite spot for a break when the sun nearly hit its zenith. Both animals and people drank from the brook that tumbled down rocks in some places and made serene pools in others, an ideal place for the animals to drink safely.

  The cousins’ fathers, Arne and Kris, along with their brother Frode, handed out the sandwiches prepared for them as well as the always necessary cheese and gorobrød.

  Gunlaug sank down in the wagon’s shade, while Ingeborg kept an eye on Hjelmer and the two other male cousins, who kept track of the sheep and cattle. Fast water, holes, and cliffs, not to speak of the wild hunters, were always a danger. One year a mountain lion had snatched one of the lambs, in spite of how careful the travelers had been.

  “You can eat and watch.” Gunlaug handed her the bread with meat and cheese. “You can do two things at once. I’ll go get you some water when I finish this.” She held up her sandwich. “I’m glad your mor made these, not mine. She never puts enough meat and cheese inside.”

  Ingeborg nodded. Her tante Berthe was known for being exceedingly careful with the food she doled out.

  The animals grazed, the people a
te, and an eagle screed high overhead. When all had cooled down, they herded the stock over to the pool’s edge and watched carefully for possible disasters. Just an arm’s length beyond, the spring melt, swollen and wild, rushed down the rocky stream bed.

  Back on the trail, they plodded along, no longer calling remarks back and forth, nor spending time and energy watching the scenery, spectacular though it was. The brilliant sunlight was so bright on mountain peaks marching off into the distance, it hurt one’s eyes, especially against the blue of the sky bowl over their heads. A beautiful contrast to the green spring grass. Ingeborg no longer called to Gunlaug to see this or that. Everyone was getting tired of climbing and of chewing dust when on the flatlands.

  The sun was low among the peaks when Far called a halt. “We will take a break and let Frode’s group go on ahead. It will be several hours before we can all get to the seter. Those who go before can prepare supper for us.”

  Frode, the youngest of the three brothers and never married, tipped his hat. “Good idea. We’ll have the fires burning and perhaps even start cleaning the kitchen.”

  The chimney was always the first thing to clean. No one wanted a smoke-filled room when they lighted the fireplace, let alone a chimney fire. Birds and small animals liked nesting in chimneys.

  “Perhaps you should stay here and let the old man go on ahead,” Kris, the middle brother, said with his typical laugh.

  Arne, Ingeborg’s far and the oldest, just shook his head. “Can you not come up with new jokes at least?”

  Ingeborg and Gunlaug swapped grins. On some trips the conversations were a bit strained, depending on what the winter and spring had been like, along with the health of both livestock and humans. Others took on lightheartedness. This was one of those.

  With a tinge of envy, Ingeborg watched the wagons go on ahead, for Gunlaug was sitting on a wagon back, grinning and waving. She was riding in style while Ingeborg walked, because her cousin had offered to do the cooking.

  The drovers watered the stock, grazed them a bit, and keeping an eye out for hunters, continued up the trail. At this time of year, there was still plenty of daylight.

  Every year the men said they should improve the track up to the seter, and every year other things had to be done first. Spring was like that.

  The other wagons had disappeared around the curves—even the creaking wheels were beyond hearing—when Far called a halt. “One of the horses is limping. Hjelmer, bring up the extra horse, and we’ll change them out.” Since they always brought along extras for the teams, this was no more than an inconvenience.

  “Keep a close watch,” Arne ordered, “especially along that ridge up there.” He pointed to a craggy section ahead of them. They were just finishing the harness change when a horse whinnied, and the two dogs raised a frenzied yapping, charging up the hill.

  Onkel Kris cried, “Ranger! Blackie! Stop!”

  The dogs ignored him, tearing up the hillside. Arne and Hjelmer both shouted, Hjelmer racing after the dogs. Ingeborg and the others rounded up the animals and clustered them all close around the two remaining wagons. The sheep and cows kept looking up the hill, pacing restlessly. Ingeborg sent Mari and the others circling the animals while she crooned a song she often used to settle the sheep.

  Arne snatched up the rifle he kept behind the wagon seat and started after Hjelmer. The wild barking continued, moving farther away. At least it wasn’t coming closer, Ingeborg thought, her attention focused on the animals and children. “Easy now,” she called. “Everyone take it easy. The dogs have whatever it is on the run.” Please, Lord, take care of us all. What would come out to attack this early? Wolves? Something desperate, for certain. But then, nothing was fiercer than a female of any species needing food for her children. The tone of the dogs’ voices changed. They had treed something or driven it to the ground.

  A shot split the unnatural silence. “Got ’im!” Far’s voice echoed from the distance, jubilant.

  The livestock settled down to graze, a sure sign that the danger was past. At least they’d kept the animals from panicking and running for their lives.

  Ingeborg blew out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “You did well,” she called to her herders. “You stayed calm. That’s what we needed.”

  Mari sidled up to her. “What if it were wolves, or a bear? I was scared.”

