An Untamed Heart (11 page)

Nils remained at his parents’ place for several days, for he had no reason to return to his rooms, other than the obvious one, to escape his father. He made a point of letting his philosophy book lie here and there in obvious places, as if he were truly studying. What he did more than anything else was sleep, frequently. He could not shake the weariness that permeated his whole body.

One day he finally managed to stay awake for most of the day and even read in his philosophy text for half an hour. Perhaps he was finally getting better. Janssen laid out his clothes for dinner, and he actually felt like putting them on, no longer needing assistance. He ignored the shoes waiting for him by the bed and remained in his slippers. He joined the family in the drawing room and made light conversation. He repaired to the dining room, seated his sisters, and when asked about his day offered a few quotes from the philosopher Marcus Monrad, to whom a whole chapter of his text was dedicated. The day was going well.

The cook set out two roast chickens, a tureen of buttered carrots, and a bowl of turnips in cheese sauce. His father scowled. The magisterial RA Aarvidson disliked turnips and was not particularly fond of carrots.

They ate in silence, and again Nils noticed his mother watching him.

Father sat back, wiped his mouth, and glared at Nils. “I received a letter from Dean Klein this afternoon.”

Nils’s heart leapt into his mouth, starting the pain that so often sneaked in when he least expected it. Would the pain never stop?

“He says your history professor has submitted the test results. You have received only an acceptable rating. Not the top rating you promised me.”

His heart dropped from his mouth to the soles of his feet. “I did the best I could.”

“That is not good enough.”

“Where is the compromise that you claim a good businessman must make? I did my best.”
For what I can do right now. Had the professor been willing to wait, I would have done well
.

“I have a desk waiting for you in the accounting office. You begin work tomorrow.” There was a chilling finality to his voice.

“Rignor.” Nils’s mother! She never spoke to his father in that stern tone of voice.

He looked at her, schooling his face, as he always did.

“Your son is still not well. Look at him. He cannot move smoothly, he cannot see well—have you noticed how he must squint at things that are close? Have you watched him try to climb up and down the stairs? This is not Nils in normal
health, yet he did his best for you, the best he could do in his compromised state.” Then her voice took on an iron-hard flatness Nils had never heard from her before. “You will honor his request. You will allow him his summer in the mountains so that he may recover. You will, Rignor.” She nodded toward the table. “Katja, would you pass the turnips, please?”

Three days later, Nils Aarvidson, avid mountaineer and outdoor enthusiast, stepped down out of a coach in a village at the foot of the mountains and drew in a deep, luxuriant breath of fresh mountain air. And nearly buckled from the pain in his ribs. Were they never going to heal?

Should he spend the night at the inn in town or go directly up into the hills? Since he had no particular destination in mind, he compromised by walking up a road east of town to a small wayside inn, Raggen Inn, tucked in a crease within the foothills and there spent the night.

He ate a hearty breakfast the next morning as a swollen mountain brook crashed and gurgled beside the dining room window.

“Why don’t you let me bring you more coffee to that comfortable chair outside. The view, as you can see, is spectacular, and letting the sun bake the city out of your bones will make a new man of you.”

Nils smiled at his hostess. While he had planned to start out early, perhaps this might be a wiser choice. “Takk, I will do that.”

Freedom tasted like the finest elixir. No one ordering him to do anything; he didn’t even have to be polite if he did not feel like it. He smiled at the woman with cheeks of strawberry
red and thanked her for not only the coffee but the sweet roll she had brought along.

“I just took these out of the pans, and while I know you’re not really hungry right now, would you do me the honor of tasting and perhaps offering approval?”

He inhaled the fragrance. “Intoxicating.” One bite and he knew he had stepped into heaven. “There are not enough words to say how good this is.”

She giggled, almost like a young girl. “My son, he likes these too.”

Nils returned to his room, started to pack, and instead lay down on the bed for just a few minutes.

When he awoke, the angle of the sun had shifted to late afternoon, so after bread and soup for supper he went back to bed.

———

Next morning after a good night’s sleep and another hearty breakfast, he felt like life was returning.

The inn’s mistress sent sandwiches and apples with him and insisted on grasping both his hands and asking a fervent prayer that God keep him safe. Refreshed in body and spirit, he began his trek by following a shepherd’s path that the lady assured him would lead him into some of the most beautiful mountains. As if there were any mountains not beautiful.

Less than an hour later, after staggering the last hundred yards, he had to pause to rest. Being infirm those weeks had certainly taken a toll on his stamina. But he wasn’t worried. He would recover it in a day or two. He continued on. And rested an hour later. And continued on.

