Berserker Series, Book 1 Page 12

  Stieg drew close to Owen, and lowered his voice.

  “We would ask that you keep the news of this hire to yourself,” Stieg said.

  “I don’t know a soul in this town besides my dog and my horse,” Owen said. “But you have my word.”

  “Very good,” Stieg said. He looked profoundly relieved.

  Hanne herself couldn’t help but smile.

  Owen seemed suddenly hesitant. He cleared his throat. “Before we part ways for the evening, I’ll need a deposit of ten dollars. If it’s not an inconvenience.”

  Stieg agreed happily. He retrieved his wallet from his vest pocket and counted out ten one-dollar bills.

  “See you bright and early,” Owen said to them, and he tipped his hat in farewell.

  “I like him,” Sissel said once he’d gone. “I like the way he talks, and I like the way he looks.”

  Hanne had to admit she agreed.

  * * *

  HANNE AND SISSEL each came away with a long, sweeping gray wool skirt, two white blouses, a cotton shift, and a set of long woolen underwear. The proprietress had wanted to sell Hanne a boned corset, but Hanne had declined. She bought some soft white wool material of a similar weight to the type she used at home to bind her chest and waist. That was the type of “corset” they wore at home, and it would do well enough in America.

  The seamstress also offered them a good, used women’s coat made of a wool blanket. The coat was rose colored and had cream stripes near the wrists. Sissel declared at once that she did not want a used coat, but Hanne liked it and it fit her perfectly. Sissel chose instead a plain gray wool coat, very thick. They both selected sturdy knitted socks, mufflers for their heads, and mittens.

  The proprietress was using the information she had—that they were headed north—to her advantage in making sales.

  “If you meet a blizzard, you’ll be glad to have these beaver fur mittens!” she told Stieg. And, “Little girl like her, she needs two pairs of woolens!”

  Stieg allowed her to add another set of woolens for each Hanne and Sissel to their growing pile of goods. And he got the fur mittens for Sissel. The fur faced inward, leather on the outside. But he had protested when the seamstress showed Hanne and Sissel two pairs of fine American-style button-up boots.

  “Your own shoes are good enough,” he’d told his sisters, “and probably warmer!” He seemed slightly alarmed at the expenditures they were already making, and there were certainly more costs to come, so Hanne did not press further, though she did admire the boots. So light compared with her own.

  For himself, Stieg bought two blue shirts, wool underwear, a dark brown jacket, and a pair of brown trousers with “suspenders.” He bought a thick wool coat, as well as mittens, a neck scarf, and socks.

  There was nothing in the store that would fit Knut but long underwear and some socks and gloves, but the proprietress said her seamstress could take measurements and have pants and a shirt ready by the next morning. That was plenty fast and would have to do. Hanne glanced into the back room at the young seamstress, happily sewing away, unaware that her employer had just committed her to a long night’s work.

  The skirt they had purchased for Sissel was too large at the waist, but the seamstress nipped in the waistband while the Hemstads waited. Then, after Knut had been measured, and their purchases wrapped, the Hemstads returned to their rooms at the hotel, arms full.

  * * *

  TEN DOLLARS AGAINST forty more! Owen felt like doing a jig. It was a stroke of good luck—wonderful good luck. And he’d even offered to lower the price, so he didn’t need to feel as if he were taking advantage of the Norwegians.

  Owen ducked into the closest general store. They had corned beef sandwiches for sale. Each was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. His mouth started watering just looking at the spots of grease on the paper.

  Owen bought three sandwiches, two pickled cucumbers from a barrel, a paper twist of oyster crackers, a jar of canned peaches, and a small bag of horehound drops.

  He was awful hungry.

  He would sleep in a hotel room tonight, he decided, as he stepped out into the crisp air. And have a nice, hot dinner. He might just get that shave he’d missed in Helena, too.

  Then Owen turned and went back into the store and bought a fourth sandwich, the last one they had made up. He decided Daisy should have her own.

  * * *

  KETIL HAD POPPED the lock of the Nytteson’s lovely, old trunk with his pocketknife, and now he rifled through the contents carelessly.

