A Promise for Ellie Page 8

  “Oh, ouch. Guess that’s another thing you have to experience to know it can hurt.” Elizabeth twisted a bit to get more comfortable. “She sure is a strong sucker.”

  “She’s a healthy one, all right. My first grandchild. And to think you named her after me. What an honor.”

  “She has a lot to live up to.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, you are so kind and thoughtful.”

  Elizabeth stared down at the infant in the crook of her arm, now soundly sleeping. “I’m going to join her. Thank you for taking such good care of us.”

  “My privilege.” Ingeborg smoothed Elizabeth’s hair back. “You did a mighty fine job.” She met the other two at the doorway. “We’ll let her sleep now. She can eat later.”

  Sometime later, after Astrid had gone home, Ingeborg entered the parlor to find Thorliff staring out the window. She stood beside him. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I never knew having babies would be so hard.” He cleared his throat. “I guess I just never thought about it.”

  “Most men don’t. But Elizabeth had an easy time of it. Some take so long the mother is too tired to push anymore. This little one was in a hurry to get here.”

  “She didn’t look too happy when she let out that first yell.”

  “True, no whimper there, but a good strong baby girl.”

  “So . . .” Thorliff jingled some change in his pocket.

  Ingeborg waited, knowing her eldest son would take time to think through what was bothering him.

  “So we are past the danger stage?”

  “One of them. But Elizabeth is in good health. This is her first, and we took precautions to sterilize everything we could. We’ve done all we can, and now it lies in God’s hands, where it really was all the time.”

  “I know all that, Mor, but this is my wife and baby we are talking about.”

  Ingeborg stared out the window at the shadows thrown by a half moon hanging above the cottonwood trees planted a couple years earlier in preparation for the turning of the century.

  Blessing was changing, Thorliff ’s life had just changed, Andrew’s would be soon, and thus all their lives were changing. Please, God, let the changes all be for the better. Inga Annabelle Bjorklund, born May 20, 1900, you, dear baby, had the biggest change of all.

  ANDREW STOOD WAVING as the train left the station heading west. Even knowing that Ellie would be back in a week did not leave him feeling secure. Too many things that should have been decided by now were still up in the air.

  All his plans, for all these years, were in disarray. At least that’s the way it seemed to him. The house not coming on time was the catalyst.

  He rammed his hands into his pockets and, turning, headed back to the wagon. Ellie and her family were on their way back to Grafton, and that’s all there was to it. Time to get going. If he hurried, he could get the field he was to plant done before dark. Maybe he’d even have time to start scraping the sites for his house and barn, sites he’d measured and marked out long before. He’d plowed and disked the garden spot earlier, and yesterday he and Ellie had taken Astrid and the twins to help rake and plant so they would have provisions for the winter.

  He backed the team and turned for home. If only Ellie would be in the kitchen when he came in for dinner. But then, as he’d often heard Mor say, “‘If only’ will defeat you every time.” If that were true, then why was it so easy to slip into thinking that way? Of course she’d often quoted one of her favorite Bible verses about the enemy being like a lion prowling around, searching to destroy. Right now he felt that lion would love to devour him. But fight back he would. He slowed the horses. No sense taking his hurry out on them.

  “Sorry, boys. Although I’m sure you’d like a good gallop, not with the wagon banging behind you. Pa would really get after me then.” Their ears flicking back and forth showed they’d been listening.

  He could hear Mor’s voice as though she were in the wagon with him. “Pray about it, son. God longs to hear your prayers and to answer them for you.”

  Why was it so hard to pray about his house, his barn, his not-so-soon-to-be wife? He thought on that.While Thorliff was the thinker in the family, Andrew knew he had a good head on his shoulders too. How to pray? Why did he feel his prayers went no higher than his head?

  “I could always ask Pastor Solberg.” Again the horses’ ears flicked back and forth.

