An Untamed Heart Read online

  Arne and Kris studied the clouds that were piling up behind the western peaks by the time those heading back down the trail were ready to leave. “Should we go ahead and start out?”

  “What’s a bit of rain?” Frode said. “We need it, you know.”

  “Far as I know, none of us have melted in the past.” Arne slapped his leather gloves against his thigh as he spoke.

  “Ja.”

  Ingeborg finished his thought in her mind. Were those snow clouds, not rain clouds? But while it was chilly, the temperature had not dropped a great deal. Hail was another possibility, they all knew. But the clouds could blow past too. Hail could be hard on the horses, while the men could hide under the wagons. She watched Far come to a decision. Being the oldest, that was usually the case.

  “We go,” he said.

  Frode and Kris both nodded in agreement.

  Everyone gathered to wave and shout last-minute reminders as the two teams pulled their wagons back across the valley. One wagon would remain at the seter for the summer.

  “Make sure you . . .” The remainder of Far’s admonition floated away on a gust of breeze.

  “What do you suppose he wanted?” Gunlaug frowned after the receding wagons.

  “I don’t know.” Ingeborg hugged Mari, who stood beside her, and waved one more time before turning toward the barn.

  The first thing they needed to do was check the fences, so the sheep and cattle could be released from the corral to graze, as they were clearly telling their humans.

  Tor turned to Ingeborg. “You want me to take the sheep out?”

  “Yes, but no farther than that tree out there. As soon as they start to lie down, bring them back.”

  “Did you know that ram is a bit nasty?”

  “Ja, I know. Take a stick along. He always needs to be taught a lesson right at the beginning. He will try to show you who is boss. Make sure the dogs are with you.”

  He gave her a disgusted look.

  “I know, but those in charge have to make sure everyone is aware of the danger, especially these first few days.”

  “I know.”

  “Ja, and now we are all reminded.” She turned to the girls. “Start with sweeping down the loft, so we can get the beds made properly. When the grass gets tall enough, we’ll cut more to stuff the pallets. For now, take the old out and toss it in for the pigs. Put the mattress covers to soaking in lye water, and then we’ll hang them on the line. We sure don’t want any fleas and bedbugs attacking us. ”

  She looked to the sky. Were the clouds growing nearer? The sun was already warming them and the land. “I know, everything must be done at once.”

  She ran through a mental list, reminding herself to always count noses. With this many to be responsible for, one might get lost easily. One needed to be prepared for anything at the seter.

  They stopped for a cheese and bread meal earlier than the nooning, since breakfast had been so early so the others could leave. Mari and Hamme had stopped cleaning to slice the bread and cheese.

  “We need to make bread tomorrow,” Mari said.

  “My bread is not so good,” Hamme told her cousin. “Mor says I need to knead it more, mix it up better.”

  “Don’t worry, I like to make bread,” Mari said.

  Ingeborg overheard the conversation. The problem had an easy answer. Take more time for the kneading, but she knew Hamme would rather be outside than cooped up in the kitchen. She understood that feeling well, but her mor insisted her daughters learn early on to cook, especially the breads and pancakes.

  “Are you ready?” she asked a bit later.

  “Ja. I had to skim the milk from last night. You can already taste the difference with the cows on pasture.”

  Ingeborg smiled. That was another thing they needed to check over, see if clumps of Jimsonweeds were growing anywhere. They tainted the milk, and thus the cheese, if the cows grazed on them—it wasn’t dangerous, but it gave the cheese a different flavor from the normal. She’d take the new ones on a plant identification lesson as soon as possible. Everything needed to be done as soon as possible.

  Gunlaug came down the ladder from the house’s sleeping loft. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “It’s getting warm up there, for sure. I opened all the windows. The one at the south end was stuck, but I pried it open.”

  They all sat down outside on blocks of wood to eat, letting the sun soak into them as well as into the pallet covers blowing on the line. The quilts would have to serve as underbedding until they could stuff the pallets with grass again.