  “Ah, look at these,” he said, withdrawing the sisters’ finely embroidered national costumes from the trunk. “Mmm, I love a girl in traditional clothes, don’t you?”

  To Rolf’s horror, Ketil brought what must have been the Berserker’s skirt up to his face, pressed it over his nose, and inhaled it.

  Rolf snatched it away.

  “Be an adult, for heaven’s sake!” he chastised the younger man.

  Ketil laughed. “You’re such a nanny goat, Rolf.”

  Rolf was glad he had concealed the Berserker’s identity from Ketil. It was impossible to know how he would take the news that they were tracking a female Berserker.

  Ketil pawed through the rest of the items in the trunk, handing them out to Rolf. There were books—two books by Charles Dickens, a volume of romantic poetry in English, but most important, a family Bible. This was invaluable to Rolf.

  He opened the worn pages carefully. There, written in various hands, was a list of ancestors. Such a record, containing the names and dates of a chain of potential Nytteson, was treasure for their cause.

  How he wished he could retreat to the library at Gamlehaugen to pore over the names, cross-referencing them with his lists. This type of information was precious and rare.

  Ketil nudged Rolf with his elbow, jarring him from the pages.

  “What’s the plan now?” Ketil said. “Shall we sit here and study while the Berserker gets away? It’s your decision, boss.”

  His smile held impatience and disdain.

  Rolf closed the book.

  “Pack up the trunk, please. I will go and inquire of a coach or livery to take us back to Livingston.”

  “We should get our own horses and ride ourselves,” Ketil said. “We can follow the tracks.”

  “Ride into the evening, in a country we do not know? I don’t think that wise. You wait here, and I will return once I make arrangements.”

  “I’ll wait over there.” Ketil nodded toward a large, two-story saloon painted a flaking canary yellow. There was a pair of ladies’ bloomers run halfway up the flagpole outside the establishment.

  Rolf sighed. He did not care to argue with this young hothead.

  “I will return within a half hour,” Rolf said. “Be sure to pack the trunk before you go. And ask the baggage men to store it for us.”

  Ketil nodded, barely hearing, as he shoveled the precious belongings of the Nytteson family back into their beautiful trunk.

  Rolf slipped the Bible into his valise. He would not be parted with it for anything.

  He hoped he would be able to find a coach willing to travel into the night. He felt all at once too old for this kind of adventure.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The sheets weren’t entirely clean, and a few strands of horsehair pushed through the limp mattress, but Hanne and Sissel slept deeply on the hotel bed and woke refreshed.

  Sissel grabbed her wrapped parcels from the dry goods emporium and tore open the paper.

  “Oh, Hanne! Can you imagine? Real American clothes, made on a machine!”

  She had slept in her new shift. Now she pulled on her new wool stockings.

  “Oooh, these are heavenly!” Sissel cried. “Hanne, wait until you feel them!”

  Hanne opened her packages more carefully, setting aside the brown paper for some future use.

  She shook out her new skirt with pleasure and ran her fingertips over the machine-sewed seams. They were so flat and even.
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  There was a looking glass in the main hall. After the girls had dressed, they went downstairs to the mirror. They could not help but gawk at themselves. Hanne had plaited Sissel’s hair, and Sissel had returned the favor. Their old hairstyles were the only thing about them that looked familiar.

  Hanne glanced at herself in the voluminous white shirt, buttoned up to the throat, and the tight-waisted skirt. If she glanced at her image from a distance, she might have mistaken herself for an American.

  Sissel marveled at her reflection. “Isn’t it terribly odd, to be without an apron!” she said.

  In Norway they wore them every day—work aprons or dress aprons with elaborate embroidery. The ones they’d lost in their trunk had been worked on over several long winters.

  “Look at us,” Sissel said. “We’re Americans! The only thing we’re missing are boots and bonnets.”

  Hanne looked again at her reflection in the wavy mirror. Her forehead looked too large, and her eyes enormous and too solemn. She looked serious and plain.