Though it was still early, he could go no farther. Beside a rushing stream he strung a tarpaulin between two trees, built
a fire, and settled for the night. His headache had returned, howling even more loudly, so to speak, than the stream beside him. This recovery might take a few days longer than he had anticipated.

Nils took his time breaking camp the next morning. He had forgotten about camping so close to a rushing stream; the air was faster and colder this close to the water. Tonight he would camp well above a stream. That way he could hear the sweet song of the water without freezing in the cold wind it dragged along with it.

As he followed the broad path dotted with sheep’s hoofmarks, he had ample time to think. He realized he should have started thinking a day ago. He knew not to camp so close to rushing water. He knew how to set up a camp and build a fire for maximum warmth and comfort. Why was he acting so brainless, like a child? He had been away from the mountains far too long. That was what was wrong.

Ah, but he was here now. Now all would be better.

He rested at midday, ate the last of the innkeeper’s sandwiches, and chewed a strip of beef jerky. That persistent headache lingered in the background, ready to pounce at any moment. He could feel its presence as a heaviness.

The shepherds’ path leveled out now, winding off across the mountainside meadows. He would leave the path and follow this stream farther up. He had no interest in engaging simple shepherds in conversation.

The sky, which had started out blue this morning, had turned white, and now dark gray clouds hung low. He could read that well enough and tucked his collar up tighter against
his neck, under his hat brim. Sure enough, the rain began and soon was falling steadily. No problem. This too was a part of the mountain experience.

His leather boot slipped on wet stones, and he almost fell. He must be more careful, but his mind seemed to be getting foggy, as if he had drunk two or three beers, but he hadn’t. He stumbled while crossing the stream and waited until his heart settled its pace again before following a game trail that offered easier going.

The boulders got bigger. That was odd, because usually the larger boulders were downhill. He walked out across a rocky slope, his boots sliding now and again, and picked up another game trail. Why hadn’t he stayed on the main track?

His boot slid off a wet rock and landed solidly beside it. The wild jolt sent an excruciating stab of pain up through his ribs. He gasped, doubled forward, lost his balance. He was falling.

Why was rain falling on his face? Where was his hat brim when he needed it? How could he still this howling headache, the nearly unbearable pain in his ribs and now in his leg too?

Leg? His leg hurt as badly as his ribs did. He was lying on his back in a ravine amid huge rocks, his head downhill, and one foot was pinched up between two boulders. His leg, the one that hurt so badly, was bent in a way that followed the surface of the smooth, slick, rounded rock. He realized with a chill that his leg was not bending at the knee. It had broken.

He could not move. Even if he tried to move in spite of the fierce pain, he could not. His leg was wedged between the rocks. The cold rain was soaking in despite the warmth of his wool clothing.

Tonight he would become wetter and wetter, colder and colder. The sun would nearly go down. He could not stretch his arm far enough to get his rucksack and retrieve his blankets and the tarpaulin. At some time during this long cold night, the pain would ease, he would slide into a chilled sleep, and he would not wake up, ever again.

At least the sun warmed him a little in the morning. How long had he been lying there? Through the night, the very long and very cold night. If only he could have retrieved his blankets and the tent he had brought along, folded so neatly in his backpack.

Nils stared around his mountain prison. What could he do to get himself out of this disaster? By himself? How often had he been warned against hiking in the mountains alone? He should have listened. Hindsight was always wise. What did he have? Besides a new lump on his head and a leg that was ten times larger than when he’d started out. His ribs were well beyond unhappy with the new situation also. The rest of him did not bear thinking about, like the swollen fingers or . . . Skip the or. If only he could get his leg into the creek. With the fresh snow melt it was plenty cold. What to deal with first?

If only his mind were clearer. Or he could stay awake. He felt around the lump that now encompassed much of the side of his head. At least the one in back had not opened again
and started bleeding. That was something to be thankful for. A cough wracked him, a series of coughs that left him gasping in pain. And more dizzy. He stared at the rocks around him. If he could pull himself into a sitting position, that might help the coughing. But every time he tried to move the leg, he blacked out again. What did he have to immobilize it? His walking staff. But where had it gone in the fall? He propped himself up on his elbows. His ribs screamed. Staring around, moving his head inch by inch, he checked all the terrain within his vision. No staff. It had probably floated down the creek somewhere.

He froze, as if he weren’t shaking already. Was that a dog barking? He listened with every part of his being. Yes, a dog.

“Help! Help! Help!”

