A New Day Rising (13 page)

After a hurried breakfast, Haakan said on the way out, "Lars and I will make a trip to St. Andrew tomorrow. If we leave before daylight, we should be able to make it back before dark."

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Ingeborg could have bit her tongue at the sharp retort.

Haakan gave her a questioning look as he lifted his basket of food for dinner. "Thank you for fixing this." Ax over his shoulder, he strode out toward the river.

She waved Thorliff and his flock of sheep off after giving him a ham sandwich and a water jug. "Now, don't go too far, you hear. Over the winter the sheep might have forgotten how to mind you."

"Mo-or." Thorliff's pained expression gave deeper meaning to his word.

"Just be careful." She watched as the boy headed out, the sheep following him as though they did this every day. The lambs gamboled around their mothers, and the ram brought up the rear. Paws trotted on the outside of the flock to round up any strays. In the places where the snow had melted first, the grass was already a short carpet of green.

Ingeborg hurried around, setting the house to rights and banking the stove. She gave a good stir to the pot of ham and beans she'd set to cooking and added a dollop of molasses. She took the rifle down and inspected it. When she was young, her brother had stressed upon her the importance of keeping the gun cleaned and oiled. Following his instructions, along with those of Carl, had stood her in good stead.

Andrew tagged at her feet, lost without his brother to entertain him. "Mor, go," he whimpered. "Go, Tor."

"No, you can't go with Thorliff. You are going to Tante Kaaren's." Ingeborg started to change into the britches she'd laid out on the bed but changed her mind. Seeing her in men's pants always made Kaaren tighten her lips. Why add any unhappiness to her today?

She left the house carrying Andrew but soon put him down. Quietly riding on her hip, he was heavy enough, but squirming and pushing, he was impossible. Trying to hurry a baby was like trying to scoop up an egg splattered on the floor.

Andrew looked at every blade of grass, every golden dandelion flower, any bug, and if he saw an earthworm, he squealed with delight. This was a three-earthworm trip.

"Get plenty of geese," Kaaren said after scooping Andrew up and planting a big kiss on his cheek. "Does Tante Kaaren's big boy want a cookie?" She'd said the magic words.

Ingeborg felt like running. Free, she was free to go hunting all by herself. Such freedom!

Once back at her own soddy, she swiftly changed from her skirt to the men's pants and heavy wool shirt. With her boots retied, she clapped her hat on her head, grabbed a biscuit from the bowl and, rifle in hand, shut the door behind her.

Lars and Haakan were sitting on a log in the sunshine on the edge of the woods when she strode past them. She waved her rifle in the air and shouted, "Going hunting. Supper is at Kaaren's if I'm not back in time."

She heard only one explosive word as she marched gaily on.

"Britches."

She was sure there were more. Haakan Howard Bjorklund wasn't a one-word man.

tolen! Everything was gone! Teeth chattering from the cold of his wet clothes, Hjelmer tried to still the panic. Here he stood in a strange land, unable to speak the language, and he had nothing. All his earthly belongings had been stolen.

A barrel-chested man in a blue wool uniform with gleaming gold buttons stopped in front of him. But the rapid-fire words meant nothing to Hjelmer. He shrugged, the weight of his wool coat dragging at his shoulders. Why hadn't he learned to talk the language?

The official took Hjelmer's arm and pointed to a huge domed building behind tall, sharply tipped posts that formed an impenetrable fence. Hjelmer could feel the panic grab his throat. Was the officer in the blue uniform taking him off to jail?

The woman who had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders now came to stand beside him. "How can I help you?" she asked, her Swedish clear to Hjelmer.

When the officer raised his voice as if they were deaf, she raised a hand. "This young man saved that child's life, and now he needs some help." Her tone stopped the officer in spite of his lack of understanding.

The man shrugged in reply and muttered something that any one with a sense of astuteness would recognize as a slur on their parentage.

One of the immigrants stepped over to the officer and asked in halting English, "You help him?"

"I wuz just takin' 'im to the Castle Garden. They could help there." The officer's brusque tone matched that of officials world over.

The man said again. "Help?"

"Come." The officer stepped back and beckoned with one hand. The three followed him, Hjelmer feeling like a small boy following his mother through the marketplace. The shaking made even walking difficult. The wind off the water sliced through his wet clothes in spite of the blanket.

Who could have taken his things? All he'd had was a beat-up carpetbag and a canvas sack, nothing much of value to anyone else. But to him? The bags contained his carving tools, the gifts he'd made, his clothes, and worst of all, his tickets and the few kroner remaining from the meager store he'd begun with. Would they be surprised to find the coins in the pouch with the seagull! How would he get to Dakota Territory now?

Hjelmer felt a person beside him and looked to see the father of the child he'd saved, flanked by the mother and other children, their confusion as evident as his own. Hearing murmuring behind them, Hjelmer turned to see other families from the ship clustered around, standing silently but with the same determined looks on their faces as on the family beside him.

