An Untamed Land (8 page)

“Not much different than in the Scriptures,” he muttered, thinking about the exchange. “The money changers seem to always be out to rob the innocent.” But at least he had the coins to pay for the milk, even though he had no idea how he would know the man’s price and which coins to use. “God dag.” He greeted the milkman after he stepped from his wagon.

“Aye.” The man tipped his head in acknowledgment.

“I would like to buy milk.”

The man shook his head. “You’ll have to speak English if you want me to understand you.”

Carl smiled and shrugged. He pointed to the bottles of milk, the cream golden at the top of the glass necks. He held up two fingers.

The man nodded and named the price.

Carl dug the change from his pocket and held it out on the palm of his hand.

The milkman smiled, showing one missing front tooth. The twinkle in his dark eyes showed he understood. He took some change out of his own pocket and held up two copper coins. “You need two like this.”

Carl nodded and handed over the matching coins.
Now, how do I ask for eggs?
He scratched his beard in thought. “You have eggs?”

The man shook his head and shrugged. Then he motioned Carl to join him at the rear of the covered wagon. When he showed his wares, Carl pointed to the eggs filling a wooden basket. He raised six fingers.

The milkman smiled again and counted out the number requested. As before, he showed Carl the proper amount of money needed.

“Mange takk,” Carl said with an answering smile, sensing the man’s honesty. He carefully placed the eggs deep in the pockets of his black wool coat and crooked his left arm around the milk jugs. He stepped back to let the man make his delivery to the next house, watching as the milkman set three full bottles on the stoop and retrieved the empty ones. The clink of glass on glass sang its own song as the wagon continued down the street, stopping here and there.

Carl shook his head. Did they deliver milk like this in Oslo? He shrugged. For certain, everyone who lived in cities couldn’t have their own milk cows as they’d had on the farm. Ja, they had much to learn about life in Amerika. He strode back to the entrance of the boardinghouse, impatient to eat and then explore this New York
City. If only Kaaren were strong enough to be up and about to enjoy the sights and sounds with him.

Both women were up and dressed, and Ingeborg was braiding Kaaren’s long hair when Carl walked in the door of the third-floor room. He looked around and noticed the room had been tidied as much as possible with their belongings taking up so much of the space.

“Onkel Carl!” Thorliff threw his arms around his uncle’s knees. “You went away.”

“But not for long, and look what I brought.” Carl dug in his pocket and held up two brown eggs. “I’m going downstairs to ask madame house owner, Mrs. Flaksrude, she said her name was, if she will let me boil them. Then we’ll each have one now, and Tante Kaaren will eat another later.”

“Oh, how delicious. Just think, to eat fresh eggs again.” Kaaren smiled up at her husband.

Thorliff let loose of his uncle’s knees and reached up to pat the other pocket.

“Careful. It wouldn’t do to break these precious things. Come, you can help me get them cooked.” Carl removed his hat and, with great care, placed each egg in it. With hat in one hand and Thorliff’s hand clenched in the other, he left the room, childish chatter floating back from their departure.

“Something is bothering you,” Kaaren said to Ingeborg as she lifted a hand to smooth back a wisp of hair that refused to remain in the coronet of braids.

“Nei, it is nothing.” Ingeborg placed the hairbrush and comb on the washstand by the sturdy white pitcher in which she’d fetched warm water for their morning washing. Her hands refused to remain still. Instead, she placed the pitcher in the matching bowl and then set the bowl exactly centered on the oak stand.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?”

Ingeborg could hear the teasing in her sister-in-law’s voice. She clamped her hands together to stop their telltale busyness, moving to look out the window instead of facing Kaaren. “Did you see the snow? There’s a man setting up a stand of some kind across the street.”

“Ingeborg, what is it?” Kaaren persisted.

Ingeborg hesitated only for a moment, and then the words came out in a rush. “I promised to pay the grocer for the apple Thorliff was given, but I have no money, and Roald insists it is nothing. He
refuses to go back and pay, and I gave my word.” She sighed and turned her back to the window. “What to do?” She felt the weight of the worry sitting right on her shoulders. How could one red apple cause so much trouble?

“I have some money. I will give you what you need,” Kaaren offered.

“You do?”

“My mor believes a woman should have something of her own for times of emergency. She made sure that when Carl and I married, I had a bit also.”

“But that is yours. I cannot take it.”

“Ours. With all that you have done for me, I now can give something in return.” Kaaren started to rise from the chair, but Ingeborg waved her back. “I know, save my strength. There, in the bottom of that black leather valise is a drawstring purse. Carl changed the money for me at the Castle Garden.”

“He knows you have it?”

Kaaren nodded. “But he won’t mind in the least. In fact, we can ask him to go pay it.”

Ingeborg shook her head. “No, he and Roald have much to do today. I will not bother him.” She pulled the jingling bag from the valise and poured the coins into her palm. “Surely it can be no more than two or three of these copper coins.” She slipped them into her own pouch and, after pulling the strings closed, buried the small bag back in Kaaren’s valise. “Mange takk. I can’t tell you how much. I will return these as soon as I am able.”

“Don’t be silly. Maybe we’ll find that street paved with gold and fill the poor bag right up.” Kaaren crossed her ankles and clasped her hands in her lap. “Oh, the luxury of being on land again. I don’t think I’ll ever even want to go out in a rowboat on a lake.” She paused and stared at Ingeborg. “How will you return to pay the grocer?”

When Ingeborg refused to look at her, Kaaren swung her feet to the floor. “You cannot think to be going yourself!” The sound of her fear set the babe to whimpering.

“See now, you must not get all upset. We will talk about that later.” At the conversation, the baby screwed up her face and let out a wail that nearly covered the sound of the door opening.

