An Untamed Heart (8 page)

The cousins’ fathers, Arne and Kris, along with their brother Frode, handed out the sandwiches prepared for them as well as the always necessary cheese and gorobrød.

Gunlaug sank down in the wagon’s shade, while Ingeborg kept an eye on Hjelmer and the two other male cousins, who kept track of the sheep and cattle. Fast water, holes, and cliffs, not to speak of the wild hunters, were always a danger. One year a mountain lion had snatched one of the lambs, in spite of how careful the travelers had been.

“You can eat and watch.” Gunlaug handed her the bread with meat and cheese. “You can do two things at once. I’ll go get you some water when I finish this.” She held up her sandwich. “I’m glad your mor made these, not mine. She never puts enough meat and cheese inside.”

Ingeborg nodded. Her tante Berthe was known for being exceedingly careful with the food she doled out.

The animals grazed, the people ate, and an eagle screed
high overhead. When all had cooled down, they herded the stock over to the pool’s edge and watched carefully for possible disasters. Just an arm’s length beyond, the spring melt, swollen and wild, rushed down the rocky stream bed.

Back on the trail, they plodded along, no longer calling remarks back and forth, nor spending time and energy watching the scenery, spectacular though it was. The brilliant sunlight was so bright on mountain peaks marching off into the distance, it hurt one’s eyes, especially against the blue of the sky bowl over their heads. A beautiful contrast to the green spring grass. Ingeborg no longer called to Gunlaug to see this or that. Everyone was getting tired of climbing and of chewing dust when on the flatlands.

The sun was low among the peaks when Far called a halt. “We will take a break and let Frode’s group go on ahead. It will be several hours before we can all get to the seter. Those who go before can prepare supper for us.”

Frode, the youngest of the three brothers and never married, tipped his hat. “Good idea. We’ll have the fires burning and perhaps even start cleaning the kitchen.”

The chimney was always the first thing to clean. No one wanted a smoke-filled room when they lighted the fireplace, let alone a chimney fire. Birds and small animals liked nesting in chimneys.

“Perhaps you should stay here and let the old man go on ahead,” Kris, the middle brother, said with his typical laugh.

Arne, Ingeborg’s far and the oldest, just shook his head. “Can you not come up with new jokes at least?”

Ingeborg and Gunlaug swapped grins. On some trips the conversations were a bit strained, depending on what the winter and spring had been like, along with the health of
both livestock and humans. Others took on lightheartedness. This was one of those.

With a tinge of envy, Ingeborg watched the wagons go on ahead, for Gunlaug was sitting on a wagon back, grinning and waving. She was riding in style while Ingeborg walked, because her cousin had offered to do the cooking.

The drovers watered the stock, grazed them a bit, and keeping an eye out for hunters, continued up the trail. At this time of year, there was still plenty of daylight.

Every year the men said they should improve the track up to the seter, and every year other things had to be done first. Spring was like that.

The other wagons had disappeared around the curves—even the creaking wheels were beyond hearing—when Far called a halt. “One of the horses is limping. Hjelmer, bring up the extra horse, and we’ll change them out.” Since they always brought along extras for the teams, this was no more than an inconvenience.

“Keep a close watch,” Arne ordered, “especially along that ridge up there.” He pointed to a craggy section ahead of them. They were just finishing the harness change when a horse whinnied, and the two dogs raised a frenzied yapping, charging up the hill.

Onkel Kris cried, “Ranger! Blackie! Stop!”

The dogs ignored him, tearing up the hillside. Arne and Hjelmer both shouted, Hjelmer racing after the dogs. Ingeborg and the others rounded up the animals and clustered them all close around the two remaining wagons. The sheep and cows kept looking up the hill, pacing restlessly. Ingeborg sent Mari and the others circling the animals while she crooned a song she often used to settle the sheep.

Arne snatched up the rifle he kept behind the wagon seat and started after Hjelmer. The wild barking continued, moving farther away. At least it wasn’t coming closer, Ingeborg thought, her attention focused on the animals and children. “Easy now,” she called. “Everyone take it easy. The dogs have whatever it is on the run.”
Please, Lord, take care of us all
. What would come out to attack this early? Wolves? Something desperate, for certain. But then, nothing was fiercer than a female of any species needing food for her children. The tone of the dogs’ voices changed. They had treed something or driven it to the ground.

A shot split the unnatural silence. “Got ’im!” Far’s voice echoed from the distance, jubilant.

The livestock settled down to graze, a sure sign that the danger was past. At least they’d kept the animals from panicking and running for their lives.

Ingeborg blew out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “You did well,” she called to her herders. “You stayed calm. That’s what we needed.”

Mari sidled up to her. “What if it were wolves, or a bear? I was scared.”

“Me too. We all were. You needn’t feel bad.”

“Hjelmer wasn’t.”