"Be off, now. This is no concern of yours." The officer raised his voice and waved them away.

No one moved back; they only drew closer.

The officer raised his hands and then let them drop at his side. He spun on his heel, muttering, and headed through the gate.

Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, German, the languages mixed and mingled as the group discussed what would happen next.

Someone laid another blanket over Hjelmer's shoulders. In the lee of the spike wall the wind failed to tear at his skin. But he knew he had to get out of his wet clothes. The child's mother dug in a bag at her feet. She pulled out a pair of wool socks and stuffed them in Hjelmer's hand.

"Mange takk," Hjelmer said around chattering teeth. What would he wear? How could he dry the clothes he had on? The thoughts ricocheted through his mind like bullets glancing off granite.

He had to keep a clear head. Think, he commanded himself. Think!

The people around him pressed closer, sensing his need for warmth, and beyond that his need of support.

To the surprise of the group, when the officer returned, a round ball of a woman bounced beside him, the white apron that covered her from neck to ankle fluttering in the breeze of her movements.

"Now, then, what do we have here?" Her Norwegian sounded like the song of an angel in Hjelmer's ears.

Everyone in the group started to tell their version of what had happened.

The officer raised his hand for silence, ordering it also in a tone that killed the cacophony. He pointed a finger at Hjelmer. "You!"

"He's saying for you to tell us what happened. I will translate for him. Shame these police don't learn enough of the emigrant languages so they can at least keep from frightening folks right out of a year's growth."

Hjelmer smiled down at her. She sounded wise, just like Tante Anna at home. The feeling of doom that had been driving him into the cobblestones beneath his feet flew off.

He took a deep breath and tried to stall a shudder. He told her about the rescue, downplaying his part in it and the subsequent loss of his belongings. "It wasn't much," he shrugged, raising the mound of quilt and blanket on his shoulders, "but it was all I have in this world."

"Ah, me." She shook her head. "Those hoodlums on the docks would steal the shoes off your feet if you so much as took a nap. First thing we need to do is get you into some dry clothes before you catch your death."

A wool shirt appeared on his right, trousers were handed him from his left. Hjelmer turned in time to be handed a porkpie hat, also of wool. The group around him smiled as one. Those that had an extra piece of clothing had dug into their satchels and shared.

Hjelmer couldn't speak for a moment, and it wasn't due to the shivering. "But you need these things."

"You saved my son's life." The man on his right looked Hjelmer in the eye. "I have not much, but what I have is yours."

A collective sigh agreed with him.

"Now, ain't that just the way of good folks." The aproned woman beamed on all of them. "Young man, what is your name?"

"Hjelmer Bjorklund."

"Well, Mr. Bjorklund, you go on through that gate to the necessary-the one for men is on the far wall-and change out of those wet things. We'll all wait right here for you."

Once he found the place, Hjelmer stripped to the skin and rubbed himself with the wool blanket until he could feel the heat returning. While he'd have to wear wet boots, the pants and shirt, though shorter than his own, were warm and blissfully dry. He tow eled his head, and after smoothing his hair back with his fingers, he set the hat at a jaunty angle.

He rolled his own wet things together, folded the blanket and quilt, and returned to the waiting group.

A cheer went up and Hjelmer could feel a blush start at his chest and work its way up to his ears. He held up the quilt and blanket to see who had loaned it to him. No one stepped forward.

"But you will need these when you get to your new homes."

"Ja," said the child's father. "So will you." He dug in his pocket and extended several coins to Hjelmer. "I wish this could be more, but we all have so little." His gesture included the group around them.

Hjelmer shook his head. "You will need ... you already gave me . . ." He stopped at the look on the man's face. He looked at all the others. "Mange takk."

"Well, now, ain't that a picture of human kindness. I'll show you where to get that changed so you don't go losing anything more. All of you, follow me, and we'll get you through Castle Garden and on your way." She turned and, like the Pied Piper of Hamlin, lead her flock into the fortress.

After he'd said good-bye to his newfound friends, Hjelmer changed his few coins to American money and returned to the woman who'd become another of his benefactors. She checked the amount of money he now had and shook her head slowly.

"That won't barely get you to Chicago, and then where would you be?" She looked up at him. "If you take my advice, I'd say wait till I'm done working here today, and you can come home with me. My late husband-God rest his soul-brought us where a lot of other Norwegian families have gathered. Most of us have been here for a generation or two, and perhaps you could find some work with one of us." She cocked her head, robinlike, and studied him out of merry brown eyes. "What is it you might be good at?"

"I can carve, but I do that more for pleasure-birds and kitchen utensils and such. But my far made all his sons learn farming...."

She shook her head. "Not much of that where we live."

"And blacksmithing. I can shoe horses, rim a wheel, make tools, household things, whatever can be done with a forge, I can do it or learn how." Hjelmer felt like he was bragging, something his mor said was a sin, but he needed work, and soon. How else would he ever make it to Dakota Territory?