An Untamed Heart (28 page)

“I know that too. But he made a choice, and we are all paying for his choice. That is just the way life can be.”

A few nights later, a knock came at the door, and they learned that Mrs. Hanson had gone into labor. Hilde bade them to wait and went for her things. She hadn’t been gone for an hour when another knock announced that Mrs. Larson was asking for her.

So Ingeborg bundled up, took her basket, and told Mr. Larson to take her to the Hanson farm and wait. She took
over for her mor, as they had planned, and stepped in beside Mrs. Hanson.

The lady, voluminously pregnant, was walking up and down in her kitchen between the fireplace and the table. Back and forth, back and forth.

“It’s good to see you, Ingeborg. You came with your mother for the last one born. Let me see . . .” She paused and waited until the spasm was past and continued walking. “That was about fifteen months ago. He is sleeping soundly in the children’s room, and now we will see this one into the world.” They paused again.

From the floor came a splashing noise. She sighed, “Oh, my water broke. I am sorry to make a puddle. Now this should speed things up.”

“Do you want to lie down yet?”

“Nei. The pains are not close enough together yet. Besides, I enjoy walking and talking with you.” She panted again. “But perhaps we should go to the bedroom. I do believe they are getting worse, but let us walk some more. I am so sorry to hear about the horrible feud going on between those brothers. All these years we have pointed to the three and marveled at how well everyone got along and worked together. Not seeing Kris’s family in church every Sunday has made many sad.”

Ingeborg nodded. The quiet of the birthing room made sharing easier. “We are all suffering from the rupture. I am sure his family is in terrible shape, since at least the rest of us do not have to live with someone drinking to excess.”

“I thank our God for that. I told Mr. Hanson if he ever came home drunk, he would sleep in the barn, and he knows that I mean business.”

“Good for you.”

“And if it happens a second time, he need not come home, because both the house and the barn will be locked.”

Ingeborg wiped the smile from her face. What a shame that her tante was not that strong. Or had been back in the early days when she might have been able to stop it.
Might
was another word like
if
. One could always look back and say things might have been different, if . . .

What was it that made one man fall into the temptation to drink too much and another be able to resist? Another of those questions to which she would probably never receive an answer.

Mrs. Hanson gasped. “I think we are ready for the next step.” She lay down and positioned her legs just in time. The head appeared. Good, a normal birth. The baby, a healthy pink, beautiful little girl slid into Ingeborg’s waiting hands and immediately screwed up her face. She did not whimper but gave a lusty yell.

Ingeborg laughed. “She is not happy with this release from warmth and comfort.”

“I do not blame her. I think we shall name her Ingeborg after you. I want my daughter to be a fine, upstanding woman with love and compassion, just like you.”

Ingeborg let the tears roll. The miracle of holding new life in her hands made everything else dim in comparison. She laid the baby on her mother’s chest and draped a small blanket over her. “You two get to visit a bit while I clean things up, and then I will wash her.”
And dress her and give this new bundle of life back to her mother to nurse.

Lord, I believe you are calling me to be a midwife and help other women, but somehow, I do wish that I could be that mother and feel the joy of nursing a new baby that grew in
side of me. God willing? I do not know, but things look rather dismal for this dream right now. I do not even have a man in my life.

Near the end of February, Ingeborg’s mor received a letter from a cousin who lived in the next village to the north, asking her to come and visit. Their daughter was pregnant, and she was concerned. “‘I hope you can look at Anna and tell us if there is anything special we need to do.’” Mor read from the letter.

She looked up at Ingeborg. “I think we will go.”

“We?”

“Ja, for some reason I think it is important that you go with me. Your training needs to include more house calls. And this will give us a break. We used to go visiting between families, but for some reason we do not do that as much anymore. We will take a horse and sleigh.”

“Without asking Far?”

“We will ask, but he will say yes.”

Two days later, Ingeborg was driving the horse and sleigh to visit Mor’s cousin. She stared down the lane to Onkel Kris’s house as they passed by. Although no one was out, smoke was rising from the chimney.

Mor said wistfully, “I think of her, of them, every day.”

“So do I.”

When they arrived at Mor’s cousin’s house, one of the boys took the horse and sleigh, and Alfreda Knutson met them at the door. After the greetings and the catch-up with family news, Cousin Alfreda leaned forward. “There is nothing definite to point to that I can see, but I want you to talk
with Anna and see if you can discover what it might be that is making me suspicious.”