Why had he not brought a gun along? Or a whistle? He ignored the pain when he sucked in as mighty a breath as possible and hollered again.
Please, God, let that dog hear me!
He listened hard, but the creek was chattering so loudly, he heard nothing. “Oh, God, please. I don’t want to die out here! Help me! I know I could not make it through another night.”

The effort left him gasping, so he collapsed back to a prone position. When he opened his eyes, three suns shone down on him and rocks, many rocks, danced. He listened again, not breathing until he was forced to suck air in.

A whine. Was it? Or was it the wheezing growing in his chest?

He opened his eyes. Two dog heads peered over the lip of the trail, looking down at him. One ran off while the other continued to watch him. “Go, dog. Get help.” He tried to wave to the animal, but even his arm would not lift. Was
life draining out of him? When he looked again, the dog was gone.

Oh, please, dear God, please make him bring someone back. Please let this not be a delusion.
It was a good thing God did not need to hear a loud voice. He had prayed now more than all the rest of his life put together.

Sometimes fading out was preferable to suffering. How many times had this happened during the night? What did it matter? Was he to die there, alone and with no way to tell his family good-bye?

He woke sometime later. Shadows had replaced the sunshine as it journeyed west. The shaking had grown beyond any control he attempted.

A bark. A bark nearby. He looked up to see the dog again. “Good boy, good dog.” Oh, thank God, good dog.

A young boy’s face joined the dog. “How bad are you hurt?”

“A broken leg, head smashed against the rocks, and I slid down that scarp.” How far had his whisper carried?

“Can you move?”

“Not much. I was . . . am . . .” The coughing attacked again. Seems it did every time he tried to talk. He felt he was shouting. Until—

“What? I cannot hear you.”

Nils forced every ounce of strength he possessed into an answer. “Help!”

“I will bring help. I will be back.” The boy and dog disappeared.

The promise soaked him like the warmest bath. He lay back.
Thank you, God. You heard me. Takk, tusen takk.
He could no longer identify the cold seeping up from the gravel
and rocks underneath him. Surely he would not have to spend another night here. But how they would lift him up from his impossible position was beyond thinking.

“Ingeborg! Ingeborg!” Jon ran as fast as his legs allowed, and the trail didn’t trip him. “Ingeborg!” He would have brought one of the dogs to go ahead, but Hjelmer needed the dogs to bring the sheep in. When he crested the trail to see the seter valley, he stopped and screamed again, waving his arms.

“What is that?” Ingeborg stopped on her way back from skimming off the cream from the milking of the evening before. After tonight and tomorrow morning, they would have enough cream to start a batch of cheese. She scanned the valley, catching sight of Jon waving his arms. Something was wrong for sure. She waved back to show she’d heard and looked around. Who could she send?

“Hamme, you run fast. Go see what Jon is trying to tell us. I’ll saddle one of the horses.”

The girl took off with a nod, lifting her skirts so she could run faster.

“Anders, catch one of the horses for me, quick.”

He waved from the barn and headed out to the horses grazing in the pasture.

“Mari! Gather up some blankets.” Would she need bandages? Of course, take them just in case. Apparently someone was injured. Was it Hjelmer?
Oh, God, please not
. Something attacked the sheep? She looked out. Hamme was charging back on the track. Ingeborg yelled at her. “How bad?”

“A hiker. Hjelmer found an injured hiker.”

A hiker! Way up here? There were no nearby trails or major hiking routes. And just one hiker, it would seem. No one sensible would ever hike alone. Ingeborg waved to her and headed inside. “We need some of the pain medicine, bandages, the blankets. What else?” She could hear Anders with the horse. “Go see if he got the horse saddled.”

Kari ran outside. “Ja!”

“Go see if the hiking staves are . . . are . . .” Where had they left them last fall?

“I saw them in the springhouse. I’ll get them.” Mari left.

Trying to catch her breath, Hamme puffed out, “He is down near a creek bed, not able to move. Leg is broken, I think.”

“Now we know.” She turned to Kari. “Tie those blankets behind the saddle. I’ll carry the staves. Put the other things in a bag we can tie to the saddle.”

Tor burst in the door, followed by Mari.

“Tor, you and Anders follow me as fast as you can. Jon, ride behind me to show me where the sheep are grazing and help bring the flock back. Hjelmer knows where to go. We need rope. Kari, you bring the rope and come with the boys.” Her mind kept praying
Help
as she gave the orders. “Mari, make sure we have plenty of hot water and fix a padded pallet on the floor by the fireplace.” She thought again. “Since we don’t know how long he has been there, we’ll need broth to feed him. Or soup. Fix something easy to eat.”

