car.
Carl and Roald reached for their coats.
“Where are you going?” Kaaren asked softly.
“I think they need help. We were told that passengers should assist the crew in shoveling when the snow drifts too deeply over the tracks.” Carl wrapped a long scarf around his neck and pulled on his mittens. “You sleep for a while. We’ll be back.”
Ingeborg watched the exchange from the warmth of her quilted cocoon. Snow or not, right now she felt deeply grateful that the train had ceased its swaying.
For what seemed like hours, the train intermittently waited, pulled forward a ways, and then waited again. Each time they cleared a drift away, the men came in, gathered around the potbellied stove at one end of the car to get warm, and then, when the train stopped again, headed back outside to clear the track.
While the men labored in the biting cold, a woman at the end of the car kept the stove stoked with coal and a large coffeepot boiling on top. They counted the hours from one drift to another.
Ingeborg awoke to another heaving attack. Afterward, in the necessary, she discovered bright stains of scarlet.
P lease, God, no, I want this baby. Don’t take it away before it even has breath. Please,” Ingeborg pleaded. She hadn’t even told Roald the good news yet, and now it may be too late.
After adjusting her clothing, she poured a few drops of water from the bucket into her handkerchief and patted her mouth, wishing for the pure, clear water that flowed in the mountain streams back home. The thought of drinking out of this communal pail made her gag again.
By now, most everything made her gag: eating, not eating, the smell of other people’s food, the sway of the train, the stench of drying wool from the coats hung about the stove. Grabbing the backs of the seats, she slowly made her way back to their seats. Fear settled in the middle of her breast and wrapped its tentacles around her heart.
Was this a harbinger of things to come? She shuddered at the thought.
She tried to put a composed look on her face, but when she sat down, she couldn’t help noticing Kaaren’s worried look.
“What is it? What is wrong?” Kaaren whispered urgently.
Ingeborg glanced at the sleeping men and children and shook her head, placing a finger on her lips. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered back, so softly that she wasn’t certain Kaaren had heard her. The younger woman nodded but didn’t take her gaze off Ingeborg’s face.
Ingeborg slipped into a troubled sleep, with Thorliff leaning against her. It seemed only moments before she awoke with a start, sure that the scream she’d heard had been her own. The dream had been so vivid she could still feel her heart pounding. In it, Roaldhad been furious with her. He had even raised his fist.
His voice still echoed in her ears. “You never told me, and now you lost the baby. I need more sons. What is the matter with you?”
She glanced to his sleeping form beside her, soft snores puffing his lips. When could she tell him? Here? Amidst all the restless immigrants and their squalling children?
Ingeborg closed her eyes again, hoping to stem the queasiness already welling within her. Like all else she’d tried lately, that too failed. Gently moving Thorliff, she headed for the necessary once again.
As she staggered down the aisle, she thought of her mother. Had she been sick like this when she carried her babies? Oh, to be at home and feel her mother’s gentle healing hands on her forehead.
She shoved against the closed door. Locked. Someone was in there. She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the vision of their home high above the fjord. The snow lay crystalline about the house, bending the pine boughs low with the weight. The air sharp, clean. Her attention jerked back to the railcar. She must have breathed deeply by accident, for the heavy odors from the car started her to gagging again.
Oh, would this journey never end?
Roald awoke to find his
Carl and Roald reached for their coats.
“Where are you going?” Kaaren asked softly.
“I think they need help. We were told that passengers should assist the crew in shoveling when the snow drifts too deeply over the tracks.” Carl wrapped a long scarf around his neck and pulled on his mittens. “You sleep for a while. We’ll be back.”
Ingeborg watched the exchange from the warmth of her quilted cocoon. Snow or not, right now she felt deeply grateful that the train had ceased its swaying.
For what seemed like hours, the train intermittently waited, pulled forward a ways, and then waited again. Each time they cleared a drift away, the men came in, gathered around the potbellied stove at one end of the car to get warm, and then, when the train stopped again, headed back outside to clear the track.
While the men labored in the biting cold, a woman at the end of the car kept the stove stoked with coal and a large coffeepot boiling on top. They counted the hours from one drift to another.
Ingeborg awoke to another heaving attack. Afterward, in the necessary, she discovered bright stains of scarlet.
P lease, God, no, I want this baby. Don’t take it away before it even has breath. Please,” Ingeborg pleaded. She hadn’t even told Roald the good news yet, and now it may be too late.
After adjusting her clothing, she poured a few drops of water from the bucket into her handkerchief and patted her mouth, wishing for the pure, clear water that flowed in the mountain streams back home. The thought of drinking out of this communal pail made her gag again.
By now, most everything made her gag: eating, not eating, the smell of other people’s food, the sway of the train, the stench of drying wool from the coats hung about the stove. Grabbing the backs of the seats, she slowly made her way back to their seats. Fear settled in the middle of her breast and wrapped its tentacles around her heart.
Was this a harbinger of things to come? She shuddered at the thought.
She tried to put a composed look on her face, but when she sat down, she couldn’t help noticing Kaaren’s worried look.
“What is it? What is wrong?” Kaaren whispered urgently.
Ingeborg glanced at the sleeping men and children and shook her head, placing a finger on her lips. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered back, so softly that she wasn’t certain Kaaren had heard her. The younger woman nodded but didn’t take her gaze off Ingeborg’s face.
Ingeborg slipped into a troubled sleep, with Thorliff leaning against her. It seemed only moments before she awoke with a start, sure that the scream she’d heard had been her own. The dream had been so vivid she could still feel her heart pounding. In it, Roaldhad been furious with her. He had even raised his fist.
His voice still echoed in her ears. “You never told me, and now you lost the baby. I need more sons. What is the matter with you?”
She glanced to his sleeping form beside her, soft snores puffing his lips. When could she tell him? Here? Amidst all the restless immigrants and their squalling children?
Ingeborg closed her eyes again, hoping to stem the queasiness already welling within her. Like all else she’d tried lately, that too failed. Gently moving Thorliff, she headed for the necessary once again.
As she staggered down the aisle, she thought of her mother. Had she been sick like this when she carried her babies? Oh, to be at home and feel her mother’s gentle healing hands on her forehead.
She shoved against the closed door. Locked. Someone was in there. She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the vision of their home high above the fjord. The snow lay crystalline about the house, bending the pine boughs low with the weight. The air sharp, clean. Her attention jerked back to the railcar. She must have breathed deeply by accident, for the heavy odors from the car started her to gagging again.
Oh, would this journey never end?
Roald awoke to find his
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