  “You say the blessing, Anders.” Looking around at all those gathered, Ingeborg again marveled at how much the cousins looked alike. Strangers would be hard put to know which family to place each one in. They were all towheads, with blue or gray-blue eyes, with rounded facial features that started lengthening out as their childhood fell behind them.

  Anders nodded and clasped his hands. “I Jesu navn, går vi til bords . . .” The children had all learned the old prayer as soon as they could talk. Amen came first to baby tongues.

  “And thank you for a safe trip up here and blessing our time together,” Ingeborg added. When she said amen this time, they all joined in. One rarely added on to the old prayer, so they were surprised. “We need to thank Him over and over.” She swept her arm around to encompass the valley and all of them. “He will keep us safe, because we ask.”

  She caught Tor rolling his eyes. Did they not say the grace at his home? Or perhaps only on special days? This would bear some thinking on. After all, her far had reminded her that she was the head up here, and that included Bible and manners training. No one wanted their children returning from the seter gone half wild. She had just taken a bite and raised her face to the sunshine when they all heard the snap.

  “The trap!” the big boys shouted in unison and tore into the house. Sure enough, at the back of the room, behind a crate, a rat still shuddered in the neck-snapping trap. They brought the beastie outside, waving their spoils of war. “In the daytime even.”

  “Don’t you bring that over here!” Gunlaug shouted as she jumped to her feet.

  Tor, who was carrying the prize by its tail, made a motion to do just that.

  “Tor Strand, if you think you’re so big you can do what you want, remember we can send you back down the mountain.” Ingeborg tried to assume a mantle of authority, but the boys just laughed.

  “We’ll throw it out in the bushes, then,” Anders said, pointing. “It is just a rat.”

  “Oh good, then something bigger will come to get it and get the chickens too.” She swept her arm toward the free-roaming chickens.

  Ingeborg shook her head, just barely, when Hjelmer looked at her. “She’s right, you know. Someone can take it up the hill later. Set the trap again, then sit down and finish eating.” She heard the trap go off a couple of times and a yelp from one of the three boys. The spring in a rat trap was tricky. It had to be to catch the crafty creatures. The things must have been fiercely hungry.

  Ingeborg gave out the afternoon’s orders, but as the children headed out, Hjelmer stopped beside her. “It was a mother rat, and she is nursing babies.”

  Ingeborg knew he would like to search for the nest. This brother was much like her, not wanting to hurt things but to make them better. “You know it is probably under the house and impossible to get at. Besides, what would we do with baby rats? They grow up to be big rats.”

  “I know.” He heaved a sigh. “But no wonder she was so desperate that she came out during the day.” He paused. “I could let the others finish—we are almost done repairing the downed posts—and start checking the other fence lines.” He glanced back at the house.

  Ingeborg knew he’d rather look for the baby rats. He didn’t want them to suffer. That was what she would have wanted to do too. She looked toward the far fields. “That’s a good idea. Go ahead and tell them I agreed.” She smiled at him. “Tusen takk.”

  “For what?”


  “Being so caring and responsible.”

  He gave her a look he’d been perfecting lately. A combination of Oh, Mor and Leave it to my sister.

  It wasn’t her favorite but he had to grow up too. And with Tor teasing him, this summer promised to be a real growing period, inside at least.

  “Have you seen any dandelions up here yet?” Gunlaug asked after she gathered the pallet covers off the line.

  “Nei. We’ll put everyone on the lookout for any good greens.” Since the altitude caused the growing season to start weeks later than down in their valley, the grass wasn’t nearly as luxurious, and even the weeds were behind.

  Sometime later, when Ingeborg was cleaning inside, she heard the harness jingling. She left off and returned outside to where the soup was simmering over the coals at the edge of the fire. The soup had been fixed at home and brought up the mountain to be set in the springhouse to cool again. The icy mountain water did a quick job of cooling foodstuffs, as it did the milk. From the fireside, she watched as Tor opened the pasture fence so Hjelmer could drive the team through.

