“Here are the pines, the best friend the axeman has.”
“Why?”
“Because they save him trouble. Most trees have sapwood and heartwood that must be cut away before he can make boards. But the pine has only bark to strip off, then there lays the wood, ready to make a batch of fine boards. Have you heard of the brake and froe, boy?”
“No, sir,” James replied, eyeing the lofty pines, which swayed with fairy-wing tips into the blue firmament above.
“I will teach you about them. They are the tools of shingle-making.”
“When?”
Karl laughed a little at the boy's impatience. “In time. First comes the axe, and when you have mastered that you will be able to carve your way to survival in any forest. A man worth his salt can survive with no other tool but his axe in the deepest wilderness nature ever made.”
“I never used one.”
“Can you shoot a rifle, boy?” Karl asked, with a sudden change of subject.
“No, sir.”
“Do you think you could if you had to?”
“I don't know.”
Something made Anna look sharply at Karl now. The tone of his voice had not changed, but something told her that the last question was not as casual as the others had been. Sure enough—Karl's eyes shifted watchfully from side to side.
“What is it?” Anna asked, a tingle fingering its way up her spine.
“Boy, climb into the back,” Karl said calmly but intensely. “There is a rifle there. Get it, but be careful. It is loaded.”
“Is something wrong?” James asked.
“Your first lesson in this woods is that when I tell you to get a rifle, you move as if your life depended on it, because most often it does.” James scrambled to the rear of the wagon without further ado, even though the words had not been harsh or critical. They were spoken with a quiet evenness while Karl cautiously continued to scan the woods. “Now come back up here, but point that rifle well away from our heads while you are climbing.”
James did as he was told, quickly this time.
“What is it?” Anna insisted, growing nervous now.
“That smell,” Karl answered. “Do you smell it? It is the scent of cat.”
She sniffed repeatedly, tasting only the pleasant aroma of the pines. “I don't smell anything but pines,” she said.
“At first it was the pines only, but now there is the smell of cat, too. There are cougars in these woods. They are wily, and leave their scent where the pines can disguise it. So we must be wilier and be ready if one of them stalks us. Keep your eyes on the trees ahead. When we break into the oak grove, we must be most cautious. The branches are high, and the cougar can perch there in wait to pounce on anything that moves below.”
He spoke as calmly as he had when discussing the attributes of the trees that grew here. Even so, ripples of fear threaded through Anna's blood. She realized suddenly how totally dependent she and James were upon this man's knowledge of the woods.
“The gun will kick if you must shoot it, so remember to pull the stock up tight against your shoulder before you pull the trigger or you will end up with bruised bones. It is a good rifle. It is a Sharps breechloader—the best, made right here in America—Windsor, Vermont. It will not fail you, but you must learn to use it properly. Once the lever is raised, you have sheared off the end of the cloth cartridge, leaving the powder exposed. She's got no flint, boy. She doesn't need it with that percussion cap, so you are holding a live thing in your hands right now. When you are holding it, that means you are respecting it. Now lift it to your shoulder and sight along the barrel. Get used to the feel of it there, and do not be afraid to fire it if you must.”
The gun was sleek, simple, only the thumbnotch of the hammer breaking its long, smooth line as James lifted it to his shoulder. Anna heard his breath coming in short jerks, and sensed both excitement and fear emanating from him. She wished Karl would take the gun himself, but no sooner had the thought appeared than he said, “If you must fire the gun, be ready to hold tight, because at the report, the horses will panic. I can control them, but it is best if I keep the reins. Are you all right, boy?”
“Y . . . yessir.”
The horses nickered and Karl soothed them, “Shoo-ey, Belle. Shoo-ey, Bill. Easy does it.” There was a jingle of harness, as if the horses understood and nodded their agreement. Again Karl cooed, “Eeeasy.” Then he spoke to James. “Ease up on that gun, boy. You are wound up as tight as a three-day clock. When you do not know what is out there and you do not know how long you must wait to find out, you can get so tense that nothing works when you want it to. Relax a little and let your eyes do the guarding as much as the gun.”