“No, but you can be sure Far is going to scold him for heading up by himself like that. You know the rule: Never go into the mountains by yourself, or even across the valley. We are in wild animal country—trespassing, if you like. And we or our livestock look like a good meal.”

Mari shivered. “You didn’t have to say that. I think I want to go back home with Far.”

Ingeborg hugged her close. “Nei, little one. God will keep
us safe, He promised. Remember, He said He won’t ever leave or forsake us. Far read that verse just last night. The dogs did their job too.”

At a halloo, she looked up the trail to see Far and Hjelmer descending, lugging something between them. The two sisters exchanged wide-eyed looks. What could it be?

“A bobcat, Ingeborg, with almost no teeth,” Hjelmer hollered. “He’s an old one.”

She could hear the pride in his voice. And he had been in on the kill. Sometimes size didn’t matter. She’d be sure to remind him of that. “Stay with the herd,” she called as the others made motions to go see the kill. Grumbles met her order, but they stayed on watch.

One of the team nickered, shifting feet and flickering ears. The others copied, with more urgency.

“Hang on to them, Ingeborg!” Far’s voice rang out the order.

Ingeborg grabbed the lines right under the bits.

“They’ve scented the blood.” The dogs leaped and yipped beside the two carrying the load, darting in to sniff and then dodging away.

She held the front team and Onkel Kris held the one behind. The closer they drew, the more restless grew the horses, but Ingeborg kept up her song of peace and calm, stroking noses and necks.

Far circled out from the party and brought the carcass in to the rear of the second wagon. The horses settled down and the dogs sat panting. “We’ll take him along. Even his pelt shows he was about starving to death. How he made it through the winter is beyond me.”

“Why keep it?” Hamme, Kris’s youngest daughter asked, worry or fear knitting her brow.

“It’ll make good dog food.” Arne leaned closer to his niece. “And maybe Ingeborg will cook him up for supper tomorrow.”

Ingeborg stifled a giggle at her cousin’s horror-stricken face. Sometimes what people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, especially in the stew or soup kettle.

When they finally got back on the trail, the shadows darkened the way.

“We’ll go on. It is not that far. I’ll walk ahead and make sure all is well. Hjelmer, you drive this one.”

Hjelmer climbed up on the seat, Far strode ahead, and the retinue followed, reaching the seter valley about an hour later. Those that had gone ahead had a fire going outside, both to light the way and because the fireplace probably wasn’t fit for cooking. Ingeborg paused as the road descended. Candles lit the windowsill of the house, and the outbuildings lay in darker shadows so as to be hardly visible
. Home
. She felt like she had indeed come home. She blew out a sigh. Oh, the stories that would be told around the fire that night.

“A rat! I saw a rat!” Gunlaug complained the next morning, fists planted on her hips. “I can stand mice”—she shuddered—“but not rats.”

Kris, her far, rolled his eyes, clearly thinking,
Good grief, what is the big fuss about a rat?

“And you have always said that if you see one, there are more.”

He sent his brother a
Help me
glance, but when Arne shrugged, Kris shook his head. “We will set traps. Hjelmer can shoot any he sees after we leave. Usually they are out at the barn. And come out at night, but not always. Depends on how hungry they are.”

“I’ve shot plenty of them out there.” Hjelmer did not look at Ingeborg—intentionally.

Ingeborg too was swallowing laughter. Of course they hated rats. Especially when they turned mean and attacked, or bit someone during the night. All those things happened, but usually not to them at the Strandseter. She’d never forgotten the one she once found in the oat barrel out in the barn.
It jumped up snarling. She’d had the presence of mind to clap the lid back in place before it could jump out, and set a bucket full of milk on top of it. The rat must have figured out how to lift the lid since they’d not found a chewed hole anywhere. Far had said rats were smart, sneaky, and always hungry. That was after he’d clubbed and stunned the vermin, then killed it outside so the blood would not taint the oats.

Ja, life at the seter was always an adventure.

They’d all been much too tired to unload all but the bare necessities last night, so now they finished unloading the wagons and filling the storage room with barrels of flour, ground oats, beans, and bags of other necessary things. They’d brought enough to feed the nine people, seven of them growing children. Ingeborg had all the plans in her head, things she’d been thinking about on the way up. With two new sets of hands, the work should go faster.

This was the first year for Tor, who was the same age as Anders and Hjelmer, and his older-by-a-year sister, Kari Nygaard, to join those at the seter for the summer. They lived in a distant town, not on a farm, and Onkel Frode agreed to pay part of their expenses because their family did not contribute supplies for those spending the summer in the mountains. Since the town was about twenty miles away, they didn’t see their Strand cousins very often, something their tante Hilde lamented. Onkel Frode thought a summer of seter work would be good for the both of them, but especially for Tor.

