Streams of Mercy (8 page)

Joseph can already read. Both he and Gilbert look just like the pictures you showed me of Ivar when he was this age. Joseph has many of his far’s traits too, being of a more sober mien than the others. He learns so quickly.

Annika is the little mother to Rebecca’s baby Agnes. She does not have any opportunity to misbehave, Annika makes sure of that. I am always amazed at how different each child is.

I am happy to hear how well the older girls are doing. I am sorry they will not be coming to see us this summer, but I understand that there are plenty of events happening there that they would not want to miss. Their far would be so proud of them. I am including Lissa’s letters to her sisters.

Sincerely,
Anji Baard Moen

There, that is done for a few more months. While she had originally thought she would write monthly, quarterly seemed to be what was happening. She knew she would receive a letter back rather quickly asking when she was planning to return to Norway. Ivar had asked her more than once before he died to make sure she brought the children back to Norway, if not every year, at least every other year. Just the thought of making that trip again tied her stomach in a tangle of knots.

C
HAPTER 6

W
hy was it that she always forgot from one spring to the next how the thawing ground turned into mud that could stop a train? Black, thick mud that stuck to anything that moved and weighted it to a stop unless scraped off. That included boots, wheels, horse hooves. Even the cat had to clean her paws of Red River mud.

“I sure am grateful the dangers of flood have passed,” Freda said by the back door as she scraped her boots at the scrubber and jack combined. “The cheese house is now clean and ready for us to begin another season.” As soon as the pasture was high enough for grazing, thus bringing up the milk production and the cream content, they would start making cheese again.

“We do have some left for us to eat, don’t we?” Ingeborg asked as she turned from kneading the dough for bread. “Since it’s Saturday, I thought to fancy the rolls up a little and put grated cheese in them for supper tonight.”

“Of course. You think I want to lose my head?”

Was that a twinkle she saw in Freda’s usually stoic face? What was this world coming to? Ingeborg returned to her kneading.
The cat sat in the kitchen window. Ingeborg had given up and put the sprouting seeds in the other windows after the cat took over that one. She had barely caught the tray as it started to fall one day. This year she was trying something new: starting seeds in eggshell halves filled with soil she had saved in the cellar over the winter so she could get seeds started earlier. That was her bid for a warm spring.

It was finally warming too. Ten days ago, blizzard-like winds and cold; now, balmy days. And her letters were all written, including a nice long one to Augusta. It really must be spring.

“Grandma, there are two new calves in the barn!” Inga, with Carl hot on her heels, burst through the kitchen door.

“And another cow in a calving stall. Pa says her calf will come soon.” Five-and-a-half-year-old Carl looked from Ingeborg to the oven. “Are the cookies ready yet?”

“Where’s Emmy?” She pointed to the plate on the counter. “Help yourself.”

Inga propped herself at the table on her elbows and watched the kneading. “She’s helping Benny clean his wheels. Manny was going to pull his wheels with Joker, but Onkel Andrew said the horse hooves would mud up too. Are you going to make cinnamon rolls?”

“No, not today. We are about out of bread.”

“Fry bread?”

“Now, why would I want to do that?”

Carl joined her. “’Cause your grandchildren need fried bread. It’s been forever since we had any.”

“That’s ’cause only Grandma makes it.”

Ingeborg felt her inside smile bloom on her face and expand as she heard the thump of crutches on the porch floor. Ever since Benny had learned to use the artificial legs Manny and Trygve created for him, his strange gait had a sound all its own.

“Wait. I’ll get the door.” Manny’s voice cracked in the middle.

Inga and Carl looked at each other and giggled.

“Uff da,” Emmy said when she came through the door. “That mud.”

Ingeborg rolled her lips together. The
uff da
from the little Indian girl always made her chuckle, but only inside so as not to hurt her feelings. “How did you get out here, Benny?”

“Manny rode me piggyback.” He grinned up at his friend, who had grown three inches since last summer. “We stayed on the sod.”

“Did you know the grass is greening up so fast, Pa said you could see it happen? I tried to watch, but I didn’t see it get greener.” Carl wore a puzzled look. After all, his pa never made mistakes.

“Ah, Carl, that’s just a saying. During the summer they say the same thing about how fast corn grows.”

“But Pa said . . .” He shook his head, lips turned down.

“Don’t worry about it. Grown-ups say things that don’t make sense to kids.” Inga shook her head too. “They are strange that way.”

Ingeborg swallowed not only a chuckle but an out-and-out laugh. How did God happen to send her two such literal thinkers? Inga had a mind like none she had known before. And for Carl, if Pa said something, it was gospel truth. He did not understand teasing, at least not from his pa. She needed to remind Andrew of that. Figures of speech were an unknown language to his son. She formed the dough into a round and plunked it back in the crockery bowl to sit on the warming shelf to rise.

“Uff da,” Freda muttered with a grin only for Ingeborg. She got nearly as big a chuckle out of the children as she did, but chuckling was not as near the surface for Freda as it was for Ingeborg.

“Grandma, are we going to have tea?” This was new from Emmy too. As if this last winter she had figured out she really was one of Ingeborg’s grandchildren, and that was a mighty good thing.

“I think we could do that. Would you like to pour some hot water into the teapot? Manny, could you please reach the tea tin down? Inga, you fix the cookie plate, and Carl, you and Benny set the table.” This hadn’t been on her list of things to do today, but the way these children were growing up, she’d figured out she’d better take every advantage.

“While Manny and the boys clean out the chicken house, could we sew?” Inga asked as she brought the cookie tins out of the pantry.