“But . . . but I never saw a cougar before,” James said, swallowing.
“We do not know if it is cougar. Could be lynx. If it is cougar it will be golden brown, like a nicely turned pancake, with a long graceful tail. If it is lynx he will be buff gray, spotted and harder to see up there in the dark green leaves. Sometimes we see bobcat here, too, with just a stub of a tail and reddish brown. He is much smaller than the cougar, but is harder to spy.”
There was a sudden popping sound. Anna jumped!
“It is only acorns popping beneath the wheels,” Karl explained. “We are in the oaks now. You can see what I meant about the high branches.” James noticed the way Karl scanned left, then right, then above, studying the woods constantly. Karl sat upright, his entire body taut with caution. “Lots of oak woods here in Minnesota, and plenty of acorns for the pigs to eat. They grow fat and good on acorns. The trouble is pigs are too stupid to stay at home, and sometimes they wander off into the woods and get lost. Then we must go in search of them.”
“Why don't you fence them in?” James asked.
Anna thought the two of them had gone crazy, talking of pigs and acorns at a time like this.
“In Minnesota we build fences to keep the animals out, not in. The woods are so rich with foods for livestock, we let them wander wherever they will. It is our own vegetable garden that must be fenced in, so the greedy pigs will not eat up our winter supply of food. I have seen pigs root up an entire turnip patch in short time, and eat the whole thing. Oh, pigs love turnips! If a family loses its turnip crop, it could mean much hunger during the winter.” There was a subtle relaxing of Karl's posture. Both James and Anna sensed it before the man said, “It is all right now. You can rest easy.”
“How do you know?” inquired James.
“By the squirrels. See the squirrels?”
Anna looked but didn't see any squirrels. “Where?” she asked, squinting.
“There.” Following Karl's brown finger, she at last saw a bushy tail lithely leaping through the oaks. “The squirrels hide in their nests when cats are near. When you see the squirrels busy scampering free through the oaks, the threat is gone. Still, you will hold that gun for a while yet, but rest it on your lap now, boy. You did fine.”
A thrill of pride such as he'd never before felt filled James' chest. The exhilaration caused by the danger was something new to him, too. It was totally different from anything he had experienced in his life. To hold the gun like a man, to be trusted enough by Karl to do this, to feel that if danger approached he would have been their defender—all this created a blossoming sense of maturity in the boy.
“And so you have learned your first lesson about the woods,” Karl noted.
“Yessir,” James replied, his cheeks puffed out.
“So, tell me what it is you have learned.”
“To be careful in the pines because the cats use them to cover their scent. That the oaks are pretty good places for cougars to perch. To watch the squirrels and keep the gun ready till they show up again. And . . .” James had saved the best for last, “that a lot of loud talking helps keep a prowling cat at bay.”
Anna was amazed! Without it being said in so many words, James had learned such a lesson only from Karl's example. She had never before realized her brother w
as so quick-witted.
As if he read her mind, Karl praised, “You are quick with your wits, boy. Do you think your sister is as quick?” He glanced at Anna momentarily.
She cocked her head quite saucily his way, then aside to find more squirrels while she said, “She's quick enough to learn she'll probably have the insufferable job of chasing pigs through the woods when they need rounding up, and she'll be eating lots of turnips, which she despises.”
For the first time Karl laughed without holding back. It was a sonorous, baritone sound that pleased and surprised Anna, and made James laugh, too. There had been so much strain between Karl and Anna, it was a relief to hear this first billowing laughter.
“In that case,” Karl said, “we had better check the wild hops, so while James and I are eating turnips, his sister can eat bread, eh, James?”
“Yessir!” James agreed eagerly, then made them all laugh again by adding, “What for?”
Karl explained that hops were necessary for making yeast. Each summer he came to this spot to pick enough hops to last the entire year. “I think these are the longest hops in the world. I also think they will not be ready—it is early yet—but we will check them just the same, as long as we are passing. It will tell me when to come back for the picking.”