  But who had he taken his questions to in the past? The answer exploded into his mind. Far. So why not this time? He knew the answer to that one. Because putting off the wedding was all Haakan’s idea. Resentment burned at the back of his throat. And if he was right that God had sent the suggestion, then God was to blame.

  Andrew trotted the team to the barn and stopped to unharness the horses. Since he shouldn’t be mad at God, then surely this was all Haakan’s fault.

  “God, I sure wish Ellie was here to help me think through all this. She didn’t even get the least upset.”

  “Andrew, are you all right?” Astrid stood on the other side of the team, unbuckling the harness without being asked.

  “Ja, why?” He knew his tone was curt. Knew it and didn’t change or ask her pardon.

  “Are you mad that Ellie had to leave?”

  “Some.”

  “She’s coming right back.”

  “So she said.” He pulled the harness off and carried it over to the pegs in the wall to drape it into place. The harness needed cleaning, and he could see a place where it needed repair before it broke.

  “Are you mad at Ellie?” Astrid lifted the harness off the other horse, but Andrew took it from her to hang up. “Are you?”

  “Astrid, this is really none of your business.”

  “All right, Andrew Bjorklund, be that way. I never thought I’d see my brother being mean, but you are, and you have been. If I were Ellie, I’d want to leave too.”

  Andrew watched her spin and head for the house, her bare feet spurting up dust as she slammed them against the earth.

  Wonderful. Now even Astrid was angry at him. He let the light team loose in the corral and brought in the heavier horses, harnessed them, and started for the field.

  Ingeborg stepped out on the back step and rang the triangle for dinner. When she finished, she waved and called to Andrew.

  Although he really wanted to ignore her, he stopped and answered. “I’m not hungry, and I want to get that field done.”

  “You’re not sick, are you?”

  “No, Mor. I’m not sick, just in a hurry.” He waited while she crossed the dirt yard to stand beside him.

  “I can send Astrid out with a lunch.”

  “No. She’d probably spit on it.”

  “Andrew, what a thing to say.”

  “Well, she’s mad at me, and . . .” He started to say “I deserve it” but didn’t. One more sliver under the skin to fester along with the others.

  Ingeborg studied him, then nodded. “I think you and I need to have a good long talk.”

  “Later.” He clucked the team forward and strode after them. Surely he could work this mad off and come home feeling more himself.

  Or maybe he needed to go chop wood.

  Trygve came bounding across the field halfway through the afternoon, waving his straw hat to catch Andrew’s attention.

  Andrew whoaed the team and got off the seeder. He stretched, arching his back and wishing for a drink. He’d not even thought to bring a jug of water with him. “Nothing like a stubborn Norwegian,” he muttered as he checked the seed drills.

  “You want to go fishing?” Trygve asked as soon as he caught his breath.

  “Sorry, I have to finish this field, then the seeding will be done.”

  “Nobody wants to go fishing.”

  “Astrid always wants to go fishing.”

  “She went over to help Elizabeth.”

  “What about Samuel?”

  “He went over to Tante Penny’s. I got my chores finished early so I could go.”

  �
��And neither of the twins wants to go?”

  Trygve gave him a rolled-eye look. “They don’t like fishing. You know that.”

  “Why don’t you ask Tante Ingeborg? She loves to go fishing, and she hasn’t gone for a long time.”

  “She’s out in the cheese house. Sophie and Grace went to help her.”

  “Guess you’ll have to go by yourself. Sorry.”

  “If I go home, Ma will make me help in the garden.” He dug a cork and hook out of his pocket, then another. “See, I even brought you one.”

  Andrew stared across the field. He only had two more rounds to go, and he’d be done. Might be nice to make someone in his life happy. “You go dig some worms out by the manure pile while I finish this field, and then we’ll go.”

  “Thank you. See you in a while.” Trygve waved his hat and set off across the field, hands in his pockets, whistling as he went.

  “Well, at least I made someone happy today. Maybe a mess of fish will mend a few fences.”

  After finishing the required rounds and letting the team loose, he headed for the house, cut some bread and cheese, drank two glasses of water, and found Trygve ramming the pitchfork back into the manure pile, the worms in a can with dirt.