“It appears to me someone around here feels plenty better,” Roald said while handing two crusty loaves of still-warm bread to Ingeborg. “I see Carl was able to buy some milk.”

“And eggs.” Kaaren’s soft sigh floated like a prayer.

“Carl and Thorliff went downstairs to see if Mrs. Flaksrude would let him cook them in the kitchen.” Ingeborg lifted one of the loaves to her face and inhaled the aroma. “They’d best hurry back or I shall eat all of this myself.” The temptation to break off just a bit of one end made her fingers twitch. The fragrance tasted of heaven. Soon she would be baking her own bread again, in her own house, on their own land.

She glanced up to see Roald watching her with his eyebrows nearly meeting in a straight line, a line that always spelled a scolding. What had she done wrong now?

“That is for everyone and should last until supper tonight.” Roald removed his coat and hung it on one of the nails by the door.

Ingeborg caught her reply before it passed her lips and nodded instead. “Of course.” Didn’t he understand she was teasing? When would she learn that her husband, fine man that he was, didn’t make jokes? And didn’t seem to appreciate it when others did.

She glanced at Kaaren and saw her grin before she ducked her head in the baby’s blanket. At least
someone
else could see some humor in their situation.

“Far, Far, we cooked the eggs.” Thorliff burst through the door and flung himself at his father’s pant legs. “Onkel Carl said we each get one. A whole egg!” He stared up at his father, his round little face beaming in delight. “No more of that nasty porridge, like on the ship.”

“Now, you must be grateful for all our food.” Roald disentangled his leg. “God is good to give us what we need.”

“Ja, I will.” Thorliff let loose and, bowing his head, sneaked his thumb into his mouth.

“Only babies suck their thumb,” Roald thundered like the voice of God himself.

Thorliff whipped the thumb behind him and buried his chin in his sweater.

“I brought something else.” Carl drew his hand from behind his back, a hand that held a steaming pitcher.

“Coffee. I thought I smelled it but didn’t trust my nose.” Kaaren held out her hands. “Here, let me pour.”

Ingeborg rummaged in one of the satchels and withdrew the cups they’d used on the ship. Eggs, bread, coffee, and milk with real cream—a veritable feast. Thanking God for their food was certainly easier today than it had been on board the ship.

As soon as their feast was set before them, Roald bowed his head and offered grace. His mumbled “I Jesu navn går vi til bords . . .” stampeded to a close. They fell to as if they hadn’t eaten for days.

Ingeborg looked up at Roald from under her eyelashes. Dare she ask him again if he would pay the grocer? He seemed in a good mood at the moment. She wiped her mouth on her handkerchief and tried to find either the words or the air to speak. Neither came to mind or being.

She felt akin to a child lost in the fog and hoped it wasn’t a portend of things to come. Ingeborg squared her shoulders. She
would
find a way. She
would
keep her word and pay the man.
Please, God, don’t let Roald come back before I do.
For if he asked her, she could not lie to her husband, no matter how angry he might become. She shuddered at the memory of the glaring look on his face when he thought she’d lost Thorliff.

But he hadn’t said
she
couldn’t go. He had just said he wouldn’t. The thought consoled her as she nibbled at her last crust of bread. Strange how it didn’t taste quite as good now.

When the men left, promising to be back as soon as possible, she cleaned up their crumbs and rinsed out the cups. Then settling Thorliff next to Kaaren for a story, Ingeborg donned her black wool coat, tucked a blue muffler around her neck and, bending over to see in the mirror, pinned her bit of a hat on top of her head. She tucked her braids into a bun at the base of her skull so her hat wouldn’t look like a sail in full wind. All the time she bustled around, she could feel Kaaren’s gaze penetrating her back.

“Just don’t say anything.” Ingeborg nodded toward Thorliff, who had watched all the goings-on with curious eyes.

“Can I go?” Thorliff asked the question as if he already knew the answer to be no.

“Not right now, den lille. Maybe later. Tante Kaaren will tell you about the boy who got thrown down the well for teasing his brothers.”

“Will you?” Thorliff snuggled closer to his aunt’s side.

“Ja, I will.”

Kaaren’s eyes were so full of concern that, for just a moment, Ingeborg wavered. But only momentarily. She checked her pockets for her mittens and then opened the door before she lost her courage.

“You do as Tante Kaaren says, now,” she instructed Thorliff. Ingeborg straightened her back and walked out the door as if she
were on the way to a firing squad and square shoulders might earn her a reprieve.

When she stepped down onto the snowy sidewalk, she turned left and began retracing her steps from the day before. If only she had paid more attention to all the turns they had made. But surely, finding the Castle Garden again wouldn’t be difficult. She looked up at a word on the signpost at the corner. If only she could read it. Glancing back up the block to the boardinghouse, she imprinted the scene in her mind. All she had to do was find Castle Garden, walk to the grocer, pay him, and return to this street. That was all.

An hour later, with no Castle Garden in sight, she wondered if Roald had not been right. Was paying the grocer really that important?

S
urely they couldn’t have moved the place overnight. Ingeborg wound the strings of her reticule tightly around her fingers. Where had she gone wrong? She glanced up at the tall building on her left. Had she seen it before? Was it today—or yesterday? How could she, who had never in her entire life gotten lost in the mountains or forests of home, be so confused in this maze of dirty buildings and even filthier streets?

She could feel her nostrils twitch at the foul stench that rose from the open sewer running by the curb. While the snow had temporarily whitened the world this morning, now the streets were full of passing carts and carriages that splashed mud all over everything, including her skirts.

She thought back to one of the Bjorklund family’s heated discussions on the new land. Some had said the streets were paved with gold. If New York, the largest city in Amerika, was any indication, the only gold to be found lay in the dreams of the immigrants.