Karl pulled to a stop at a point in the road that looked no different from any other.
“How do you know where to stop?” Anna asked.
Again he pointed. “By the notch,” he answered. “I know enough to start looking for it just beyond the oaks.”
A wide, white gash showed on a tree trunk, telling Karl the whereabouts of the hops, which could not be seen from the road. He led them into the brush, the gun cradled in the crook of his arm. He took them into fragrant shade, holding back branches now and then, turning to watch Anna dip her way through the thick press of elderwood, with its pink flowers that would turn to black berries come fall. She bent and led with her elbow, sidetracked a branch and looked up unexpectedly into blue eyes that were waiting for her to pass.
“Be careful,” he said.
Quickly she looked away, wondering when was the last time anyone admonished her with the simple phrase that meant so much more than it said. “What are these?” she asked, distracted by her thought.
“Elderbrush.”
“And what is elderbrush good for?”
“Not much,” he answered, walking along behind her. “In the autumn it berries, but the fruit is much too bitter to eat. Why should we eat bitter berries when there are plenty sweet ones to be had?”
“Like what?”
“Many,” he answered. “Strawberry, raspberry, blackberry, gooseberry, pincherry, grapes, blueberry. Blueberry is my favorite. I have never seen a land with so much wild fruit. The blueberries grow to the size of plums here. Oh, there are wild plums, too.”
They arrived at the place of the hops then, twining vines that clung to the elderbrush and cascaded from it in grape-shaped leaves. Although they were not coning yet, Karl seemed pleased. “There will be plenty of hops again this summer. Perhaps my Anna will not have to eat turnips after all.”
For so long he had thought of her as “my Anna” that the term had slipped out without warning.
Anna flashed him a quick look of surprise, but she felt the heat creep up her cheeks.
Karl quickly concerned himself with the hops again. He picked a large, perfectly formed leaf, saying, “Here, study it well. If ever you find another like it, mark the spot well. It would save time if we did not have to come this far for the hops. Maybe you will find some nearer to our place.”
Our place, she thought. She peeked up to find a band of deeper color rising from his open, white collar. She stared at the hollow of his throat. Suddenly, his Adam's apple jumped convulsively. He was playing with the leaf, staring at it, twirling it by its stem as if he had forgotten he'd picked it. She reached out a palm, and Karl twitched as if waking up. Guiltily, he laid it on her hand. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment longer, then she dropped them again and smoothed the leaf.
He was beguiled by her freckled nose. Standing there studying his Anna while shadows dappled her brow, he pictured his sod house and the sheaf of sweet clover lying on the bed in welcome. His chest tightened like new rawhide. Why did I dream up such an idea, he wondered miserably. At the time it seemed gracious, but now it just seems foolish and misleading.
“I think we had better go,” he said softly, glancing briefly at James who was exploring big beige mushrooms. Karl suddenly wished that the boy were not here at all so he could touch Anna's cheek.
She glanced up then. Her heart started thumping and she immediately took up leaf studying again.
Karl cleared his throat and called to James, “You pick a leaf, too, boy. It will be your second lesson.” Then he turned and led the way from the woods, while thoughts of freckles on Anna's perky little nose dotted his mind.
Chapter Five
It was near day's end before they finally swerved off the main road and turned into a trace where the trees formed a closer tunnel overhead. Here there was room for only one wagon to scrape through the infringing forest. The underbrush pressed so close that the horses sometimes snuffled when the weeds touched their noses. The horses made the harness sing again, throwing their great heads in exaggerated nods of recognition. “Ya, you are impatient. You know we are nearly home, but I cannot let you run away with us. Slow down.”
Neither Anna nor James had ever heard a person speak to beasts as if they were human. Unbelievably, Bill angled a blinker at the sound of his name. “The lane is as narrow as it was yesterday,” Karl said, “so slow down, Bill.”
