A New Day Rising by Lauraine Snelling

immigrants were content to stay with their own language and chose to live closer to others who-spoke-the same.
    She knew learning more English would be good for them, of course it would. She told herself that again and bowed her head. "Mr. Bjorklund, will you say grace?" At his silence, she lifted her eyes. "Unless of course, you don't want to."
    "No, I will. I mean I can." He began the familiar words, and they joined in.

    At the "amen," she looked up at him. "Do you know a grace in English?"
    "Ah, no." He shook his head. "We don't go much for saying grace in the logging camps."
    "Oh." She passed the plate she had filled for him. "I hope you like our ham."
    "Mor and I smoked it ourselves last fall." Thorliff took his plate and inhaled the fragrance. "Nothin' smells good as ham, lessen it be bacon."
    "I think you are right." Haakan winked at Thorliff after taking a bite of the ham. "Best I've ever tasted."
    "We raised the pigs too. Before that, we had mostly elk and deer. Mor shoots them up the river."
    Haakan stopped with a bite of ham halfway to his mouth. "Your mor knows how to shoot a rifle?"
    "Sure, she's a better shot than Lars. Far weren't too happy, but Onkel Carl taught her how. I go with her sometimes. Onkel Carl taught me to snare rabbits. In the summer, I fish and get rabbits, then Mor don't have to hunt so much."
    "Thorliff, don't talk with your mouth full." Ingeborg wanted to tell him not to talk at all, least ways not about such things, but she thought the better of it. Might as well air all their dirty laundry now. See if the man really would live up to his word. She sliced another bite of ham and chewed with careful concentration.
    "See those elk robes on our beds? Mor shot both them, then tanned the hides. Far said they was the warmest quilts we had." Thorliff started to get up, probably to bring one of the robes to the table. At his mother's stern headshake, he sat back down. "You can look at them later. You could sleep in my bed, and Andrew can sleep with Mor. I'll roll up in a robe on the floor."
    Ingeborg could feel the heat start low on her neck and work its way up her face. "Mr. Bjorklund will want to sleep over at Tante Kaaren's, I'm sure."
    "I thought I could bunk in your barn, if that is all right with you. Save time in the morning."
    "I don't mind if you-"
    "Thorliff, that's enough." Ingeborg spoke softly, but her message reached her son.
    He slumped back in his chair, looking at her from behind the curtain of blond hair that fell over his eyes.
    "Would you like more ham?"

    He shook his head.
    Ingeborg knew she had hurt her son's feelings, but how could she tell him that an unmarried man did not sleep in the same room as a widow and her children. His sleeping in the barn would be bad enough. Good thing they didn't have close neighbors, for even farflung as they were, news got around amazingly fast.
    "I would rather sleep in the barn, Thorliff. That's proper and right." Haakan looked toward Ingeborg. "Your mor knows best."
    Ingeborg felt a rush of gratitude. She hadn't always known or acted on what was best, but this time she knew she was. There'd been enough tisking over the actions of Mrs. Roald Bjorklund, and when she donned her britches to hunt or to plow soon as it was warm enough, there'd be more.

    Haakan didn't say any more about shearing the sheep but kept busy with cleaning out the barn and repairing what harness hadn't been taken over to Lars. The two men talked back and forth every day, leaving Ingeborg out of their planning for the spring work.
    At first she ignored it, but when Haakan announced one morning a couple of days later that he and Lars were going down to the river to cut wood for the paddle-wheelers that would soon be plying their trade up and down the river, Ingeborg could feel her own steam begin to rise.
    Did she want wood cut? Ja, to be sure. Was she grateful the men worked well together and wanted to bring in some cash money? Ja, of course. But why did they go on and on