A Land to Call Home (37 page)

“We will too.” Kaaren sniffed and smiled, though her lips trembled. “I am thankful to God that we have one another, that we live so close, and only in the worst of storms do we have to be separated.”

“Ja, I think God is working all kinds of miracles.” Solveig lifted her leg, no longer crooked but straight and true. At a baby’s whimper,
the three looked toward the cradle. “All kinds.”

Another blizzard followed on the coattails of the first, but this one only closed them in for two days. From then on, each time a blizzard arrived with its yawning pit, Ingeborg clung to the verses Agnes had given her and to others she found herself. The louder the wind howled, the louder she proclaimed her verses, shouting them sometimes into the teeth of the wind.

When the sun broke through, the men again headed for the lumber mill set about a quarter of a mile upriver from the houses. Since they already had the saw and gears reassembled and set into a frame of tree trunks, shortly after dinner they had the steam engine skidded out and set too. They let the boys start the fire in the firebox and assigned them the job of keeping it going. The flames snapped and ate at the pitch wood they threw in, and soon it was roaring under the water tank, sending steam into the boiler. They watched the needle on the gauge wobble and begin to climb. When it reached the proper pressure, Haakan pushed the lever forward and the long belt strung between the engine and the saw began to turn.

Thorliff let out a shriek and the men a yell. As the gears turned beneath the saw, the great blade spun. Haakan ratcheted a trimmed tree trunk into the saw carriage and the blade bit into the wood. A ripping scream split the air, wood chips flew, and the saw cut off the first slab of bark-covered wood.

“That’ll be used for firewood,” Haakan shouted to be heard above the whine of the saw.

Olaf drove the team that dragged another log up the ramp, and Lars used his pike to push it onto the carriage where the log moved forward until its turn to become one-inch slabs of siding.

They reset the saw blade, and the next tree became four-by-ten beams. By the end of the day, they had also cut two-by-fours, beams, siding, and two-by-eights. As dusk fell, sending a rosy glow over the glittering snow drifts, they cut the slab wood into lengths for the stove.

“Why is the belt crossed over in the middle?” Thorliff asked when they shut the machinery down to go do the evening chores.

Lars walked to where the ten-inch-wide canvas belt crossed, making a long figure eight. “You know, Thorliff, you sure are observant.” He laid his hand on the belt and pointed to the two drums at the ends. “If the belt went straight from one to the other, which is what you think it should do, as the drums spun, they would spin the belt right off. You want to be real careful not to get in the way
of a flying belt. I saw it kill a man one day when it broke. But with the cross, the belt stays in place.”

Thorliff nodded. “Did you think of that?”

Lars laughed and slapped the boy on the shoulder. “No, but I wish I had. The man I worked for taught me, and now I’m teaching you.”

“And me,” Baptiste added, matching his strides to that of the men as they walked back to the soddy.

“Now that we know it works, you have to come watch tomorrow,” Haakan told Ingeborg. “All you women should come. Thorliff can stay with the babies for a little while.” He shook his head in amazement. “It really worked and the first time we fired it up too.”

“Must be another of God’s miracles,” Ingeborg said with a broad smile.

“Miracles?”

“Ja, we must watch for them so we can thank Him.” Ingeborg patted his shoulder as his look changed from puzzlement to acceptance.

“If you say so.”

The next morning Baptiste and Thorliff brought the sleigh around, and after dropping Thorliff off at Kaaren’s, Baptiste drove the women and Andrew out to the sawmill. The shrieking whine of the saw blade cutting through the timbers made Andrew look up at his mother with wrinkled eyebrows.

“That’s just the saw blade,” she reassured him, wishing she could cover her ears with her hands herself. But as the logs slid into place, the saw bit into them, and the slabs of wood fell free. Andrew clapped his hands and crowed in delight.

“Now, you must always stay away from the saw,” Ingeborg told him, holding tightly to his mittened hand. “This is no place for little boys.”

“Baptiste here.” Andrew looked at her, reproach darkening his eyes.

“Baptiste is a big boy now, and he helps a lot. When you get that big, you can help too.”

“T’mor I be big?”

Ingeborg and Kaaren both smiled at him. “No, not tomorrow but one day.”

Solveig sniffed the frigid air. “The wood smells so good.”

“Ja, fresh cut lumber has a perfume all its own.” Haakan stopped beside them. He nodded to the carefully stacked cut lumber. “That’s
as good as money in the bank. We’ll sell some, but the first things built will be frame houses for the Bjorklunds.”

Squares of shingles soon took up half the haymow as they split shingles whenever the weather kept them in. Some squares were marked with a T and others with a B in chalk. When sold, Thorliff and Baptiste had been promised part of the money since they split them.

One night before Olaf read the Scriptures for the day, Thorliff looked up from his book and said, “Think I’ll spend part of my money on books. What about you, Baptiste?”

“I will buy a rifle when I have enough. Then I can help your mor and my grandmere hunt. I will be a good hunter.”

“That you will, Baptiste,” Ingeborg said. “If you’d like, I will teach you boys how to handle a gun and how to shoot straight. Once you can do that, I will teach you to hunt.”

“Know how to shoot and hunt. Uncle teached me. Metiz’ boys learn from little.” He held out a hand to show how tall they were when they first learned to hunt.

“Why have you never told us you know how to hunt?” Ingeborg asked, laying her knitting down in her lap and looking over at him.

He shrugged. “You never ask.”