“I thought you were going to help in the chicken house.”

Inga made a horrible face. “It stinks bad. I’d clean all the calf pens, but I can clean out the nests and put in new straw.”

Carl gave her a disgusted look. “We got pigpens to clean too.”

Freda moved the steaming teakettle off the hottest part of the stove. “Spring cleaning starts in the house next week too.”

“Spring cleaning in the houses, spring cleaning in the barns. I’d rather go fishing.”

“The fish aren’t biting yet,” Benny said, joining the conversation. “Sure was cold out ice fishing this winter.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning over to rub his legs around the harness they had created to hold his artificial legs in place.

“Hurting?” Ingeborg asked.

“Some, but no sores.”

Astrid had impressed on him the seriousness of watching that sores didn’t develop on the stumps of his legs, and he was wise enough to pay attention. Benny was another unusual child who called her
Grandma
, like the others did. He referred to Hildegunn as Grandmother Valders. One day he had asked Ingeborg about his other grandmother. Was she coming back?

Ingeborg often wondered the same thing. Hildegunn was often on her mind, and she knew all she could do was pray for her.

They all took chairs at the table, and Emmy poured the tea. They passed around the sugar bowl and commenced to clean off the cookie plate, the cocoa cookies disappearing first, then the gingerbread men, only because they were larger. Ingeborg basked in delight. Ah, the need to hear the laughter of children.

As they were finishing their tea and cookies, Ingeborg announced, “We have to work fast. Easter is just around the corner, and we want to be done by then. So I have an idea. How about all of you go out to spring clean? You boys clean out the chicken house while the girls clean out the calf pens. Then you girls clean out the nest boxes and spread the clean straw while you boys start on the sheep pens. I think Andrew has the manure spreader by the chicken house. Wheelbarrow the manure up in it. Then we will have dinner, and the girls and I will sew, and you boys can—”

“Sweep out the haymow.”

“Good and then I will make fried bread for a treat.”

“And syrup?” Carl asked.

“Definitely syrup.”

Freda exhaled with relief when the whirlwind of energy exited with the laughing children.

Sometime later, Andrew appeared. “Thanks, Mor. They were a great help.” He stopped at the mat by the door. “That chicken house has never been cleaned so fast in all its years. You should have seen Benny cleaning out the nest boxes. I would not have suggested he do that. He just took over. I think he was really pleased that he could work with the others.”

“Will you have dinner with us?”

“No, thanks. I told Ellie I’d be back for dinner.”

“Then I’ll send a loaf of bread home with Carl later this afternoon.”

“You know we never turn down a loaf of your bread. Good thing we had two wheelbarrows. The girls got one of the calf pens done. You should have seen them moving those calves from pen to pen. We let the older ones out in the small pen since we can let the animals out at least part of the day now. The cows are all sunning themselves on the south side of the barn.”

“I am sure I will hear all about it.”

“You will. Here they come. Oh, and I told them to put part of the sweepings from the haymow in the chicken house. The chickens will appreciate scratching around in that.”

“I’m putting basins out for them to scrub before they come in.” Freda rolled her eyes. “Never did like manure stink.”

“Good and remind them to take their boots off at the door.”

As they were all finishing their fried bread and syrup, Inga propped both elbows on the table with her chin in her hands. “I sure do like Saturdays when we can all come to your house, Grandma. It’s more like summer.”

Carl shook his head. “I like snow, but not so much the mud.”

Emmy smiled at Ingeborg. “We saw little violets blooming on the south side of the chicken house.”

“Already?” Freda almost smiled.

“Do you want me to pick you one? There were only two so far.” Inga dunked the last of her bread in the syrup.

“Takk, but no. There will be more soon. Why, the snowbanks aren’t even gone yet.” Ingeborg smiled inside and out. Spears of grass so green they glimmered, tiny violets, all the harbingers of spring, sometimes sprouting up right at the edge of the retreating snow turned slush.

“We better get going, Benny, so I can get back for milking.”

“I’ll pull his wheels,” Inga offered.

After hugs all around, cookies tucked into pockets, Ingeborg with Emmy at her side waved the others off. Carl trudged home across the field while the others took the lane, with Benny riding piggyback on Manny, his crutches on the wagon that Inga was pulling.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go along.”

Emmy looked up with a smile that was always at the ready these days. “I want to finish my skirt. I was thinking . . .”

“Ja, about what?”

“I want to make a tunic out of one of the deer hides and do the beading on it, like the one that is too small.”

“We can’t sew that on the machine, at least I don’t think we can.”

“I know. It will take me a long time, but . . .” She paused, her forehead furrowed.

Ingeborg waited, knowing this meant Emmy was thinking hard. She put an arm around the girl’s shoulders and Emmy shifted even closer.
Ah, Lord, thank you for this daughter you gave me.

“I don’t want to forget my people. I want to do the things my mother would have taught me.”

“I think that is a very good idea. I have a suggestion. What if you made moccasins first? That would go a lot faster.”

“I could make a pair for Inga too.”

“That you could.”

“You still wear the ones Metiz made for you.”

“I know. And we still have the rabbit fur mittens she made. They don’t wear out. I’ve thought of sewing new soles on my moccasins before they wear out. Should we do this together?”

Emmy beamed up at her. “I’ll ask Trygve and Andrew if
they have any hides.” She giggled. “But don’t tell Inga. I want to surprise her.”

“A birthday present, or maybe Christmas?”

“Maybe, or maybe just because she’s my best friend.” They turned back into the house. “I’ll go feed the chickens and check for more eggs.”