  Ingeborg motioned to Gunlaug with a finger to her lips. Together they watched Hjelmer go over the process with Tor again, waving his arms and pointing to fallen posts and rails.

  Ingeborg held to her place, wanting to go box Tor’s ears. Tor raised his voice, but Hjelmer shrugged. Tor tossed the logging chain around a broken post, hooked and snugged it, and took up the horses’ lines. The chain tightened some but slipped up and off the post end.

  Tor now waved his arms around. He reset the chain, low on the post and tight. This time as the horses moved forward, the chain tightened and the rotten post popped out.

  Hjelmer cheered so loudly they could hear him even from this distance. The two boys dug about in the posthole with shovels. Tor single-handedly picked up a new post and dropped it into the hole. He steadied it as Hjelmer filled the hole and tamped the dirt down. The two said something, exchanging what? Advice? Congratulations? Complaints?

  “I wish I was a mouse in his pocket!” Ingeborg whispered.

  “Or at least a bird on his shoulder.” Gunlaug gave Ingeborg an elbow in the side. “I am proud of Hjelmer. Maybe this will help them get along better.”

  “We can only pray so.” The two returned to the house, Gunlaug to cleaning the pantry she had started as soon as they arrived, and Ingeborg putting the rooms to order and preparing the fireplace that would provide their warmth and cooking all summer.

  She heard laughing from the barn where Anders and someone rather harsh-voiced were cleaning. The girls had finished the upstairs, fixed the beds, and were now in the great living room.

  “At least it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain,” Kari said on her way to fetch more water. They were keeping a big iron kettle steaming on the fire outside so the cleaners would have hot water. She clearly loved the seter almost as much as Ingeborg did. “I’ll bring in a couple of buckets from the creek.” The tall, sturdy girl resembled her tante Hilde with the narrow brow and pointed chin, except she had a ready smile.

  Ingeborg nodded. She’d been so engrossed in what they were doing, she’d forgotten to check. As the room darkened and one of the shutters banged, she figured maybe Kari had spoken too soon. Sure enough, drops spattered on the windows.

  “Get the bedding in!” All those in the house charged out the door to keep their beds from getting wet. Within minutes they had the bedding in the house and draped over chairs and tables, all the while laughing and teasing.

  Ingeborg headed outside. Sure enough, the boys had the sheep back in the corral, built especially for the sheep and connected to the shed on the side of the barn. The older boys had put the horses out, and now were standing in the barn door watching the rain. The animals ignored it, and Ingeborg shook off the drops from her shawl as she returned to the house.

  Please, Lord, let the others be nearing home, away from the danger of lightning. She’d seen a jagged light flash just moments before and heard the thunder grumble. A heavy rainfall would make travel miserable. Storms of any kind could be fierce in the mountains.

  “Let’s get the fireplace going in case this fire is put out.”

  “You think it will rain that hard?” Gunlaug asked, staring out the window. “Remember when we used to go play in the rain? Dancing around the birch trees until we were ordered inside, away from the lightning? It’s sad that we don’t do that anymore.”

  “You want to go out now?”

  Gunlaug shook her head. “Let’s get the fire going. Perhaps we should milk early too.”

  Ingeborg opened the door and looked out. “You are right. The cows are up at the barn. We’ll do all the evening chores now.” She raised her voice. “Mari, you and Hamme make små brød as soon as the coals are hot. The rest of you come with us.”

  “Where?”

  “Out to the barn.”

  Shawls over heads, they stopped in the springhouse to get the milking buckets and dashed across the puddling yard to join the laughing boys in the barn.

  They had just sat down to milk when Hjelmer came running. “Ingeborg, we are missing two hens. The others are all in the pen.”

  “Look all through the barn first and then the sheds. Chickens don’t like to be wet either.”