Haakan let out a snort of laughter. “That’ll teach us.”

“Mor.” Andrew leaned on her knees. “Make popcorn?”

Olaf laid down the spindle he was carving. “I will. Come on, boys, you help me.” Thorliff and Baptiste each rubbed two cobs together to break the tight little kernels off while Andrew dragged a big wooden bowl out of the cupboard. Olaf dropped a bit of lard in a kettle, poured in the popcorn kernels, then put the cover in place and set the pan over the hottest heat.

Andrew ran in place as the pops could be heard ricocheting off the insides of the kettle. When Olaf poured the popped corn into the bowl, Andrew giggled. When one dropped on the floor and Paws snatched it up, he laughed some more. “Popcorn, popcorn, we have popcorn,” he chanted.

Olaf set the bowl in the middle of the table and, scooping Andrew under his arm, set him on his box. “There you go, young feller.” He laid some of the popped corn on the table in front of the beaming boy. “Since you asked for it, you get first taste.”

Another miracle
, Ingeborg thought when she took her place.
It takes so little to make them—all of us—happy, Lord. Thank you
. She thanked the Father again when Olaf picked up the big Bible and
began to read. He made the story of David and Goliath come alive with his inflections and changes of voice. Andrew’s eyes widened as Goliath shouted for David, and he clapped his hands when the giant fell.

“Why do you think God put this story in His book?” Olaf asked the children.

Thorliff narrowed his eyes in thought, then replied, “So we would know we don’t have to be afraid of big things. God will take care of us.”

“Right you are.” Olaf nodded. “You are a good thinker, Thorliff, and you listen for the true meaning of things. That is good for a man to do.”

They could have blown out the lamps, Thorliff’s smile shone so bright.

Every day the weather allowed, the men spent felling trees and feeding the lumber mill. Neighbors came from both sides of the frozen river, gazing in awe and delight at the noisy beast. Soon horses pulling sledges loaded with logs were lined up, waiting their turn at the mill. Since Haakan charged by keeping a fourth of the lumber sawed, no money changed hands, but the stacks of lumber for the Bjorklunds grew.

With the weather holding cold but sunny, Kaaren sent out word that school would start again the first of February, depending of course on the daily weather. There would be no school if it was snowing or a howling blizzard.

The first day back, her pupils clustered around her desk, each one trying to tell her about their Christmas and the big blizzard all at once. They jostled and teased one another like old friends, and several showed her books they had received for Christmas.

“Pleath read mine to everybody,” Anna begged. “I can’t read good enough.”

“That we will do,” Kaaren promised her, bringing a smile to the pale little face. The teacher clapped her hands and everyone scampered to their seats. She greeted them in English, and they answered in English. She asked one of the older girls to read the scripture for
the day, and they sang the folk song they’d performed for the pageant. When they sat down again, Kaaren looked out over her schoolroom. “I am so proud of all of you, I cannot begin to tell you how much. Your program was wonderful, and everyone has told me so again and again. Because you have done so well, this afternoon we will have a special treat.”

They waited but when she didn’t go on, one asked, “What is the treat?”

“It won’t be a surprise if I tell you, will it? We’ll begin with reading, as usual.”

The day passed in what seemed like minutes, and when Kaaren made snow candy, everyone hurried to fill the two flat pans with snow. Some of the children had never had such a treat, their eyes growing round with delight when they tasted it. She closed the day with the first chapter of Anna’s book, Daughter
of the Prairie
.

“Thank you, Mitheth Knutson,” Anna whispered from her place pasted to Kaaren’s right knee.

They went a week before a blizzard closed them down.

Kaaren accepted the time off gratefully. Why was she so tired? Surely teaching school wasn’t any harder than cooking and doing the wash all day. Those things didn’t wear her out like this.

Several children were missing when school started again the next week, and others had runny noses and deep coughs. Two days later, Grace woke everyone during the night with her raspy breathing.

Kaaren hugged the little one to her, feeling the heat through the blankets and gown. “She’s running a fever.” Fear, of the gut-wrenching terror kind, made her short of breath. The flu that took her little girls had begun just like this.

Lars added more wood to the low-burning fire and opened the draft so it would catch quickly. “The willow bark will help in a tea if you can get her to drink from a spoon or something. That’s what Metiz used for me.”

Kaaren nodded. She laid the baby on the table and unwrapped the blankets. “We’ve got to cool her down.” Clad in her diaper and shirt, Grace coughed again so hard that her face turned dark red and she gagged deep in her throat.

Kaaren turned her over and patted her back to try to bring up what was choking her. The baby coughed again, her entire body seizing.

“Tip her upside down,” Solveig offered. “Mor used to do that
with this kind of cough. She made a tent of steam too. That made the breathing easier.”

Through the night they all worked to help little Grace. Sophie woke and demanded a feeding, but when Kaaren tried to hand Grace to Lars, he turned to put more wood in the stove. Solveig took the sick baby and walked the floor with her, alternately rocking her and laying the child against her shoulder.

“What do I do about school?” Kaaren felt a new dart of panic.

“When it is closer to dawn, I will go and ask Olaf to take over for you,” Lars said after a time of thought. “The children already know him, and if he cannot do it, I will go to the school and send them all home.”

“Thank you.” Kaaren traded babies with Solveig, who changed Sophie and took her back into bed with her. “Lars, I am so frightened.”

“Ja, I know.”

“I cannot let another baby die.” She looked down into the eyes of her sick child.