  “Let’s go.”

  The one bad thing about fishing was it gave a person too much time to think. And today, all the fish seemed to prefer Trygve’s hook. The one time Andrew’s cork went down, the fish took the bait and vamoosed.

  Andrew rebaited his hook. Perhaps a fresh worm would help.

  “I have ten.”

  “Braggart. If this doesn’t work, I’m going upriver a bit. There’s always fish by that old log.”

  “There’s plenty of fish here. They just don’t like you.”

  The fish and everybody else.

  “Pa said I could help you build your house.”

  “Good. It should go up fast.” If it ever gets here.

  “Your cork!”

  Andrew jerked back on his pole, and a fish flew through the air, just missing his head, close enough he heard it whiz by.

  “You finally got one.”

  “Right, and it’s big enough to equal two of yours.” He removed the hook, stuck a stick through the gills, and anchored it to another on the bank, leaving the fish in the water.

  By the time they heard the bell cow leading the herd in for milking, they both had enough fish for the families and headed home. A spike deer bounded away when they reached the field.

  “How come we didn’t bring a rifle?” Andrew gave a snort of disgust. Fresh venison would have tasted mighty good. They’d had to hunt farther afield these last years. While game used to be abundant in the woods along the riverbank, now with the big old trees gone and so many more people hunting, the game trails had fallen into disuse.

  “I got three rabbits in the snares this morning.”

  “Been a good day for you.”

  Trygve eyed Andrew’s string of fish. “But not as good for you, huh?”

  If you only knew. “Tomorrow will be better.”

  “You want some of my fish?”

  Andrew reached over and knocked Trygve’s broad-brimmed hat forward on his head. “No, but thanks. This is plenty for supper. If you have extra, take them in to Bestemor. She likes to serve fried fish.”

  Bridget still ran her boardinghouse, but Eulah, Sam’s wife, did most of the cooking. His daughter, Lily Mae, waited on the folks in the dining room and did much of the cleaning.

  “Maybe I’ll go out tomorrow and get some for her. I’m going to run these over home, and then I’ll be back for milking.” He took off across the field, finally grabbing his hat so it wouldn’t go sailing.

  Andrew watched him go. That had been him not too many years ago. He sucked in a deep breath of cooling air and picked up his pace.

  “Mor,” he called from the stoop. “I brought fish for supper.”

  “Oh, good. I was about to start slicing that last ham.” She met him at the door and took the string.

  “Trygve caught twice as much as I did. I think I’m losing my touch.”

  “I’m glad you went fishing. You needed to.”

  “Guess I did.”

  “The milk pails are ready.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You are welcome.” She patted his shoulder. “You look better.”

  Between fishing and milking, Andrew felt more like himself by the time he dumped the last bucket into the milk can. He set the lid in place, hauled the can to the end of the aisle, and went down the stanchions, letting each cow out. They’d pause, back up slowly, and turn toward the door, none in a hurry, following the line out the door and on the same path to the water tank, where each one would drink, and then head out to graze awhile before lying down to chew their cud. He dropped the bar across the door to keep them from coming in during the night and leaned against it. Several stars had joined the evening star, the sky above already a dark azure while the sunset lingered yellow on the horizon. A nighthawk called from the brush while a cricket tuned up for the evening chorus. A bullfrog harrumphed from the swamp, and soon the peepers would join him.

  “You coming, son?” Haakan asked from the other door.

  “Ja. You already slopped the hogs?”

  “Done. And checked on the sows. All done but taking this last can to the well house. I ordered a load of lumber. Should be on tomorrow’s train.”

  Andrew joined him, and they each took a handle of the milk can. “For what?”

  “Your barn. Thought we could lay the footings. Call for a barn raising before haying.”

  “Barn might be up before the house.” They walked side by side, the milk can holding them together. You didn’t have to do that. We were going to put it up in the fall. “Mange takk.”

