A Measure of Mercy (28 page)

“And you know, Astrid is spending a lot of her time with a young half-breed from the Rosebud Reservation. Red Hawk is his name.”

“Well, I—”

“The same place she wants us to send our quilts and supplies to. You mark my words, there will be trouble here.”

Joshua set down his glass and strolled back to where the instruments waited. Spending her time with an Indian? His Astrid? How could she?

That night he dreamed of home the first time since he left. He probably should write a letter, let them know he was doing well. One of these days.

The fragrance of frying bacon drew him out of bed.

Red Hawk was surely an Indian name. Why would a worthless Indian be at a hospital in Chicago? Was he studying there too, or did he just work there? So many questions and no way to get answers. Should he write and ask Astrid? What were the women talking about? Sending quilts and supplies to that reservation? Indians. That was one area his pa had been adamant about. And rightfully so.

22

N
OVEMBER
1903

I
ngeborg stared out the window into a world of swirling white.

A blizzard already and it was only the first of November. This promised to be a long winter.

She turned back to her letter writing. For some unknown reason she missed Astrid more today than at any time so far. Now to write to her without wailing about how terribly quiet the house was, how she already missed the warm days, how she hated the thought of the winter darkness. She rubbed her sweater-clad elbows and added wood to the fires in both the kitchen and the parlor. Was it time to hang the heavy curtains over the arch from the kitchen to the parlor and over the door to the stairs?

Finding herself pacing the floor between parlor and kitchen, she stopped in front of the kitchen stove and pulled the coffeepot to the front, where the heat felt good. “Stop this!” she ordered herself, speaking out loud to get her own attention. Shame she had sent Freda over to help out at Kaaren’s, since they’d caught up with their chores in the cheese house. Kaaren had several children home in bed with the grippe. Both Ingeborg and Elizabeth had been over there making sure it wasn’t something worse. Freda was most likely helping with the wash that with all the bed changing would have soon become overwhelming.

“Just because you are alone for the time being, you can’t go around feeling sorry for yourself.” She knew she could make a telephone call, something that had yet to become habit, and check to see how they were doing. She knew that sitting down with her Bible would calm her too. She also knew that praising God in spite of what seemed bleak was the best antidote of all, so she chose to pull out the ingredients for ginger cookies.

“Now, Lord, I thank you and praise you for butter and eggs and flour,” she said as she set them on the counter. “Thank you for wood for the stove, for the heat in here, for this snug house.” Her thoughts flew back to the sod house, where the snow had drifted under the door until Haakan put in a doorsill and they padded around the door with a strip of coyote hide, tanned with the fur still on it. It seemed appropriate that they used the things of the land to protect themselves from the weather that fought to devour them or drive them away.

She caught herself humming as she stirred the dough with a wooden spoon that Andrew had carved for her years earlier. “Lord, I thank for you for my children, all so healthy and hardworking.” She prayed for each of them and moved on to the grandchildren. Inga loved eating gingerbread men, so Ingeborg took out the cookie cutters and the raisins for eyes, nose, mouth, and buttons. Carl would eat the raisins first and then start at the feet, but Inga always giggled and ate the head first, waving her decapitated cookie in the air, crying “Look at my cookie” before taking another bite. Talk about liking an audience, her oldest grandchild most certainly did.

Hearing the men kicking the snow off their boots as they crossed the porch, she slid the first pan of cookies into the oven. Haakan liked the round ones best, dusted with sugar, so that’s what went in first. The blizzard tried to blow them through the door and follow them in, but Haakan turned and put his shoulder against the wooden frame to force the door closed.

“Good thing we put up the ropes last week.” He took the broom to finish sweeping off any remaining snow, including from Andrew’s shoulders. Every year they pounded in posts and strung ropes from the house to the well house and on to the barn, just for instances like this. Wandering off and getting lost in the white and windy world was far too easy and had happened to more than one person they knew.

“Another thing to praise God for.” Ingeborg smiled at her husband and son. “Cookies will be out in just a few minutes.”

The wind blew itself out sometime during the night. Ingeborg woke to silence. Ah, blessed silence. No banshees wailing at the corners of the roof seeking entrance through the smallest crack. She curled next to Haakan, spoon fashion, and rejoiced in the quiet, his strong body, and the comfort of their goose down–filled feather bed covered with the quilts she had so lovingly made. Ah, so many things to be thankful for. The most obvious being grateful the north wind had abated.

Haakan’s hand clasped the one she’d curved over his ribs. “God dag.”

“Ja, it will be . . . it is.”

“Still snowing?”

“I haven’t been up to check. I hate to leave our warm bed.”

He rolled over and kissed her forehead. “I know the wind is hard for you.”

“Ja, it tries to bring back bad memories, but I think I finally outsmarted it. When the wind howls, I sing louder.”

“Ah, my Inge, such a treasure you are.”

She dug into his ribs. “You just want me to get up first and start the stove.”

“I stoked it during the night, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“You were up, and I didn’t even know it?”

“You were sleeping so sound the roof could have lifted off.”

She loved the teasing note in his voice. In the summer they never took a few moments like this. The workload was too pressing, and the daylight hours never lasted long enough. Throwing back the covers so the cold hit him too, she dug her feet into the fur-lined moccasins Metiz had made her years before and drew her wool robe off the bed post. Laughing at his mumbled accusations of meanness and cruelty, she shoved her arms into the sleeves and tied the belt as she crossed the floor to the doorway.

“Coffee before you head to the barn?”

“Please. And wake me in half an hour.”

