The Reaper's Song (28 page)

“She’s hungry.”

“Astrid’s always hungry,” Andrew said.

Chuckling, they entered the kitchen, and Ingeborg kept on going till she reached the rocker in the parlor. With the windows open, it was cooler in there. Supper cooking on the kitchen stove added to the already warm room. With Astrid settled, she leaned her head against the chair back. She knew her husband. He wouldn’t let the unanswered question lie. He’d soon demand an answer. How does one say—“I lost our baby”? “I killed our baby. . . . The baby died. . . . I’m no longer carrying . . .” None of the words said it all. How about, “We’ll have another” or “We’re young yet. Life goes on.”

She sniffed back the tears that thoughts of the baby always brought. All because of her stubbornness. As Bridget said, it could have happened anyway, but—

That’s where she always stopped. On the “but.”

If she hadn’t been plowing, if the yellow jackets hadn’t attacked the horses, if she’d stayed home like she was supposed to. Guilt burdened her beyond belief. As she already knew, guilt weighed heavier than anything on earth.

Haakan brought his coffee cup into the parlor and sat down in the other rocker. “Ah, so good this feels.” He looked around the room. “I forgot how nice you have made our house. So good it is to be home.”

Ingeborg tensed. Here it came.

“So now, what happened that you got beat up?”

Ingeborg took in a deep breath. “I was plowing the wheat fields.” “And?”

“And an underground nest of yellow jackets flew up and stung the horses. Belle and Bob bolted, and I fell off the plow.” The words came in a rush.

“There is more?”

How did he know that? Ingeborg shifted Astrid to the other breast. When she was nursing again, she looked up at her husband. “The fall made me lose the baby.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then said, “Were you hurt otherwise?”

“No, only small cuts and bad bruises.”

“Thank the good Lord for that.”

“Haakan, how can you be so calm? I killed our baby.”

“No, you didn’t kill it.” He leaned his head against the rocker back. “Accidents happen. We will have more babies, but there is only one of you.”

Tears welled and spilled over, running down her cheeks. She couldn’t tell if they were of joy or relief or a combination of both and other things as well. “You don’t hate me, then?”

“Ah, my Inge. How could I hate you? I know you. You’ve been tearing yourself apart because you went out and did the plowing even after I’ve asked you not to. I will not add to that.”

“God is punishing me for disobeying.”

“I don’t think God works that way and neither do you.”

“Didn’t you want the baby?”

He stared at her, a frown beginning. “Of course I wanted the baby. Why are you worrying about this like two dogs with a bone? Nothing I say is right.”

Ingeborg bit her lower lip. He had a point. Did she need him to yell at her so she could get angry back? Would a fight make her feel better? “I’m sorry.” And with that the dam burst, and the tears she’d been fighting spilled forth, raining down her cheeks and splashing onto the sheet that covered Astrid. She cried for the baby lost, for the guilt, for the fears she might never have another baby. Tears flowed for Haakan and his disappointment, for the way she’d been acting, and for the load she’d been carrying around all alone.

Haakan knelt beside the rocker, then putting both arms around her, he laid his cheek against hers. “Hush now. It is over. I’m here and I love you no matter what. You are my wife, and I love you. Hush. Shh-shh-shh.”

Eventually the flood retreated and Ingeborg wiped her eyes with the corner of the sheet. “Some way to greet a man coming home after so long. Uff da.”

Astrid smiled at her father and patted his cheek with her hands. When he blew on her hand, she chortled and reached for him to do so again. What if this were her last baby? She gulped and swallowed the sob that threatened to choke her. No more of that!

But that night when Haakan lay sound asleep before she could even crawl under the sheet, she wondered again. Did he really forgive
her? Was he so tired that he . . . he . . . She had missed his loving, and now she missed it even more. He hadn’t told her how bad he felt, how much he wanted a son just to keep the peace, had he?

When she finally did sleep, nightmares raced rampant through her mind.

N
ow that Anner is home, I think we should send Ephraim out to help them.”

Hjelmer looked up from his newspaper. “Can you spare him from the store? I got too much work myself to help inside.”

“If I have to.” Penny turned from rolling out pie crust, her evening ritual since she began offering pies for sale and serving dinners. “Might be that Bridget or Katy could come help me. Maybe even Goodie if Ellie goes out to the farm to visit Andrew.”

“You have flour on your nose.” Hjelmer smiled at her and went back to his paper.

Penny glanced over at her husband, the light from the kerosene lamp creating a halo around him. She dipped her finger back in the flour bin, tiptoed across the room, and with a swoop, dabbed it on his nose. “Now, Mr. Bjorklund, you have flour on your nose.”

Hjelmer grabbed her round the waist and pulled her down onto his lap.

“You’re going to have flour in more places than on your nose,” she warned him, trying to keep her hands free. She giggled when he rubbed his nose in her neck.

“You smell like cinnamon.”

“It’s my new perfume. Drives my customers crazy.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Let me up, please. I need to get those pies in the oven.”

“You drive me crazy.” He kissed her soundly before setting her on her feet. “Look what you did to my paper.”

