A Land to Call Home (13 page)

“Okay, now I’m ready to watch you play.” Hjelmer leaned to the man on his right. “Okay if I watch your cards?”

Leif stepped outside, presumably for fresh air. Hjelmer could hear him coughing. “Sad the smoke bothers him so much. He might like to have sat in too.” Was it “heaven preserve us” he heard from off to his left?

“Play!” Red snapped.

The game proceeded with the drinking man finally raking in the pot.

Hjelmer started to ask a question halfway through the hand, but the look on Red’s face said he’d better not.

“You get to keep
all that?”

The grin failed to reach the man’s eyes.

“I think I like this game. Pass me some cards.”

Red now wore a pained expression. “We say ‘deal me in.’ ”

“Oh.” Hjelmer wanted to look over at Leif, who’d returned to the card party, but he knew he couldn’t keep a straight face if he did.

“No! Don’t touch that card till they’re all dealt.” Only a whip in an expert hand cracked with the precision of Red’s command.

Hjelmer withdrew his hand. When the other players picked up their cards, he followed suit. Trying to put them in some kind of order, he dropped one and it floated to the floor face up. When he leaned over to pick it up, he fumbled with it. “It’s stuck to the floor. Ah, there, I got it,” he said, sitting back up and splashing a goofy grin on his face. “Now what?”

“We bid.”

Hjelmer studied the paper beside his right hand. “Now, let’s see, those two match and . . .” He leaned closer to the man beside him, showed him his hand, and asked, “Would you bid on that?”

“You can.” The man edged his hand away so Hjelmer couldn’t see the cards.

“Mange takk.” When his turn came around, he threw a quarter in the pot like most of the others. Another time around and he did the same. The urge to fold grew in his belly.

“I’m out.” The first to fold laid down his cards.

“Pass.” Four men remained, including both Red and Hjelmer.

Finally head to head, Red bid him up. He tossed in a quarter. “I’ll call ya.”

“Call me what? My name’s Hjelmer Bjorklund as you well know.” He thickened his Norwegian accent, looking puzzled. Then as if he finally got the joke, he laughed. “Sorry. That means you want I should lay down my cards, right?” He spread them out. A mishmash of nothing.

Red cackled and scooped the coins to the pile in front of him. “Well, son, you
are
learning.”

Two more hands went the same way but with Hjelmer folding early. “I don’t like to give my money away like that.”

“You don’t bid, you don’t win.” Red’s smile had reverted to that of benevolent uncle.

Down to one quarter, Hjelmer bid on the next hand. When it came his turn again, he whispered to the man next to him. “If’n you loan me a couple quarters, I’ll pay you back later.”

The man tossed his cards in, scooped up his meager winnings, and slammed out of his chair. “You want me to play anymore, Red, you keep these dumb immigrants outta here.” He headed for the bar.

“Here.” Leif handed Hjelmer some more change.

“Oh good. I thought to play this hand.” Hjelmer stared at the three aces he’d been dealt. He signaled for one hit. Another ace. Now what? Act stupid or clean house? He kept on bidding. The pot grew. It was left to him and Red after the final “too rich for my blood.”

Smoke billowed from the cigar clamped between Red’s stained teeth.

Quit reading the other players,
Hjelmer ordered himself. If he followed through on his instincts, he’d have Red by the throat. The stink of taking advantage of a sucker radiated from the man in waves. And there was no way to undo his hand at this point. When it came his turn to bid, he shook his head. “Out of money again.” When Leif stepped forward, Hjelmer gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

“Beat that then, son.” Red spread his cards on the table. “A full house.” He laid down three queens and two jacks.

“Oh, that means I lost again.” Hjelmer laid his hand down. “I only got four ones and this other card.”

An expletive burst from Red’s mouth, causing the cigar to teeter and drop glowing ash on his hand. A second vile assembly of words trailed the first.

When a titter started on one side of the table, Red squelched it with a glare. “Pick up your money, son.”