  Haakan nodded. “Since we got the spring work done so soon and the house isn’t here yet, I couldn’t see any sense in waiting.”

  “You going to buy more cows?”

  “Not if I can help it.” In spite of his parents’ trying to keep their disagreements from the children, Andrew knew his mother wanted to invest in more cows for milk for the cheese making and plant some of the wheat fields to hay, especially since the flour mills of the Twin Cities had again cut the price they would pay for North Dakota wheat.

  Haakan disagreed. Strongly. So the discussion had gone on, mostly in the privacy of their bedroom.

  Haakan sniffed as they washed at the bench beside the house. “Smells like fried fish.”

  “Ja, Trygve and I went fishing this afternoon after I finished seeding that field. Fool things wouldn’t hit my hook for the longest time.”

  “Metiz used to say that fish came only to those of a peaceful mind. Not her words exactly, but the gist was the same.”

  “Well, I did catch enough for supper. Oh, and there was a spike coming up from the river.”

  “Really? Don’t tell your mor, or she’ll decide to go hunting tomorrow.”

  While Ingeborg had hung up her guns and britches years before, the family still teased her about it. The last time she’d taken a gun out, after a few practice shots she’d still outshot all of them. Thorliff dubbed her “Annie Oakley” after the famous western woman shooter.

  “Astrid still over to Thorliff ’s?” Haakan asked as they sat down at the table.

  “She’d live there if she could. How she loves that baby.” Ingeborg set the platter of fried fish in the center of the table between the bowl of string beans and one of creamed canned potatoes. “I will sure be glad when the garden comes in.”

  “There’s a big patch of dandelion greens out by that big oak in the pasture.” Andrew thought a moment. “And I saw fiddleheads down on the riverbank. I’ll go get some tomorrow.”

  Ingeborg set the bread plate down. “Or Astrid can. Perhaps she and the twins will get some for all of us.” She glanced around the table at the empty chairs. “One missing sure leaves a hole.” She took her seat and looked to Haakan.

  He nodded. “Let’s pra
y. I Jesu navn, ga°r vi til bords. . . .” They all joined in the Norwegian grace, ending with the amen. Each started passing the serving plate closest to them, and other than “Please pass” or “Thank you,” they ate silently.

  Andrew could feel the tension between the man at the head of the table and the woman across from him. They must have been “discussing” again. Since all the land was planted, it didn’t make much sense to buy more cows now. They didn’t have enough pasture or hayfields for much more stock than they had.

  “Did you pick up the paper when you were in town?” Haakan asked.

  Andrew shook his head. “Wouldn’t have been out yet. Soon as we’re done with supper, I’m going out to scrape the grass off the house site.” He’d planned to start that tomorrow, but this way he’d get a head start. Maybe I can start digging the cellar.

  “I’ll help you in the morning. Trygve and Lars will come too.”

  “I’ll make a picnic and bring it over,” Ingeborg said. “What about little Sam? He’ll help, I’m sure. Remember how you and the Baard boys split the shingles for our barn? It’s a good thing Samuel and Trygve have started doing it for yours.”

  “Astrid was good at it too.”

  “Astrid is good at most anything she does.” Haakan leaned his chair back, caught the glance from his wife, and set the two front legs back down gently. “Maybe we should put a salt lick out on the game trail again.”

  “Maybe I’ll go out in the morning.” Ingeborg got a faraway dreamy look in her eyes.

  Andrew caught a frown on Haakan’s face that came and went fast as a blink. He wasn’t the only one unhappy with the man. Mor was too. He watched as Haakan rose, took his pipe from the stand on the shelf behind the stove, opened a lid on the stove, and using his knife, cleaned the bowl, the ashes and tailings dropping into the fire. He took the worn leather tobacco pouch from the same shelf and brought it all to the table.

  “You’ll get your skirt full of burrs.”

  “I could always put on my britches again.” Ingeborg pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. She never scraped the legs, always lifted her chair so as to not mar the wax she so laboriously rubbed into the pine planks.