tied it over his shoulder. “Baby like to hear heartbeat.”
Lars shook his head. “I thought to build them a box and set it on the oven door. Done that for baby pigs and lambs.”
“Next to heart best.”
Ingeborg turned to see Kaaren stroking the head of the child now sleeping in her arms, tears dripping off the end of her chin. To keep from tearing up again herself, Ingeborg took the frying pan off the shelf and set it on the stove. She restoked the firebox and lifted asmall pan down from the warming shelf. Ladling warm water into it, she set it on the hottest spot. Kaaren needed nourishment more than any of them, and before that, the restorative teas that Metiz brewed. She reminded herself to set some of the elk she’d shot to boiling so the new mother could drink the broth. Surely elk broth would be the same as beef broth, her mother’s all-time favorite for whatever ailed one.
Paws’ barking drew her to the window. Haakan and the boys strode into the yard, Andrew riding on the tall man’s shoulders. Within moments the clanging of buckets told her Thorliff had fetched the milk pails and headed back to the barn. When Andrew failed to appear at the door, she knew Haakan had kept him in the barn, probably in the oat bin to keep him out from under animal hooves.
She returned to her business of preparing a meal.
Metiz spread her crushed herbs and simples over the top of the now boiling water and set it back to simmer. “I get meat from smokehouse?”
“Ja, the ham by the door. It’s been sliced off already. There are eggs in the springhouse.” Ingeborg finished measuring flour and lard into the bowl. “Oh, Metiz, see if there is any buttermilk for these biscuits. Mange takk.” Ingeborg raised her voice so the woman who padded silently out the door could hear her. How Metiz could leave without the screen door squeaking was beyond her.
A baby’s whimper brought her attention to the family at the bed. Kaaren lay sound asleep with Grace still pillowed on her chest and the quilt drawn up for both of them. Lars rocked the infant in his shirt, patting the small mound and moving his lips in what Ingeborg knew to be a soothing murmur. She’d heard him use the singsong tone with the animals, and they always quieted down.
She measured coffee into the pot, making sure there was more water in the reservoir. Thorliff could bring in fresh when he came. Also, the woodbox needed filling. Brushing a floured hand across her forehead, she caught herself in a yawn. They could all do with some sleep, but someone had to cook and care for them.
“Here.” Metiz handed her a jug of buttermilk. She set the ham on the counter and, taking a knife from the rack Lars had fashioned, began slicing the meat.
“Mor, Mor.” Andrew pounded on the screen door, the banging enough to wake ten sleeping babies.
“Hush.” She opened the door and held the screen door open. “The babies are sleeping.”
He looked up at her, his eyes round circles of summer sky. “Me see.”
“Ja, but you must be quiet.” She took his hand and led him over to the bed. Lars unbuttoned his shirt, and Ingeborg lifted Andrew so he could peek in.
“Baby?” He turned to his mother, patting her cheeks with his chilly hands.
“Ja, baby Sonja, or Sophie.”
“Sophie?” He looked back at the tiny form now sleeping in her father’s care.
“And Grace is sleeping with Tante Kaaren.”
“Me see?”
“Later. You come and wash your hands for breakfast.” She set him back down and hustled him to the washbasin. “Where’s Thorliff and Baptiste?”
“In chicken house.” Andrew rubbed his hands together and swiped the backs across his mouth. When he held them up to be dried, he grinned up at her. “Andrew hungry.”
“Say, I am hungry”
He nodded. “Me too.” Giggling, he let her lift him to the box set on the chair so he could reach his food.
“Uff da, you are getting so big.” She smoothed the hair back from his forehead, then hugged him
Lars shook his head. “I thought to build them a box and set it on the oven door. Done that for baby pigs and lambs.”
“Next to heart best.”
Ingeborg turned to see Kaaren stroking the head of the child now sleeping in her arms, tears dripping off the end of her chin. To keep from tearing up again herself, Ingeborg took the frying pan off the shelf and set it on the stove. She restoked the firebox and lifted asmall pan down from the warming shelf. Ladling warm water into it, she set it on the hottest spot. Kaaren needed nourishment more than any of them, and before that, the restorative teas that Metiz brewed. She reminded herself to set some of the elk she’d shot to boiling so the new mother could drink the broth. Surely elk broth would be the same as beef broth, her mother’s all-time favorite for whatever ailed one.
Paws’ barking drew her to the window. Haakan and the boys strode into the yard, Andrew riding on the tall man’s shoulders. Within moments the clanging of buckets told her Thorliff had fetched the milk pails and headed back to the barn. When Andrew failed to appear at the door, she knew Haakan had kept him in the barn, probably in the oat bin to keep him out from under animal hooves.
She returned to her business of preparing a meal.
Metiz spread her crushed herbs and simples over the top of the now boiling water and set it back to simmer. “I get meat from smokehouse?”
“Ja, the ham by the door. It’s been sliced off already. There are eggs in the springhouse.” Ingeborg finished measuring flour and lard into the bowl. “Oh, Metiz, see if there is any buttermilk for these biscuits. Mange takk.” Ingeborg raised her voice so the woman who padded silently out the door could hear her. How Metiz could leave without the screen door squeaking was beyond her.
A baby’s whimper brought her attention to the family at the bed. Kaaren lay sound asleep with Grace still pillowed on her chest and the quilt drawn up for both of them. Lars rocked the infant in his shirt, patting the small mound and moving his lips in what Ingeborg knew to be a soothing murmur. She’d heard him use the singsong tone with the animals, and they always quieted down.
She measured coffee into the pot, making sure there was more water in the reservoir. Thorliff could bring in fresh when he came. Also, the woodbox needed filling. Brushing a floured hand across her forehead, she caught herself in a yawn. They could all do with some sleep, but someone had to cook and care for them.
“Here.” Metiz handed her a jug of buttermilk. She set the ham on the counter and, taking a knife from the rack Lars had fashioned, began slicing the meat.
“Mor, Mor.” Andrew pounded on the screen door, the banging enough to wake ten sleeping babies.
“Hush.” She opened the door and held the screen door open. “The babies are sleeping.”
He looked up at her, his eyes round circles of summer sky. “Me see.”
“Ja, but you must be quiet.” She took his hand and led him over to the bed. Lars unbuttoned his shirt, and Ingeborg lifted Andrew so he could peek in.
“Baby?” He turned to his mother, patting her cheeks with his chilly hands.
“Ja, baby Sonja, or Sophie.”
“Sophie?” He looked back at the tiny form now sleeping in her father’s care.
“And Grace is sleeping with Tante Kaaren.”
“Me see?”
“Later. You come and wash your hands for breakfast.” She set him back down and hustled him to the washbasin. “Where’s Thorliff and Baptiste?”
“In chicken house.” Andrew rubbed his hands together and swiped the backs across his mouth. When he held them up to be dried, he grinned up at her. “Andrew hungry.”
“Say, I am hungry”
He nodded. “Me too.” Giggling, he let her lift him to the box set on the chair so he could reach his food.
“Uff da, you are getting so big.” She smoothed the hair back from his forehead, then hugged him
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