“You mean all that is mine?” Hjelmer leaned forward and scooped the stack of coins to his place. “I think I like this game. Now what?”

“Beginner’s luck,” grumbled a man sliding his chair back. “I ain’t staying here wet-nursing no baby.” Several other men followed. Finally Red nodded.

“Well, it’s about closing time, anyhow.” He beckoned Hjelmer to his side.

“Mange takk for inviting me.” Hjelmer ducked his head. “I come next week too.”

“Don’t be hasty. Perhaps you better learn to play the game before you return. Makes things more interesting that a way.” The benevolent uncle had returned to everything but the man’s eyes. “Understand?”

“Ahhh, and I was just beginnin’ to have a fine time.” Hjelmer
shook his head. “You sure about that?”

Red nodded. He signaled to the giants on either side of him, and as one, the three stood.

Hjelmer stepped back so as not to get his feet trodden on. He ducked his head again as if being polite and left the tent. Once outside, he drew in a deep breath and let it out with a whoosh. One good thing, he’d signed his death warrant if he ever tried to play in this camp again. He jingled the coins in his pocket, now feeling heavy since there were considerably more than when he started out.

Leif joined him in the darkness. Together they strode toward the bunkhouse. Visions of Penny lit the back of Hjelmer’s eyelids. What was she doing this night? Did she still remember that he said he loved her? And that she’d wait? He
had
broken his vow, but it turned out all right in the end. Surely that meant God didn’t count the vow as real.

But to be safe, I won’t play again,
he promised himself.

O
h, hurry, Inge, please hurry.” Kaaren tried to stop the bleeding, but she had no more rags at hand without getting up from the bed. Moving terrified her. What if she bled to death before Ingeborg could get there? Why, oh why, had she insisted Metiz go home? She’d felt so much stronger, and with Lars coming in soon from the fields, she thought they could all sleep till he came. And Metiz had needed rest too.

She heard feet thudding against the hard-packed dirt, and immediately the door flew open as if by a huge wind.

“Inge, I’m so glad you’re here.” Kaaren tried to keep the tears from squeezing under her eyelids, but one was more determined than she. She dashed it away and tried to smile, but her lips quivered beyond her control.

“What is it?” Ingeborg crossed the room, her hand to her breast, trying to catch her breath. At the same moment she saw the spreading stain on the sheet. “Oh, dear Lord above, help us now.” She turned at the door opening again. Thorliff stuck his head in.

“Go for Metiz!”

“Baptiste already did.”

“Oh, please, Father,” Ingeborg murmured as she gathered the clean strips of cloth off the line between the stove and the wall. “Then get Lars,” she ordered Thorliff.

At that moment the riverboat steam whistle shrieked across the land.

Ingeborg sucked in a deep breath. “That must be Solveig. It is late in the day for the boat to come by. Lars will be coming in on the horse. You run down to the dock and tell them someone is coming.”

“I could row out and get her.” Thorliff stood a little straighter, as if that might make him big enough to be trusted with the task.

“You help Lars, all right?” She heard the door slam behind him. Packing the strips in place, she massaged Kaaren’s low belly. “Metiz said this sometimes helps.”

Kaaren flinched and grasped her lower lip between her teeth.

“Feel those cramps?”

She nodded. “S-silly question.”

“They’re good news. I know there is something I could brew, but I don’t remember what. Oh, Metiz, we need you. I should know so much more.”

“H-how could you?”

“I don’t know, but praying for wisdom, I am.” She kept up the rhythmic kneading, massaging deep till it seemed she could feel Kaaren’s backbone. While her hands kept busy, she pounded the ear of God with her pleas.

She heard a horse galloping by and knew Lars had heard the whistle too.
Dear Lord, send us Metiz soon.
She checked the packing and breathed a sigh of relief. The flow seemed to be slowing. “Praise God, my dear sister, He led us to do right.”

One of the tiny girls lying in the bed beside Kaaren whimpered. Ingeborg kept up her circular kneading motions and nodded toward the miniature bundles. “They are both nursing better now?”