Arne and Kris studied the clouds that were piling up behind the western peaks by the time those heading back down the trail were ready to leave. “Should we go ahead and start out?”

“What’s a bit of rain?” Frode said. “We need it, you know.”

“Far as I know, none of us have melted in the past.” Arne slapped his leather gloves against his thigh as he spoke.

“Ja.”

Ingeborg finished his thought in her mind.
Were those snow clouds, not rain clouds?
But while it was chilly, the temperature had not dropped a great deal. Hail was another possibility, they all knew. But the clouds could blow past too. Hail could be hard on the horses, while the men could hide under the wagons. She watched Far come to a decision. Being the oldest, that was usually the case.

“We go,” he said.

Frode and Kris both nodded in agreement.

Everyone gathered to wave and shout last-minute reminders as the two teams pulled their wagons back across the valley. One wagon would remain at the seter for the summer.

“Make sure you . . .” The remainder of Far’s admonition floated away on a gust of breeze.

“What do you suppose he wanted?” Gunlaug frowned after the receding wagons.

“I don’t know.” Ingeborg hugged Mari, who stood beside her, and waved one more time before turning toward the barn.

The first thing they needed to do was check the fences, so the sheep and cattle could be released from the corral to graze, as they were clearly telling their humans.

Tor turned to Ingeborg. “You want me to take the sheep out?”

“Yes, but no farther than that tree out there. As soon as they start to lie down, bring them back.”

“Did you know that ram is a bit nasty?”

“Ja, I know. Take a stick along. He always needs to be taught a lesson right at the beginning. He will try to show you who is boss. Make sure the dogs are with you.”

He gave her a disgusted look.

“I know, but those in charge have to make sure everyone is aware of the danger, especially these first few days.”

“I know.”

“Ja, and now we are all reminded.” She turned to the girls. “Start with sweeping down the loft, so we can get the beds made properly. When the grass gets tall enough, we’ll cut more to stuff the pallets. For now, take the old out and toss it in for the pigs. Put the mattress covers to soaking in lye water, and then we’ll hang them on the line. We sure don’t want any fleas and bedbugs attacking us. ”

She looked to the sky. Were the clouds growing nearer? The sun was already warming them and the land. “I know, everything must be done at once.”

She ran through a mental list, reminding herself to always count noses. With this many to be responsible for, one might get lost easily. One needed to be prepared for anything at the seter.

They stopped for a cheese and bread meal earlier than the nooning, since breakfast had been so early so the others could leave. Mari and Hamme had stopped cleaning to slice the bread and cheese.

“We need to make bread tomorrow,” Mari said.

“My bread is not so good,” Hamme told her cousin. “Mor says I need to knead it more, mix it up better.”

“Don’t worry, I like to make bread,” Mari said.

Ingeborg overheard the conversation. The problem had an easy answer. Take more time for the kneading, but she knew Hamme would rather be outside than cooped up in the kitchen. She understood that feeling well, but her mor insisted her daughters learn early on to cook, especially the breads and pancakes.

“Are you ready?” she asked a bit later.

“Ja. I had to skim the milk from last night. You can already taste the difference with the cows on pasture.”

Ingeborg smiled. That was another thing they needed to check over, see if clumps of Jimsonweeds were growing anywhere. They tainted the milk, and thus the cheese, if the cows grazed on them—it wasn’t dangerous, but it gave the cheese a different flavor from the normal. She’d take the new ones on a plant identification lesson as soon as possible. Everything needed to be done as soon as possible.

Gunlaug came down the ladder from the house’s sleeping loft. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “It’s getting warm up there, for sure. I opened all the windows. The one at the south end was stuck, but I pried it open.”

They all sat down outside on blocks of wood to eat, letting the sun soak into them as well as into the pallet covers blowing on the line. The quilts would have to serve as underbedding until they could stuff the pallets with grass again.

“You say the blessing, Anders.” Looking around at all those gathered, Ingeborg again marveled at how much the cousins looked alike. Strangers would be hard put to know which family to place each one in. They were all towheads, with blue or gray-blue eyes, with rounded facial features that started lengthening out as their childhood fell behind them.

Anders nodded and clasped his hands. “I Jesu navn, går vi til bords . . .” The children had all learned the old prayer as soon as they could talk. Amen came first to baby tongues.

“And thank you for a safe trip up here and blessing our time together,” Ingeborg added. When she said amen this time, they all joined in. One rarely added on to the old prayer, so they were surprised. “We need to thank Him over and over.”
She swept her arm around to encompass the valley and all of them. “He will keep us safe, because we ask.”

She caught Tor rolling his eyes. Did they not say the grace at his home? Or perhaps only on special days? This would bear some thinking on. After all, her far had reminded her that she was the head up here, and that included Bible and manners training. No one wanted their children returning from the seter gone half wild. She had just taken a bite and raised her face to the sunshine when they all heard the snap.

