A New Day Rising (17 page)

Ingeborg did as she'd counseled her son. Every time the fears returned like a pack of wolves circling and seeking to drive in for the kill, she thought of Jesus standing right behind her and added an angel or two for safe measure. She just wished Kaaren were in the soddy with them instead of across the field in the other house all by herself.

Later, in the barn with the comforting noises of the animals around her and her head pressed into the warm flank of the cow, Ingeborg added extra prayers for Kaaren. Even though the wind. howled like a gigantic wolf, screaming and tearing at the corners, she sat on the stool, content with the squeeze and pull motion that brought the milk streaming into the bucket. A sheep called her lamb, the cow switched her tail, and one of the horses pulled more hay out of the manger. Simple noises that tuned out the storm and tuned in her feelings of gratitude. The evening turned into one long prayer, and peace filled her heart.

But in the darkness of the night, with the storm howling so loud she kept waking, she could feel the old terrors ripping at the edges of her mind. How would Kaaren survive the loss of yet another man to the storms of the Dakotas? And Thorliff? Would he ever learn to trust in his heavenly Father? Would she? The blackness of soul that had shrouded her for those many months sought entrance again, slithering under the door she kept forcing closed.

Haakan hadn't felt this close to tears since he left his mother waving to him from the station platform. How senseless! He took in a deep breath and let it all out, seeking to control the shaking of his body. He struck the flint again and again, each time feeling more desperate and knowing that calm and concentration accomplished more than desperation, anytime. His father had struggled to teach his sons that the cool head prevailed in a hot situation.

What he wouldn't give for some real heat right now.

He leaned closer and struck the flint again. A bright red eye landed in the shavings and glowed. Afraid he might blow it out, Haakan puffed ever so gently. The eye expanded, slivers of wood curled black and a flame rose, eating the slivers around it and glowing brighter. Haakan chose three slightly larger slivers and set them, teepee fashion, over the flame. He rocked back on his heels and breathed a sigh of relief. Now they might make it through the night. He added more bits and pieces to the now ravenous fire, already feeling the warmth of it on his hands and face. Fire, so simple a thing, and yet without it, men perished. And the blizzards won.

He added the larger pieces, still careful to keep from crushing the precious flame.

"Thank God, you got it started." Lars joined him at the fire.

"Did you get the horses unhitched?"

"Partly."

"You stay here and I'll finish. I can feel the burning in my fingers now, so I should be able to unhitch them." Haakan got to his feet and stepped back into the fury of the storm. He'd been concentrating so hard on his own war with the flint, he'd nearly forgotten the cataclysmic battle raging outside the dirt walls.

He banged the icy traces and chains against the broad side of his axhead and unhooked them. One by one, he led the horses away from the doubletree and into the soddy. Their body heat would help keep all of them warm.

"We're about out of wood." Lars turned his back to the fire.

"I know. Should we unload the wagon and bring the supplies in here? It's going to be a long night."

"I'll help you in a minute." It was hard to understand his words above the chattering of his teeth.

Haakan returned in a moment with the elk robe and wrapped it around the shoulders of the man hunched near the flame. By the time he'd chopped another load of wood from the sides of the wagon, he'd worked off much of the effects of the cold.

One of the horses nickered when he stepped back through the doorway. Compared to the outside, the room already felt warmer. He stacked the wood near to the fire so it could dry some before being added to the flames. Cold as it was, the snow hadn't melted enough to seriously wet the wood.

What could they use to melt snow for the horses to drink, let alone for themselves?

On the next load, he dumped a sack of seed wheat on the floor next to Lars. "Here, sit on this. It'll get you off the cold ground."

Lars didn't move.

"Come on, man." Haakan took hold of his friend's shoulders.

Lars growled and flung out an arm, catching Haakan on the side of the head.

Haakan stumbled backward. His ear rang only slightly. Lars was too weak to do serious damage. In the north woods, he'd seen men go crazy from the cold. All they wanted was to be left alone so they could sleep. He brought in more of the supplies, stacking them a couple of feet from the fireplace. He opened one sack and poured grain in front of each of the horses after first removing their bridles.