  “Me too. We all were. You needn’t feel bad.”

  “Hjelmer wasn’t.”

  “No, but you can be sure Far is going to scold him for heading up by himself like that. You know the rule: Never go into the mountains by yourself, or even across the valley. We are in wild animal country—trespassing, if you like. And we or our livestock look like a good meal.”

  Mari shivered. “You didn’t have to say that. I think I want to go back home with Far.”

  Ingeborg hugged her close. “Nei, little one. God will keep us safe, He promised. Remember, He said He won’t ever leave or forsake us. Far read that verse just last night. The dogs did their job too.”

  At a halloo, she looked up the trail to see Far and Hjelmer descending, lugging something between them. The two sisters exchanged wide-eyed looks. What could it be?

  “A bobcat, Ingeborg, with almost no teeth,” Hjelmer hollered. “He’s an old one.”

  She could hear the pride in his voice. And he had been in on the kill. Sometimes size didn’t matter. She’d be sure to remind him of that. “Stay with the herd,” she called as the others made motions to go see the kill. Grumbles met her order, but they stayed on watch.

  One of the team nickered, shifting feet and flickering ears. The others copied, with more urgency.

  “Hang on to them, Ingeborg!” Far’s voice rang out the order.

  Ingeborg grabbed the lines right under the bits.

  “They’ve scented the blood.” The dogs leaped and yipped beside the two carrying the load, darting in to sniff and then dodging away.

  She held the front team and Onkel Kris held the one behind. The closer they drew, the more restless grew the horses, but Ingeborg kept up her song of peace and calm, stroking noses and necks.

  Far circled out from the party and brought the carcass in to the rear of the second wagon. The horses settled down and the dogs sat panting. “We’ll take him along. Even his pelt shows he was about starving to death. How he made it through the winter is beyond me.”

  “Why keep it?” Hamme, Kris’s youngest daughter asked, worry or fear knitting her brow.

  “It’ll make good dog food.” Arne leaned closer to his niece. “And maybe Ingeborg will cook him up for supper tomorrow.”

  Ingeborg stifled a giggle at her cousin’s horror-stricken face. Sometimes what people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, especially in the stew or soup kettle.

  When they finally got back on the trail, the shadows darkened the way.

  “We’ll go on. It is not that far. I’ll walk ahead and make sure all is well. Hjelmer, you drive this one.”

  Hjelmer climbed up on the seat, Far strode ahead, and the retinue followed, reaching the seter valley about an hour later. Those that had gone ahead had a fire going outside, both to light the way and because the fireplace probably wasn’t fit for cooking. Ingeborg paused as the road descended. Candles lit the windowsill of the house, and the outbuildings lay in darker shadows so as to be hardly visible. Home. She felt like she had indeed come home. She blew out a sigh. Oh, the stories that would be told around the fire that night.

  8

  “A rat! I saw a rat!” Gunlaug complained the next morning, fists planted on her hips. “I can stand mice”—she shuddered—“but not rats.”

  Kris, her far, rolled his eyes, clearly thinking, Good grief, what is the big fuss about a rat?

  “And you have always said that if you see one, there are more.”

  He sent his brother a Help me glance, but when Arne shrugged, Kris shook his head. “We will set traps. Hjelmer can shoot any he sees after we leave. Usually they are out at th
e barn. And come out at night, but not always. Depends on how hungry they are.”

  “I’ve shot plenty of them out there.” Hjelmer did not look at Ingeborg—intentionally.

  Ingeborg too was swallowing laughter. Of course they hated rats. Especially when they turned mean and attacked, or bit someone during the night. All those things happened, but usually not to them at the Strandseter. She’d never forgotten the one she once found in the oat barrel out in the barn. It jumped up snarling. She’d had the presence of mind to clap the lid back in place before it could jump out, and set a bucket full of milk on top of it. The rat must have figured out how to lift the lid since they’d not found a chewed hole anywhere. Far had said rats were smart, sneaky, and always hungry. That was after he’d clubbed and stunned the vermin, then killed it outside so the blood would not taint the oats.

  Ja, life at the seter was always an adventure.

  They’d all been much too tired to unload all but the bare necessities last night, so now they finished unloading the wagons and filling the storage room with barrels of flour, ground oats, beans, and bags of other necessary things. They’d brought enough to feed the nine people, seven of them growing children. Ingeborg had all the plans in her head, things she’d been thinking about on the way up. With two new sets of hands, the work should go faster.

  This was the first year for Tor, who was the same age as Anders and Hjelmer, and his older-by-a-year sister, Kari Nygaard, to join those at the seter for the summer. They lived in a distant town, not on a farm, and Onkel Frode agreed to pay part of their expenses because their family did not contribute supplies for those spending the summer in the mountains. Since the town was about twenty miles away, they didn’t see their Strand cousins very often, something their tante Hilde lamented. Onkel Frode thought a summer of seter work would be good for the both of them, but especially for Tor.