“The trap!” the big boys shouted in unison and tore into the house. Sure enough, at the back of the room, behind a crate, a rat still shuddered in the neck-snapping trap. They brought the beastie outside, waving their spoils of war. “In the daytime even.”

“Don’t you bring that over here!” Gunlaug shouted as she jumped to her feet.

Tor, who was carrying the prize by its tail, made a motion to do just that.

“Tor Strand, if you think you’re so big you can do what you want, remember we can send you back down the mountain.” Ingeborg tried to assume a mantle of authority, but the boys just laughed.

“We’ll throw it out in the bushes, then,” Anders said, pointing. “It is just a rat.”

“Oh good, then something bigger will come to get it and get the chickens too.” She swept her arm toward the free-roaming chickens.

Ingeborg shook her head, just barely, when Hjelmer looked at her. “She’s right, you know. Someone can take it up the hill later. Set the trap again, then sit down and finish eating.” She heard the trap go off a couple of times and a yelp from
one of the three boys. The spring in a rat trap was tricky. It had to be to catch the crafty creatures. The things must have been fiercely hungry.

Ingeborg gave out the afternoon’s orders, but as the children headed out, Hjelmer stopped beside her. “It was a mother rat, and she is nursing babies.”

Ingeborg knew he would like to search for the nest. This brother was much like her, not wanting to hurt things but to make them better. “You know it is probably under the house and impossible to get at. Besides, what would we do with baby rats? They grow up to be big rats.”

“I know.” He heaved a sigh. “But no wonder she was so desperate that she came out during the day.” He paused. “I could let the others finish—we are almost done repairing the downed posts—and start checking the other fence lines.” He glanced back at the house.

Ingeborg knew he’d rather look for the baby rats. He didn’t want them to suffer. That was what she would have wanted to do too. She looked toward the far fields. “That’s a good idea. Go ahead and tell them I agreed.” She smiled at him. “Tusen takk.”

“For what?”

“Being so caring and responsible.”

He gave her a look he’d been perfecting lately. A combination of
Oh, Mor
and
Leave it to my sister
.

It wasn’t her favorite but he had to grow up too. And with Tor teasing him, this summer promised to be a real growing period, inside at least.

“Have you seen any dandelions up here yet?” Gunlaug asked after she gathered the pallet covers off the line.

“Nei. We’ll put everyone on the lookout for any good
greens.” Since the altitude caused the growing season to start weeks later than down in their valley, the grass wasn’t nearly as luxurious, and even the weeds were behind.

Sometime later, when Ingeborg was cleaning inside, she heard the harness jingling. She left off and returned outside to where the soup was simmering over the coals at the edge of the fire. The soup had been fixed at home and brought up the mountain to be set in the springhouse to cool again. The icy mountain water did a quick job of cooling foodstuffs, as it did the milk. From the fireside, she watched as Tor opened the pasture fence so Hjelmer could drive the team through.

Ingeborg motioned to Gunlaug with a finger to her lips. Together they watched Hjelmer go over the process with Tor again, waving his arms and pointing to fallen posts and rails.

Ingeborg held to her place, wanting to go box Tor’s ears. Tor raised his voice, but Hjelmer shrugged. Tor tossed the logging chain around a broken post, hooked and snugged it, and took up the horses’ lines. The chain tightened some but slipped up and off the post end.

Tor now waved his arms around. He reset the chain, low on the post and tight. This time as the horses moved forward, the chain tightened and the rotten post popped out.

Hjelmer cheered so loudly they could hear him even from this distance. The two boys dug about in the posthole with shovels. Tor single-handedly picked up a new post and dropped it into the hole. He steadied it as Hjelmer filled the hole and tamped the dirt down. The two said something, exchanging what? Advice? Congratulations? Complaints?

“I wish I was a mouse in his pocket!” Ingeborg whispered.

“Or at least a bird on his shoulder.” Gunlaug gave Ingeborg
an elbow in the side. “I am proud of Hjelmer. Maybe this will help them get along better.”

“We can only pray so.” The two returned to the house, Gunlaug to cleaning the pantry she had started as soon as they arrived, and Ingeborg putting the rooms to order and preparing the fireplace that would provide their warmth and cooking all summer.

She heard laughing from the barn where Anders and someone rather harsh-voiced were cleaning. The girls had finished the upstairs, fixed the beds, and were now in the great living room.

“At least it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain,” Kari said on her way to fetch more water. They were keeping a big iron kettle steaming on the fire outside so the cleaners would have hot water. She clearly loved the seter almost as much as Ingeborg did. “I’ll bring in a couple of buckets from the creek.” The tall, sturdy girl resembled her tante Hilde with the narrow brow and pointed chin, except she had a ready smile.