  Surely something hadn’t snatched the chickens already. She could hear the boys calling as she dumped her bucket into the milk can. Please, Lord, protect the hens and children. The prayer went up without thought on her part. It was probably the young hens that had not been crated and hauled before. Even chickens could remember, she had always thought. The younger ones were usually the ones to get in trouble first. Something like humans. The hens wouldn’t be setting already.

  She dumped a bucket for Gunlaug and ambled over to the doorway, the rain-laden wind blowing air so fresh even the barn odors disappeared. She inhaled with her eyes closed. This is what freedom smelled like and felt like.

  “We found them,” someone called from one of the outbuildings.

  Thank you for even caring about our chickens. She would remind the others of that while they ate.

  “Ingeborg, do you have something for my hands?” Tor rolled his hands so she could see his palms. Weeping blisters on blisters made her shake her head.

  He added, “We got the fence done. Almost.”

  “Did you not wear leather gloves?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have any.”

  “What? You were told to bring gloves along.” She opened the cupboard door to where she had stored her medical supplies, bringing out a tin of salve and a roll of soft cloth torn into strips for bandages. On her mor’s reminder she had stocked the box even more so. “Go scrub with the soap. We can’t have your hands getting infected.”

  “It stings,” he muttered at the bucket.

  “Scrub and make sure there is no dirt left in there. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Boys, she thought at his flinch. After smoothing the slippery unguent in place, she wrapped his hands and tied the strips in knots on the back of his hands. “We do not throw these bandages away,” she told him. “We wash them.”

  He nodded, teeth clamped on his lower lip.

  She hoped this didn’t portend a summer full of injuries and illness, like the one they had a few years earlier. But it was sure starting out that way.

  9

  Ingeborg sat up in bed. What was that noise?

  She closed her eyes again. Hail of course. It sounded like something determined to shred whatever it touched. Hail did that. She lay back down. Surely they had closed all the windows here. She hoped the others had made it home. Even if they hadn’t, hail didn’t usually cover large areas at a time. Thoughts of every other thing that could break under the onslaught made her grit her teeth.

  But what can you do about it? The question stopped her. Nothing. There was nothing she could do. Other than fret and worry. The words Fear not tiptoed into her mind like a fawn approaching a meadow. The doe would say, Come on, but the tiny fawn w
ould still tiptoe. It was that part of him that nature instilled to protect him. Was that what all these silly thoughts were doing to her?

  As her mor would say, although she didn’t always live it, “Only God can control the weather, and we don’t have to be afraid.” His Word says so. Fear thou not, for I am with thee. . . .

  Ingeborg breathed a sigh and settled back on her pallet. The floor was hard underneath her quilt, but she’d fallen asleep readily before and must do so again. Morning would come soon enough, even though it was still lighter than dusk outside. The hail clouds made it darker than a usual late May night. She ordered herself to close her eyes and clear her mind. Do not think about hail. Do not think about all that needs to be done. Do not think, period. When all else fails, pray. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe she should be praying before all else. That thought made her smile. Such wisdom in the middle of the night. Now to remember it during the day and all it brought.

  When she woke to a rooster crowing, she realized she had fallen back to sleep. Before she went out to the privy, she put on her shoes, which was a good thing, since some of the hail was still on the ground. And still large after all these hours. She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember what it was she had promised herself she would remember. Or had she dreamed that up too? Probably not, since the hail was indeed real. So she had been awake.

  Back in the kitchen, she opened the fireplace damper and, with the poker, rattled the grate and firedogs. She laid bark and bits of tinder on the now-glowing coals and blew gently. Smoke spiraled upward, and soon she saw golden flames, so she added bigger kindling and small pieces of oak. They should keep the fire up better at night. It was cold in here. She filled the coffeepot with water from the bucket sitting in the dry sink. Having to go out to the creek this early did not appeal to her, so she always made sure someone was assigned to that daily task. After adding more wood to the now snapping fire, she set the coffeepot on the hearth close to the fire. Another full bucket of water sat on the floor near the door, so she picked it up to move it to the counter.