“Of course we will.” Hilde smiled from her cousin to Ingeborg. “Ingeborg has a good sense when something might be wrong. I want her opinion too.”

Ingeborg swallowed the shock of hearing such news. What was happening to her mor? Never had she praised her, not even given a veiled suggestion of praise.

Anna smiled from across the table. “Mor has a tendency to worry about me, but I keep telling her that I feel wonderful. I am so looking forward to giving Roald either another son or the daughter I carry. She will be old enough to travel with us to Amerika without being an infant.”

“When are you planning on leaving?” Hilde asked.

“Next fall.”

“Mor.” A little boy with eyes the blue of Norwegian fjords and hair so blond it was near to white ran in to ask his mother something. Anna bent over to listen to his whisper, answered him softly, and he ran back to play with the other small children.

“That is our son Thorliff. He is the light of his far’s eyes.” Anna’s eyes shone with pride, and she smiled at Ingeborg. “I had no trouble when he was born. The midwife said I was made for bearing children easily.”

“Well, we came all this way, so let us go in another room and see if we can find anything of concern.”

Ingeborg watched Anna walk before them into the downstairs bedroom. She seemed to favor one side. “Does your back bother you?”

Anna smiled over her shoulder. “It did not until the baby has gotten larger and is pulling on something. I felt about the same with Thorliff.”

“I see.”

“Please lie down on the bed,” Hilde instructed. With Ingeborg on one side and her mor on the other, they felt all around the growing belly. Ingeborg focused with her hands, seeking anything unusual.

“Anna, what is it your mor has noticed?”

“I am not sure. She just senses things at times. Always has.”

“I am not finding anything different or unusual. You seem to be a healthy young woman in the later months, nearing confinement. Ingeborg?”

“Nothing. But . . .” She moved her hands over the mound again. Still nothing, but why was something bothering her? She decided to talk with Anna’s mor. She felt down Anna’s legs and feet. No swelling. When she listened with her ear to Anna’s belly, she could hear two heartbeats. Just as she should. She extended a hand to help Anna sit up.

“We will all pray that you have another healthy baby like you did before.”

“Ja, I know I pray that and Mor does too. Takk for coming and taking time like this, all because of one of Mor’s feelings.”

“Rather safe than sorry. If your feet and legs start to swell up, you make sure you put your feet up several times during the day.”

“I will. Takk, tusen takk.”

Later, when Anna’s mor described her sense of unease, Ingeborg almost said she felt the same. But she had not evaluated pregnant women often enough to make a solid judgment. They were spending the night with Alfreda, so Roald came for supper and to pick up his wife and son.

Thorliff looked so much like his father that Ingeborg smiled when she met him. “You have a fine son.”

“Ja, we do, and we are grateful.” They talked about the plans for the trip to Amerika during the meal, and afterwards Roald took his family back to their own home.

The next day on the trip back, Mor asked Ingeborg what was bothering her.

“I think I feel the same as Alfreda. But I have no idea why, and there were no symptoms to support my feeling.” She heaved a sigh. “I pray all will be well.”

“Ja, me too.”

Ingeborg stopped on her way in from milking one morning and sniffed. Ja, the air definitely smelled like spring. Of course there would be more winter, but the breath of it right now made the promise that spring was indeed on the way. The days were growing longer again, and with the sun out, the icicles would be dripping. A definite harbinger of spring.

She thought back to the day before. She couldn’t remember thinking of Nils even once. Perhaps like spring coming, she was on the mend too. Going back up to the seter would revive all those memories, though she could deal with that now. But not having Gunlaug and the other cousins up there was a different matter. How would they manage? Tor and Kari had already said they wanted to return, but Anders was such a hard worker, and little Jon would not have time to grow into the boys’ work when they worked like men. But the biggest loss, in her mind, was Gunlaug. How had she endured this winter without her best friend? She shook her head. How were they? Did they never go to town or church or school?

She carried the buckets to the springhouse and poured
the milk into the cream pans. Several of the cows were dry now, so they were not getting as much milk. It looked like it was time to make butter again too. That could be sold to the store and the inn. They were running low on cheese too, but that was the cycle of it all. They had sold all they could, and now the rest waited for them to eat before the summer’s cheese-making progressed again.