In a way much like the horses; James and Anna raised their heads, sensing home, wondering what it would be like. Karl had announced this was his land, and already every leaf, limb and loam took on greater importance to her. It even seemed to smell more pungent, of things burgeoning, ripening while others decayed, adding their own secret scent of nature's continuing cycle.
This is my road, thought Anna—my trees, my wildflowers, the place where my life will be joyous or sad. Come winter, the snows will seal me in with this man who speaks to horses and trees. Her eyes tracked over everything as fast as they could take it all in. The space broadened and before them lay the home of Karl and Anna Lindstrom, this place of plenty about which the bride had heard so much.
There was a wide clearing, with a vegetable garden planted within a split rail fence. Anna smiled to see how sturdily the fence was built so their pigs would not root up Karl's turnips. Turnips! she thought . . . yukk!
The house lay off to the left, a nearly rectangular dwelling made of large cubes of sod, pasted with mortar of white clay and buffalo grass. A stone chimney ran up its side, and it had a roof of split logs, covered with blocks of sod. It had two small windows and a plank door against which a large length of wood was wedged. Anna's heart sank as she looked at this place where Karl had already lived for two years. It was so tiny! And so . . . so crude! But she could see his eyes scan it to make sure all was as he'd left it, the look rife with the pride of ownership. She must be careful not to hurt his feelings.
Beside the sod house stood the most enormous woodpile Anna had ever seen, its rank and file as straight as if a land surveyor had shot it with his transit. She marveled that the hands of her husband chopped all that wood and piled it so precisely. There were smaller buildings, too. One looked to be a smokehouse, for it had a clay chimney sticking out of its center. The enclosure for the horses was made of vertical split wood, its roof of bark secured with willow withes. Anna experienced a queer thrill of pride because already she knew that withes were cut of willow. But, looking around, she knew suddenly how much—how very, very much—she would have to learn to survive here and be any help to Karl.
The clearing extended to the east to include tilled patches where new corn, wheat and barley sprang up. Directly opposite where the road entered, a broad avenue had been cleared of trees, and upon it l
ay a double track of logs with their bark removed, running up a gentle slope like a wooden railroad track, disappearing into the trees around a wide curve in the distance.
Never did Karl Lindstrom leave this place without returning to it filled with wonder and pride. His sod house hovered in welcome, the vegetables seemed to have grown immeasurably in two such short days, the corn clicked in the wind as if asking where he'd been while it had been busy growing, the barn seemed impatient to gather in Belle and Bill between its bark walls. The skid trail beckoned like the road to his dreams.
It was difficult for Karl not to throw his chest out and crow like a rooster upon seeing his place again. His place? No, their place now. His heart beat with gladness at the sight of it, and at last he let Belle and Bill have their heads and hurry the last fifty yards to the barn. When he stopped them just short of it, their heavy hooves pawed the earth, impatiently. And suddenly it was far easier for Karl to speak to his horses than to face Anna.
Suppose she does not like it, he thought. He jerked the brake home, tied the reins to it. It will not seem to a woman what it seems to me. She will not feel the love with which I have done all this. She will perhaps see only that it is very lonely here for her with nobody near enough to be a friend to her except the boy and me.
To the horses he said, “I think maybe you will be jealous because I make you wait, but first I must take Anna and the boy to the house.” She saw Karl nervously wipe his palms upon his thighs, and read the silent plea for her approval in his eyes. Softly, he said, “We are home, Anna.”
She swallowed, wanting to say something to please him, but all that she could think of was if the outside of the house was so miserable, what was the inside going to look like? She might spend the rest of her life there. And, if not that long, at least her wedding night, which was fast coming on.
Karl's eyes skittered to the house. He was remembering that sheaf of sweet clover and wishing to high heaven he had never put it there! It was a stupid move, he was sure now, made when he had thought to please her. It was meant as a symbol of welcome only, one which spoke not only from the heart of the man, but from his land and his home, which had no voices of their own.