Humming, she removed the lids and rebuilt the fire in the kitchen stove. He was right. There were plenty of glowing coals, and the temperature in the room was more chilly than cold, another benefit of the passing wind. She took a spill from the jar on the warming shelf and lighted the kerosene lamp always kept trimmed and ready on the shelf behind the stove.

The cat peered at her from her box between the stove and the wall, yawning and stretching her front legs, claws extended.

“Looks like everyone is sleeping in.” Ingeborg left the kitchen and stopped in front of the woodstove in the parlor. The isinglass windows glowed faintly, their pink-orange hue an indication the coals there were still burning. Leave it to Haakan to take such good care of them, not that they needed the stoves burning all night.

When she brought Haakan his coffee, he patted the bed beside him. “So is it still snowing?”

“I think so, but short of going outside, it is too dark yet to tell for sure.” She sipped from her cup. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What if we were to get on the train and go see Astrid?”

“Chicago is a ways away.”

“I know how far it is.” She ran her finger around the rim of the cup. “I know we could telephone the hospital too, but when would she have time to talk with us?”

“If we went there, how would she have time to see us if she can’t take time to use the telephone?”

“Well, if she were to telephone, we’d not have to catch anyone else up on the news, that’s for sure.” The two chuckled over the rims of their cups.

“Ja, as they say, these are party lines.” He nudged her knee, cocked on the bed so she could be facing him. “What’s for breakfast, wife?”

“Maybe nothing if you can’t pay serious attention to what I said.”

“I figured you were just dreaming.” He drained his coffee cup and heaved a belly-deep sigh. “But dreams are necessary for living at times.” He threw the covers back and felt for his slippers. “I think by next winter we will have indoor plumbing. What do you think?”

“You mean the hand pump in the kitchen is not enough?” She’d felt the installation of the red hand pump in the dry sink was a miracle in its own right. Cold as it could be, keeping the water line from freezing was going to be difficult enough.

“No. I want a biffy and a bathtub like they have at the boardinghouse. No more thunder mugs under the bed.” After buttoning his wool shirt, he shoved his feet into his wool pants and pulled down the cuffs of his long johns, then stood and hoisted his suspenders over his shoulders.

Ingeborg watched for a moment, as always observing to see if he favored his right side. No sign that she could see, and she knew better than to ask. “Well, I better restoke those fires and get going on the biscuits. How about some redeye gravy over the biscuits? We are about out of ham, you know.”

“I know. Surely it is cold enough now to butcher. We’ll prob’ly have a warm spell after this.”

“Good.” She smiled and sent her husband out in the dark that still only showed a faint horizon. Surely they didn’t have to milk so early. After all, there was no field work to do today.

“Keep that coffee hot.”

“I will.” Humming, she set about turning the sourdough she’d started the night before into bread. While she could now purchase yeast at the grocery store, she still preferred the flavor of her own sourdough bread. It took longer to rise, but the fragrance of the sourdough starter flavored the entire house.

She’d just checked that the oven was hot enough for the biscuits when she heard boots thumping on the porch. She glanced at the clock. The men had not been gone long enough to finish the chores. Something was wrong.

“Ingeborg!” Haakan’s voice.

She flew to open the door, her mind already going crazy with possibilities, the foremost that someone had been injured. “What’s happened?”

Carrying something under his coat, Haakan pushed into the warm kitchen. “I . . . we found her in the haymow.”

“Who?” Ingeborg reached for his coat. Inside, wrapped in his arms, she saw a child with dark matted hair, dressed in a skin coat, leggings, and mittens. “Is she alive?”

“Ja, so far.” Haakan handed her to his wife. “At least she is breathing. We found her burrowed under the hay or she would have been frozen to death. She may be close to that anyway.”

Ingeborg sank down into her rocker near the stove and began unlacing the child’s wrap. She pushed the hood back to see the child’s face. Dark lashes feathered her cheeks. Matted hair had been braided but was now snarled about her head. She took off the fur-lined mittens and checked the child’s fingers for frostbite.

Haakan knelt beside her. “What can I do?”

“Get the washtub and fill it halfway with tepid water.” She held the child with one arm and began unlacing the knee-high fur-lined boots. All the garments were made of deerskin with the hair turned inside or, in the case of the mittens, rabbit skin for softness.

While she could hear Haakan doing what she had asked, her mind stayed with the child, a line of prayers girding them all.
Heavenly Father,
help this child of yours. Whoever she is, you, oh Lord, know.
Checking the small toes, she found several turned white, but the feet seemed to be all right, what she could see through the dirt. The stink of grease and fire smoke mingled with urine as the child lay without moving.

“The water is ready. Feels cold to me but any warmer would be bad.”

Ingeborg nodded as she let the child’s clothes fall to the floor. She handed the little one to Haakan and stood to take her back, clutching her into the warmth of her body. “Get some towels and that small quilt off the stand in our bedroom.” While she talked, she knelt beside the tub and lowered the inert body into the water. “We could make it warmer in here if you circle the chairs and drape the spare quilts from the trunk over them.”

She kept one hand under the little girl’s neck to keep her floating and gently rubbed the small body with a cloth. Haakan set up the chair circle in front of the stove, which cut off the drafts immediately.

“How can I help you?”

“I think you’ve done all you can. Now we wait. If the cold doesn’t kill her, she might yet die of starvation. Look at this.” Moving gently she scrubbed the stick-thin arms and legs. “Have they no food on the reservation?”

“We don’t know she’s from the reservation. I have no idea if someone brought her here, or she got lost in the blizzard.”

“Was the barn door open?”

“No, and I don’t know if it had been opened. I wasn’t paying attention. I was just trying to get out of the cold myself. Andrew is the one who found her. I told the others to keep milking while I brought her to you.”