She returned to the house, where breakfast was ready to put on the table. “Did you bring in milk?” Berta asked.

“Nei. No one asked me to. But I’ll go get some. Are you planning on churning butter today?”

“Is there plenty of cream out there?”

“Ja and no more butter.”

When they all sat down at the table, Far said grace, and then Mor passed the food. Bowls of porridge to start, then ham mixed with eggs.

After they finished eating, Far looked at Gilbert and point-blank asked, “Are you serious about that Edberg girl?”

Ingeborg closed her eyes and shook her head slightly before watching the red rise on Gilbert’s throat. He embarrassed so easily. Had he even kissed her yet?

“Asti? I . . . uh . . . ja.”

“Is she serious about you?”

Gilbert shrugged.

“Ja, she is.” Berta filled in the painful silence.

Gilbert stared at her. “How do you know?”

“Unlike you men, girls talk together.”

“So?”

“So, Rhea said that Asti told her that she was so hoping you were going to ask her to marry you. Every time she saw you, she hoped that would be the time.” Berta rolled her lips
together to keep from laughing at her brother’s face. How many shades of red could he turn?

Ingeborg glanced at Far and had to look back down quickly. Merriment was dancing in his eyes, and he too was trying not to laugh.

Mari piped up, “I think you should ask her soon and make sure the wedding is before seter. I missed the last one and do not want to miss this one.”

“I . . . I was waiting until I could afford to get married.”

Mor’s head bobbed. “That is good, but Mari is right. We should all be here for the wedding. Where are you thinking to live?”

“Well, I was hoping we could live in Onkel Frode’s house. I know there is not furniture or anything there, but it is a good house, and it needs someone to live in it.”

“Have you and Asti talked about anything like that?” Mor asked.

“No. Why would we if I have not asked her to marry me yet?”

“I hope you talk with her more than you do with us around here.” Berta crossed her arms. “Just the two of you will be mighty lonely if you do not.”

“What do you know of people being married?” Mor asked, sipping her coffee.

“I have eyes to see with, and as I said, girls talk.”

“So if girls talk, what have you heard about the family next door?”

Berta shook her head, sadness taking the shine out of her eyes. “Nothing. It is as if they moved away, and no one knows where they went.”

“We know they are there, because there is smoke from the chimney every day,” Far added.

Ingeborg glanced at her father out of the corner of her eye. So he did care, even though he was still angry at Onkel Kris. Two brothers should be able to settle things like this. The Bible said so. She had read the day before that they were not to let the sun go down on their anger. There had been many sunsets since the big fight happened. Maybe it would have been better if they had truly fought it out with fists and not let this terrible silence ever start. But then, it was easy to look back and wish you had made a different decision.

Hjelmer looked up from stirring his coffee that was half milk, as was Mari’s. “No one has lived in Onkel Frode’s house. The mice probably moved in like they do up at the seter.”

“Most likely. It will need a good cleaning. We will have to either make or look for some furniture.”

Gilbert pushed back his chair. “I have not asked her, and she has not said yes. Do not act like we are married already.” He stood and, snatching his hat and coat off the pegs by the door, slammed out.

Mari and Berta looked at each other and giggled. Mor and Far looked at each other, both with an eyebrow raised. Ingeborg pushed her chair back. “I will be spinning, and then I may go out and check that cow again. She has a sore on one teat, and I will put some salve on it.” Such a distance there was between today and her solitary skiing during the winter. Today felt like spring, and she wanted out of the house.

“You could churn the butter,” Mari called.

“Ja, but so could you. I will help you memorize that poem if you want.”

“I’ll bring the churn in there, and we can do both at the same time.”

Mor joined them a bit later with her mending basket in
hand. She sat by the fire and darned wool stockings while her daughters did their jobs. Mari worked on her poem, and Ingeborg, who still remembered the poem from when she had to memorize it, prompted Mari. The spinning wheel hummed.

Three days later, when Hjelmer returned from school, he had a letter for Mor.

“Oh, from my cousin. The baby should be born by now, right, Ingeborg?”

“We will see if our idea of it being a girl was correct.”

Mor opened the letter, read a few lines, and gasped, her hand to her chest.

Ingeborg’s heart went thump. “What is wrong?”

“Anna died in childbirth. Both Anna and the baby. Two weeks ago. She started to bleed and the midwife could not stop it.”