  How odd it was, she thought, that she could feel such strong emotion inside, but look so sedate and benign? She was the most dangerous person in the hotel, but no one would give her a second glance.

  “Do you like the way we look? I like the way we look,” Sissel said.

  Hanne turned this way and that, making her heavy skirt sway. She thought of Owen. What would he make of their transformation? What was such a small thing for some, merely a change of clothes, was for Hanne and Sissel a grand, sweeping change. They had never worn clothes made by a stranger’s hand. Never worn fabric not spun and woven within ten miles of their home. Would the cowboy even notice the difference?

  “So?” Sissel pressed.

  “I like it well enough,” Hanne said.

  It was foolishness to think he would notice the way she looked, and foolishness that she should care if he did.

  * * *

  THERE WAS NO ONE in the lobby of the hotel, though they could hear the workers making breakfast in the kitchen at the back of the hotel.

  Stieg and Knut were waiting for them.

  “You look so pretty,” Knut told them.

  Hanne waved the compliment away. “Let’s get out of here before anyone comes down.”

  The Loveland General Stores wasn’t open, but there was a man moving about near the back shelves, and when they rapped on the glass he let them in.

  It was a cluttered, wonderful store. Every inch of the walls was stacked with tins or loaded with tools. Large barrels on the floor held wheat flour and graham, oats and barley. Smaller tins of light brown sugar and sparkling white “visiting” sugar stood on shelves. There were harnesses, too, and some farm tools. Hanne tried not to gaze longingly at the boots.

  “Oh, look at the treasure boxes, Hanne!” Sissel said. There was a display case with beautiful porcelain jewel boxes inside. There were silver brooches as well, and even a silver-backed brush and mirror set.

  “Can you imagine?” Sissel said, with desire rich in her voice. “Oh, I want a set like that someday!”

  Hanne looked down into the glass case. Her first instinct was to chide Sissel for wanting such lavish, costly things, but she could not bear to puncture the elevated mood.

  Hanne sighed. She had been right about the clothes; they had returned her sister to her chatty self. Hanne wondered if she might miss the sullen Sissel, who was somewhat more quiet than this one.

  The door opened, and Owen came in with a cold gust of wind. He wore his hat and had his rifle slung over his poncho.

  Owen touched the brim of his hat at her. Hanne rested her fingers on the top of the glass cabinet and nodded back. She found her chest tight when he drew near.

  If he noticed their new clothing, he did not indicate it.

  Stieg and Knut were looking at coats, to see if one might fit Knut. They had already picked up Knut’s new clothes from the seamstress. His new pants and jacket were fitted closer than Hanne had made his other clothes. He cut a fine figure, muscular and broad shouldered.

  Owen spoke to Stieg. “I picked out horses,” he said. “If you and I can step over to the livery, I’ll let you settle up for them.”

  “Good morning,” Loveland, the shopkeeper, greeted Owen. “More sandwiches?” He winked.

  Owen ducked his head, with a small, bashful shake no.

  “Truth be told, we’re gearing up for a bit of a ride,” he told the shopkeeper. “We need two weeks’ worth of victuals. Beans, flour, salt pork, coffee.”

  “Victuals!” Stieg said. “I like that word.”

  Owen turned to Hanne.

  “Can you get started here with the foodstuff while we settle at the livery?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Good.” He paused and scratched his ear. “Are you … um, how do I put this … miss, can you cook?”

  “Yes. Of course. I can do everything.” She felt her face flush. Those words hadn’t come out the way she’d wanted. She meant to say, she knew how to clean game, and roast it, as well as bake.

  Owen nodded. He didn’t seem to know what to say, either, so he turned on his heel and crossed back over to Stieg.

  The three men left, and Hanne and Sissel selected goods. Loveland had a fair hand. Hanne watched him with his scales. He sold them the supplies Owen had mentioned, as well as hardtack, which faintly resembled their own flatbrød, but was much harder and less crispy. Loveland said it would keep for up to two months.

  He sold them a cast-iron spider—a pot with a long handle and three legs that you could sit directly in a campfire. He also recommended a dutch oven, and explained how she could fill it with beans and set it into the fire, then heap coals on top of it.

