An Untamed Land by Lauraine Snelling Page B

thoughts, the weight of his attention feeling heavier than a millstone.
    “When Thorliff took that apple . . .”
    “I thought you said the boys gave it to him.”
    “Ja, well, they did. But since they stole it from the grocer, I felt it was my duty. . .” She paused to summon the courage up from wherever it was hiding. “I . . . I promised to pay for the apple.”
    “And how were you going to do that?” The breath of his whisper tickled her nose.
    “To be precise, I promised you would pay the man.” There, it was out.
    “Is that all? He probably didn’t even understand a word of what you said. Forget about it. Those things happen to fruit sellers all the time. They are used to it.” He turned over with a snort of disgust.
    “But . . . but I . . .”
    “Forget it! Good night!”
    How could just a whisper convey such command? Ingeborg wished she would have a good night too. But how? All her life she’d been taught that once she gave her word, she must live up to it. God in heaven, what am I to do? I said I would pay—no, I said my husband would pay, and he refuses. I gave my word. Mor said, “Listen to your husband.” But he is wrong. And it is my word . She could hear the slight snore that told her Roald was finally asleep. Here she was, wide awake with a body aching to sleep, and all she could think of was the apple. Oh, Thorliff, what trouble you have caused .
    The baby whimpered. Within moments she heard a rustling, and then the sound of the infant nursing. Quiet, homey sounds. If onlyshe could forget the apple. Just before falling asleep, she knew what she would have to do.

     
    In the morning, Carl crept out of the bed, left his sleeping wife and daughter, and followed Roald down the stairs. The sun had not even cracked the horizon when they stepped outside onto the front stairs and discovered a world blanketed in white. Gone were the filthy streets and cluttered sidewalks. Even the streetlamps wore white caps.
    “Well, I’ll be a . . .” Roald looked up the street and saw a milk wagon stopped at the curb. Even from where they stood, the two men could see the clouds of steam billowing around the horse’s nostrils.
    “You thought it didn’t snow in New York?” Carl rubbed his hands together.
    “Nei, just that yesterday was more like spring, and today we are back in winter.”
    “Most of this will disappear with the sun.” Carl stepped down to the sidewalk. “I’m for getting another jug of milk, and mayhap he carries eggs also. I don’t want Kaaren going out today; she needs to rest.”
    “You are right.” Roald looked at his brother, as if trying to discern the change in him. “I saw a bakery down that way. They should be open soon. Fresh bread will bring back a failing appetite.”
    “She is trying.”
    “I know that. Now let’s just see if we can find the kind of food we all need after that slop they served aboard ship. Those last days were enough to make anyone leave off eating.” Roald shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be back soon. After we eat, we’ll look for the office Mrs. Amundson told us about, where we can apply for citizenship. No use waiting until we reach Dakota Territory.” He nodded to his brother and started up the street, long strides eating up the distance.
    Carl stuck his hands in his pockets, setting the coins to jingling. He was thankful to God that Mrs. Amundson had shown them an honest place to exchange their Norwegian currency for Amerikan. They’d heard terrible stories of immigrants being bilked out of their hard-earned cash by dishonest money changers, only hours after stepping off their ship.
    “Not much different than in the Scriptures,” he muttered, thinking about the exchange. “The money changers seem to always be out to rob the innocent.” But at least he had the coins to pay for the milk, even though he had no idea how he would know the man’s price and which coins to use. “God dag.” He greeted the milkman after he stepped