An Untamed Heart by Lauraine Snelling

couldn’t talk to Gunlaug, she didn’t know what she would do. If shemarried, she would at least not have to try so hard to get along with Mor. She turned to Hjelmer. “What does she want this time?”
    “You said you would make something for supper.” The two fell into step, headed toward the house.
    Ingeborg resisted the urge to smooth the stubborn lock of nearly white hair that stood up toward the back of his head. He used to smile at her for her attention, but now he pulled away. It was a shame that children, especially boys, couldn’t remain pliable like they were when children.
    “And Berta couldn’t do that?”
    He shrugged. “Guess she was busy.”
    And Katrina was plying her needle, trying to finish the linens she would take with her to marriage next month. Ingeborg was sure Katrina had coerced Berta into helping her. While Ingeborg enjoyed doing the fine needlework required, some stubborn streak resisted her sister’s pleas, usually with a rather caustic comment of someone having to do the work around here. If she wasn’t careful, she’d begin to sound like Mor, who of course, was helping with the wedding preparations. Katrina, as always, did exactly as Mor told her. Having the linens ready and the trunk full was a point of pride.
    Ingeborg asked Hjelmer, “Are you going to finish cleaning out the barn?”
    “Ja, but not today. Splitting the wood comes first.”
    “How is that coming?” Besides needing wood for the summer cooking and canning, they needed a supply for up at the seter.
    “The pile is growing. You want to come help?” He might be boy-sized, but his work was already a man’s.
    “I’d rather do that than cook. Is the woodbox full?”
    “Berta was supposed to do that.”
    Ingeborg thought for a moment. “I’ll get the dough ready, and Mari can supervise the cooking. I suggest you get a head start, and we’ll see who has the biggest pile by later tonight.”
    Hjelmer’s eyes lit up. “You think you’ll catch up and pass me by milking time?”
    “I’m sure of it.” Ingeborg watched her little brother, the lad who was so afraid he would never be tall like the other men and thus caught in the world between working with the men and helping the womenfolk. His slight build and the weakness left in his arms and legs after an attack of diphtheria two years earlier would surely change as he grew into his Strand stature. There wasn’t a short man among all the Strands that she knew. She reached over and ruffled her brother’s hair, which made him flinch away. It was, of course, what she expected. She’d read something about that, that if you did what you always did, why expect a different outcome? Some things were hard to resist—like letting Mor make her angry.
    If Mor was with Katrina, the others were in the front of the house, so she could make the dough and slip out before she had to encounter the disapproval again.
    By the time the dough was ready for the griddle and Mari all set to go, Ingeborg knew she might just as well take the milk bucket and head for the barn. Along with the milking pail, she grabbed the bucket holding the whey from the churning to feed to the hogs and chickens as she went by.
    The cows were lined up outside the barn door, waiting patiently. Bess, the bell cow, tossed her head, making Ingeborg smile. Why was it she could laugh at a cow’s impatience yet get so put out with her mother? That was not a comfortable thought. But it plagued her throughout the long hour of herforehead pressed against a warm flank and milk singing into the bucket. Why did not the others respond like she did? Trying so hard, or not trying but instead getting irritated. Milking was one of those chores that allowed her mind to roam freely, so she sent it up to the seter.
    When she stood up between cows, she could hear the ring of the ax, the thud, a pause to set a new hunk in place on the chopping block, and then repeat. If some others didn’t help Hjelmer, they’d never be ready