  The shopkeeper provided small sacks of flour, cornmeal, and beans. The beans were different from the dried beans they had at home—bigger and light brown, instead of white, but Hanne assumed beans were beans.

  The coffee beans were put through a grinder, and the dark, heavenly smell filled the store.

  Hanne also bought a pound of light brown sugar and a small bag of dried apples. She even purchased a small loaf of butter. It was cold enough that it would keep if they packed it away from the heat of the horse’s body.

  When the men came back, Owen nodded with approval at the items Hanne had selected. She tsked at herself inwardly that his praise should please her.

  It was a large pile, and when Hanne wondered how on earth they would get it all onto their horses, Stieg mentioned they’d bought a pack mule for that very reason.

  “Oh, wait until you see the horses,” Stieg said. “Sure enough, Mr. Bennett has bought us the finest mounts to be had in town.”

  “Please, I’m Owen.”

  “Very well,” Stieg said. He clapped his hands. “What else do we need, Owen?”

  “How’re you set for bedrolls?” Loveland asked. “I’ve got some good wool blankets, and down pillows.”

  Hanne looked at Owen. Pillows? That seemed an unnecessary luxury, but she didn’t want to speak against him.

  Owen shook his head. “We won’t be lugging pillows around. And as for bedrolls, I bought some secondhand at the livery.”

  “All righty,” Loveland said amiably. He could hardly be upset with their business; they were buying such an awful lot at once.

  Owen gave their outer gear a look-over. He was satisfied with the coats Hanne and Sissel had selected. Stieg had purchased a good, stiff coat as well. But they were at a loss as for what to do for Knut. None of the coats fit his large frame.

  Owen selected two thick blankets for Knut and had Loveland cut a slit in the center with his good, sharp shears. These were improvised ponchos, second-class cousins to the one he wore himself. He made Knut wear both the blankets at once.

  Owen added two canvas tents to the large pile on the counter.

  Then he bought himself a sturdy oilskin coat, the type cowboys seemed to favor. He patted it with a look of private satisfaction.

  “Do you and your brother nee
d rifles?” Owen asked Stieg.

  Stieg, Hanne was interested to see, grew flustered.

  “We don’t … I don’t know how to shoot,” he confessed.

  “Really?” Owen asked. He seemed genuinely nonplussed. “Aren’t there dangers in Norway?”

  “The dangers come mostly from men,” Stieg said. “And better not to go about shooting men, I suppose.”

  Owen shrugged. “Guess not,” he said.

  “What about hunting?”

  “Mostly we fish,” Stieg said.

  “I see.”

  Owen had his own rifle in hand. Hanne supposed he hadn’t wanted to leave it outside, where it might get stolen. How odd that a man should become accustomed to carrying a rifle with him everywhere he went.

  * * *

  OUTSIDE, THE TOWN was coming to life. Hanne could hear carpenters banging on a new building down the main street, and the breakfast bell was ringing at the nearest hotel.

  Near the blacksmith’s shop, a young farmer bringing an old swayback horse to be shod passed by. He eyed Hanne, and her heart froze for a moment, thinking he might mean them harm, but then he doffed his hat. Hanne realized he might have been paying her a compliment. It was an odd feeling. She nodded to him shyly, feeling silly.

  “We should be off,” Stieg said.

  “Yup,” Owen said, making last adjustments to the saddlebags. He straightened up his back and turned to face them all. “I just wanted to say, before we go, we’re a smart group, and as long as everyone does what I tell them, we should make it to Wolf Creek within a week.”

  Hanne watched him intently, her head tilted to the side. He was making a speech. It was endearing, to her, that he felt they might require such a formality.

  “We’ll rotate the horses, so don’t get too attached to your steed. This way, they’ll each get a chance to rest.”

  His eyes flickered toward Knut’s bulky frame.

  “All right. That’s enough of a speech, I guess. Who needs a hand up on their horse?” Only Sissel took him up on his offer.

  And then they were on their way out of Livingston, and Hanne was glad for it.