Kaaren nodded. “Twice since you left. Another thing to praise God for.” She took in a deep breath, feeling like the millstone that had been roosting on her chest had rolled away. “Oh, Inge, what would we ever do without you? Just the sight of you, so strong and capable, calms my fears.”

“Ja, well, I do for you and you do for me. That’s what this life is all about. Just think, Solveig should be here soon. Then you needn’t fret about the things not getting done.”

“How did you know that?”

Ingeborg smiled down at her. “I know you.” She glanced around the soddy. The dinner dishes still sat in the dishpan. Metiz must have cooked the meal or one of the men did. “Did everyone eat here?”

“Ja, and Haakan has Andrew out with him. We decided you needed to sleep.”

“Me? What about you?”

“That’s all I do is sleep.” She looked down at the slings by her side. “And feed babies.”

“That’s about the best you can.”

“I shouldn’t have sent Metiz home, but she was looking gray around the mouth. I forget sometimes that she is an old woman.” Kaaren’s eyes drifted closed and she slept again.

A whisper of air moved behind Ingeborg, and she turned to find Metiz crossing the room.

“Bad?”

“Thought so there for a few minutes. What was in that tea you brewed?”

“Brought more.” Metiz returned to the stove and, lifting the lid, stuck in several pieces of cut wood. “Need water to boil.”

“I must have slept like the dead.” Ingeborg stretched, pushing her fists against the ache in her back from bending over the low bed. Even now her eyes felt gritty, as if someone had thrown sand in them.

The wood caught fire and snapped in the silence. The window flamed like a square of fire as the setting sun painted red on the silver of the stove. Ingeborg lifted the lamp from the shelf above the wedding chest Kaaren had brought from home and set it on the table. After trimming the wick, she took a sliver of pitch wood and, lighting it in the stove, set the lamp to burning. Gold flickered and flared, then steadied when she set the chimney in place.

“There, that’s better. I should get supper started. The men will be back in a moment. Did you hear the whistle? That means Solveig is finally here.” She knew she was chattering, but for some reason couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m going out to the cellar.” Pushing the door open, she stepped outside and breathed in deeply the chill fall air. With the coming of dusk, the wind kicked up, bringing with it a taste of frost. The way the temperature was dropping, she knew they’d wake to a silver morning.

She hummed to herself as she lifted a haunch of smoked elk down in the smokehouse and filled her apron with carrots and onions from the cellar. She stopped. No, stew would take too long. She would cut off slabs of elk, fry onions and potatoes, and make biscuits. If only she hadn’t slept the afternoon away, she could have baked a cake or pie for dessert. No matter what, they would celebrate the arrival of the latest emigrant from Nordland. There would be letters from home, so they could catch up on all the news. Oh, it will be so wonderful. Solveig will know all the answers to her and Kaaren’s questions about home. Men never shared the bits of daily life that women did. At least Hjelmer hadn’t when he arrived.

Returning to the house, she saw the horse and rider returning from the river. They must have left her trunks down at the river to be picked up with the wagon.

The boys ran on ahead and caught her at the doorway.

“She’s not here,” Thorliff panted.

“Not here? Then what. . . ?”

“Onkel Lars will tell you. Only a paper came. A . . . a telegram, Onkel said.”

“What’s a telegram?” Baptiste asked, nudging his friend.

“I read about it in a book. A message is sent over wire strung between poles by something called Morse code. On some kind of machine they tap out the message made of dots and dashes.”

Ingeborg caught the look of disbelief on Baptiste’s face.

“He’s right.” She stepped forward as Lars galloped up.

“It’s bad news, Ingeborg. Boys, go get Haakan and Andrew. Tell him to hurry so we only have to talk about this one time. You bring in the other horses and unharness them. We’ll tell you all about it later.” As he talked, he swung his leg over the horse’s withers and slid to the ground, handing the boys the reins. “Up you go.” He boosted them both on the broad back of the dark gelding and sent them on their way with a slap on the horse’s rump.