“Oh, nei.” Ingeborg shook her head and kept on shaking it. “Nei, that cannot be. Oh, that poor man and little Thorliff. His mor is gone.”

“Alfreda says Roald was beside himself but since has gone even more quiet than usual. Thorliff is staying with them for right now.”

Ingeborg closed her eyes. She could still see the little towheaded boy with eyes of such a vivid hue that one would never forget them. How could his far take him along to the new land by himself? But to leave him behind? That was even more unthinkable.

Her heart ached for that little child. His mor had loved him so. It was evident when he came to ask her something. They were all so looking forward to the trip to Amerika. Probably
Roald would not go now. Not that she knew anything about him, but she could not get the thought of the little boy out of her mind. He was too young to understand. He would just not be able to find his mor.

Ingeborg wagged her head. “I feel so sorry for him and for Thorliff. What do you think they will do now?”

“My cousin goes on to say that the Bjorklunds plan to go ahead after all. His brother Carl and his wife will be going too. They already have the tickets and they would lose money if they gave them up.”

Ingeborg returned to her spinning. Far was talking about shearing the sheep early this year if the weather did not turn real bad again. He too was aware how few they would have to work at the seter. One more example of how their lives had changed. For one who always looked so forward to the summer at the mountain farm, Ingeborg had a hard time reminding herself that she needed to start preparing.

“So did you ask her?” Mari pointedly asked Gilbert several days later when the family was sitting around the table after they had finished their dinner.

Gilbert gave her a dirty look and heaved a sigh. “Ja, I did. Last night.”

“And?”

“And what?” He glared at his little sister.

“And what did she say?” Mari’s eyes were twinkling. Was she doing this just to embarrass him? Would a little sister do such a craven thing? Ingeborg almost smiled too.

His face reddened again. “She said ja, she would be honored to become Mrs. Gilbert Strand. Are you happy now?”

“So when is the wedding?”

“Probably in the fall sometime. She suggested that, and I said takk.”

“That is all you said?”

He glared at her. “Mari, this is a private matter. We will get married, and that is all you need to know.” He pushed his chair back and, grabbing his hat and coat off the peg, stomped outside.

“I think he is mad.”

“I think you may be right. That was a bit rude, you know?”

“Well, if I do not ask questions,” Mari said, “how will I ever learn the answers?”

Ingeborg looked down the table at Far, who was moving his silverware around at the side of his plate. It was good to see him smiling for a change. There had not been a lot of smiling in their house this winter. She asked Mor, “Will you send Roald a letter of condolence?”

“I could,” she said, “but perhaps, Ingeborg, you would do that? You are better with words than I am.”

Something was happening. Another compliment from her mor. “I would be glad to.”

She helped Mari clean up the remains of dinner and tidy the kitchen, but her mind was flying off to far places. Last winter had been like all other winters. Last spring had been like all other springs. But last summer at the seter the world suddenly turned over on its head, and nothing was like what had been. Nils, Onkel Frode, the family rift, Anna’s death, each one ruining Ingeborg’s life in a new way. Ruining? Ja. God promised He was overseeing all this, but to Ingeborg, it absolutely seemed like ruin. Why, she might even put Mor’s sudden compliments on the list, for they were an abrupt change from
the usual, the expected. There was nothing old and familiar and comfortable to hold on to. Nothing. She was cast afloat.

Spinning was old and familiar, and there was quite a bit of that fine wool yet to spin. With the kitchen cleaned up and Mari off to do her schoolwork, Ingeborg settled herself into the warm little inglenook with her spinning wheel and a bundle of fine wool. She did not even need good light for this, for spinning was done more by feel than by sight. She anchored a new tuft in the bobbin and patiently drew it out, stroke by stroke, winding it through the flyer hooks. Another tuft, draw it out, another . . . and then she sat back and let her fingers do the work while her mind wandered, sometimes to places she savored, other times to places she didn’t want to think about. But then, that was old and familiar too. Her brain certainly had a mind of its own.

Nils. Ah, Nils. According to Amalia’s kind letter, Nils learned to love at the seter. A new thought popped into her head. The coach from Oslo was crowded, so he rode on the roof to allow more room for others inside. A selfless gesture; he had been making sure someone else had more comfort. Too young to die. Nils had been too young, but God had a reason and let this happen. She would always remember the young man she had argued with and introduced to new ways of thinking and laughed with—and fallen in love with.