“Me?” She feigned a look of astonishment.

“Yes, you. Speaking of pies, is there any from supper?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. Ephraim ate the last piece.”

The thump and bump of the rolling pin sounded loud in the stillness until the paper rustled.

“Tell me what’s going on in the world,” she said. “I never have time to read the paper.”

“You better start. We’ll be a state before long. Right now some want one state of Dakota and others want two.”

“Which do you want?”

“I think two would be best. Those hotheads down in the south—I don’t want to be mixed up with them.”

“What does the paper say about women being allowed to vote?”

He looked at her over the top of the paper. “Nothing. Why should it?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not proper, that’s why.”

“Says who?” Penny turned from crimping the pie crust.

“It’s just not. That’s what you ladies got husbands for.”

“To vote for us? What if we don’t agree with our
husbands
as to who is best for the office?”

“Then you talk it over with him, and—”

“And he’ll do what he thinks best.”

“That’s right. God put men in charge for a very good reason.”

“I don’t recall any place in the Bible saying women should not vote.” She let the oven door bang open, thrust the pies inside, and slammed it shut. “You men voted for Wagg and look what a thief he is.”

Hjelmer remained silent.

Penny slammed the dishpan on the stove and filled it with hot water from the reservoir. The water sloshing over the side danced and sizzled on the hot stove. Steam rose and Penny’s temper with it.

“So you do not want your wife to vote. Is that it?”

“Well, if all women were smart as you and running their own business like you do, then I guess I’d rethink my position.”

“You think Ingeborg is too stupid to vote?”

“I didn’t say anyone was stupid.” He folded the paper and thrust it into the rack by his chair. “It’s just that most women don’t have no interest in politics. They are more concerned about raising their children and keeping their homes and such.”

“And that’s not important?” Her eyebrows flew upward so far they nearly disappeared into her hairline. She stared at her husband. Were all men this dense, or did she get an especially stubborn one?

“I didn’t say that. Will you quit twisting my words?”

Penny finished washing the baking utensils and strode to the door to toss the dishwater out on her roses. Besides not wasting water, the soap in it kept the aphids at bay. Right now she felt like dumping it on her husband instead. His silly ideas were worse than aphids any day.

“Well, Hjelmer Bjorklund, I plan to do all I can to help women get the vote and make a few other changes in the way things are done in this world too. Or at least in this country.”

Hjelmer groaned. “Isn’t running the best store in the Red River Valley enough?”

It might be if I had a baby
, Penny thought,
but since I don’t—no, it isn’t.

“I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.” Manda buried her fists on her skinny hips.

Zeb shook his head. “I can’t help that. I got work here. We all have food enough, a bed to sleep in, and people who care. What more can you ask for?”

“My pa might be home by now.”

Zeb just stared at the floor. What could he do? If it weren’t for the two girls, he could have gone on to Canada by now. Katy flashed like a shooting star through his mind. Bright-eyed, laughing Katy. He could hardly stand to be in the same room with her, she attracted him so. When he closed his eyes, he could hear her laugh, see her play with the twins, encourage Deborah to eat more, bring him cool water in the hot afternoon.

But he was a hunted man. A haunted man.

Could he make a life here? There was no sheriff in Blessing, and while soon there would be a telegraph office there, he’d not heard of his name and crime flashed along the wire. Was there safety for him and the girls here with the Bjorklunds?

“Why don’t you want to stay here?” he asked.

“I hate school. Thorliff and Baptiste treat me like a girl.” The final word carried all the disgust she could give it.

He ignored the girl word and concentrated on school instead. “Why do you hate school? I thought sure you’d be happy there.”

She studied a new button that Katy had sewn on her dress as if she’d never before seen such a precious object.

“Manda?”

“I . . . I cain’t read so good.”

“Ah. So that is the problem. How much schoolin’ you had?”

“Enough.”

Zeb nodded. “But not enough to read well. Arithmetic?”

She shook her head. “Pa didn’t hold much with book learning for girls. Said I was smart enough anyway.”

“Can you write?”

“I kin write my name. My numbers and the ABC’s.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t see. If’n I ain’t to home, someone is going to come and jump our claim. Then there won’t be no place for Pa to come home to—when he can. Nor for me’n Deborah.” She stared him in the face, willing him to understand. “My ma gived her life for that stretch of no-account land.”

And your pa too
. Zeb sighed.
Lord in heaven, why me? Why did you send this my way? Didn’t I have enough troubles of my own?

He could leave the girls, just ride off in the middle of the night.

“You ain’t gonna leave us, are you?” She’d nearly twisted the button off.

What? Is she a mind reader too?
“No, I ain’t goin’ to leave you.”

And to Zeb MacCallister, his word was his bond.

“If I’m to stay here with y’all, you have to go to school and do your very best. Hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And right now, you can go sew that button back on. You don’t want to hurt Katy’s feelings, do you?”
Back to Katy again. If only she and I could talk together. I know she’s learning English as fast as she can, but
. . . Another voice, sounding much like his mother, intruded.
So go help her learn the language, you dolt.