“We’re ready.” Kari stepped into the room, a coiled rope over her shoulder. “Tor has another rope. The staves are beside the door.”

“All of you, pray for this man, that we can save his life.” Outside, she mounted the horse, took the staves in one hand,
and waited for Anders to help Jon settle in behind her. “Hang on around my waist. We’ll be going fast.”

“Ja.”

She turned the horse and nudged it from a trot to a canter, so much easier for her passenger behind her. They quickly left the runners behind. “Are you all right?”

“Ja. I have ridden before.”

Her litany of
Help us
calmed her mind as they started up the trail on the other side of the valley. It changed to
Let us get there in time
. Up ahead she could see the flock of sheep coming around a corner. “Can you take them home yourself?” she asked Jon.

“Ja, my sheep follow me.”

“The dogs will help you.” She slowed the horse before it could frighten the sheep. When she stopped, Jon slid to the ground.

“Can we take the horse in?” she called to Hjelmer.

“Ja. Mostly.”

She pulled her foot from the stirrup so he could mount behind her. “Take care of them, Jon.” They walked past the sheep and picked up a trot again, then a lope.

“Over that way.” Hjelmer pointed to a smaller trail.

“How bad is he?”

“I don’t really know. He’s a young man. Do not know how long ago this happened. But getting him up from where he lies is going to be difficult.”

“Can we ride the horse all the way?” She looked back over her shoulder. The others were just cresting the hill that bordered the valley. She turned the horse and waved to them. Certain they saw her, she let the horse pick the way. “This is a game trail.”

“I know. I do not know why he was off the main trails. He
said something about his head and his ribs. For some strange reason I think he was already hurt when he fell.”

Her song for help continued.

“It is not far now.”

“How did you find him up here?”

“The dogs heard him call for help.” He pointed to the right. “I never would have found him were it not for Ranger.”

He could have died up here. “No one else around?”

“Nei.” He raised his voice. “Halloo. We are coming.”

There was no answer.

“Stop here. We can tie the horse to that bush.” He slid off and ran a few more yards up the trail, then looked over the edge. “Down there.”

Ingeborg untied her supplies and handed Hjelmer the staves and blankets. Stopping, she looked over the edge. “Can you hear me?” she called.

She was partway down the ravine when her feet slid out from under her, and she bumped down the incline on her rear until she caught hold of a bush to stop sliding. “We are coming.”
Please, God, let him be alive
. She made her way to the bottom, Hjelmer not far behind her.

Kneeling beside the figure, she could see he was breathing. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered. She looked back up to the trail. Hjelmer had been right. How would they ever get him up that steep incline?

The leg was grotesque. Since he was wearing lederhosen, the injury was obvious. Swollen, black and blue, with a lump where there should not be one. Below the knee and above the ankle. At least the broken bone had not punctured the skin. She turned to see a lump and swelling on the right side of his head, above the ear, although swelling encompassed
half his head, even to the side of his face and other parts of his body. No wonder he was unconscious again. Blond hair, not matted with blood. That was good. If it were not for the swelling, he would be a handsome man.

Leaning over him, she asked, “Can you wake up now? What is your name? We are here to help you.”

She rested back on her legs when his eyes flickered. And opened.

“Am . . . I in . . . heaven?”

She shook her head. “Nei, I don’t think so. At least I know I am not.”

“You must be an angel.” He blinked and raised a hand to her face. “You are. I . . . am in h-heaven.”

“I’ve never been called an angel before, but I can tell you, you are not in heaven. Somehow we have to get you out of here and back to the seter.”

“Hmm.” His eyelids flickered. “Takk.”

“You are welcome. Can you tell me your name?”

“Nils. Nils Aarvidson.”

“Well, Mr. Aarvidson, can you tell me about your injuries? I see the broken leg and the swelling on your head. Anything else?”

He paused, seemed to gather the needed strength to answer her question. Halting, he continued. “Second lump—on the head. Other back. Ribs were . . . before.”

“I see. You came hiking in the mountains with broken ribs and an injured head. Are you crazy?”

“No. Thought . . . better. Find . . . camp . . . night or two . . . back . . . Raggen Inn.”

“That is many miles away.”

“I . . . hike.”

She looked to Hjelmer, who shook his head, obviously thinking the same as Ingeborg. The man was clearly not in his right mind.

“We’re going to have to splint that leg before we move him. You think all of us can carry him up”—she nodded to the climb—“with a litter of some kind?”

Hjelmer shrugged. “Maybe one of us should ride down and get help.”