"There, that ought to make you feel better." The horses dropped their heads, and the rhythm of their chewing sounded comforting as he removed their harnesses. Snow had drifted in the corner where the roof had caved in, but even so, Haakan could feel the steam rising from the horses. If he could take the elk robe for a bit, he would use it to wipe them down. The snow that had frozen to their hair now melted to make them colder.

Haakan added more wood to the fire. Lars now leaned against the sack of grain, firelight playing over his slack features. Periodically a shudder clattered his teeth together, but his hands had relaxed their grip on the robe. Could he get the man walking again to keep his circulation going? He'd heard of men killing a horse, gutting it, and crawling inside the cavity for warmth and protection. Is that what he needed to do for Lars? But since they were protected at least to a degree, and if he could keep the fire going, they would be safe. Surely this blizzard wouldn't last for days like some he'd heard of.

Back and forth, the ideas waged a war in his mind, much like the blizzard trying to snatch the roof off their heads.

"Try this first," he muttered, hauling Lars to his feet.

Lars mumbled something, and Haakan figured it was better he could not hear it.

"Lars! Listen to me! You are going to walk with me back and forth in front of the fire. Do you hear me?"

Lars mumbled something again, and his head lolled forward.

Haakan held him up with one arm and slapped his cheeks with the other. "It won't help if I carry you. You have to walk." He pulled one of the man's arms up over his own shoulder anal clamped his own around Lars' waist. "Now walk!"

He carried dead weight. The thought made him cringe. He might feel like dead weight, but the man was still alive, and he was going to remain that way.

"Lars, Kaaren needs you!" He raised his voice to outshout the wind. "Kaaren needs you. You can't let her down."

Lars lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open. "Walk."

If Haakan hadn't had such a close grip on the man, he never would have heard the word. But walk they did. Back and forth. Forth and back. Haakan stopped only long enough to add more wood to the fire. When he had to go out and pull more wood from the wagon, he lowered Lars to the grain sacks and covered him again with the elk robe.

Neither of them shivered any longer. Is that good or bad? Haakan took turns living in his thoughts of home, of the cook at the lumber camp, of a cup of steaming coffee. When he needed to keep awake, he talked to Lars. He sang some of the drinking songs he'd learned in the camps. The German loggers knew the best ones, and he sang them at the top of his lungs. Then he sang the hymns he'd learned as a child.

Back and forth. Lars stumbled and grumbled, but they kept on. One foot in front of the other, turn, and go back.

How long was this night to last? Never had one seemed so long or so dark.

I awn broke the back of the storm and sent it skulking to its lair.

While snow again covered much of the land, there were places where the wind had blown the land bare and others where drifts rose in white waves on the flat prairie. Ingeborg stood in her doorway and shaded her eyes with her hand, looking toward the north for sight of the men.

If they came.

She fled from the thought and stepped into the barn, again capturing the peace of the night before, a peace she'd felt in spite of the howling wind. No wonder Roald and Carl had spent so many of their waking winter hours in the barn. You felt that peace in the house too, remember? She nodded, grateful for the reminder.

She milked the cows, fed the chickens and pigs, threw hay in for the sheep and horses, and picking up the full milk bucket, she headed for the house. By now the boys would be ready for breakfast. She looked across the drift strewn field between the two soddies. A plume of smoke rose from the other chimney, and a cow bellered from the sod barn, answered by the one she'd just milked.

Since all the troughs needed water, she'd set Thorliff to drawing from the well. They would take the horses and oxen down to the river to drink as soon as they'd eaten so he wouldn't have to lug as many full buckets. Take the mule and go look for the men. The thought had come earlier, too, when she was feeding the horses. The one mule remained from the team, the other had died with Roald. She'd hoped to find another mule to fill in, but so far hadn't found one. Like the other draft animals, mules were a premium on the prairie. If only she could find and afford a jack, she could breed him to her mares and sell the mules as fast as they were grown and broke to harness. Roald had bought the team of oxen before they were even old enough to plow for an entire day. She'd learned the lesson well. You bought what you could when you found it.