Racing Home Read online

  © Adele Dueck, 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll-free to 1-800-893-5777.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Edited by Barbara Sapergia

  Design by Tania Craan

  Typeset by Susan Buck

  Printed and bound in Canada by Houghton Boston

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Dueck, Adele, 1955-

  Racing home / Adele Dueck.

  ISBN 978-1-55050-450-7

  1. Frontier and pioneer life--Saskatchewan--Juvenile fiction.

  I. Title.

  PS8557.U28127R33 2011 jC813'.54 C2010-907542-0

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011921831

  ePub ISBN: 978-155050-702-7

  Available in Canada from:

  Coteau Books

  2517 Victoria Avenue

  Regina, Saskatchewan

  Canada S4P 0T2

  www.coteaubooks.com

  Publishers Group Canada

  2440 Viking Way

  Richmond, British Columbia

  Canada V6V 1N2

  Available in the US from:

  Orca Book Publishers

  www.orcabook.com

  1-800-210-5277

  Coteau Books gratefully acknowledges the financial support of its publishing program by: the Saskatchewan Arts Board, the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund, the Government of Saskatchewan through the Creative Economy Entrepreneurial Fund and the City of Regina Arts Commission.

  To my husband, Raymond, who supports me in every way.

  CHAPTER ONE – June 1908

  Flat Land

  Erik stormed out of the general store, letting the door slam behind him.

  Lars Hanson wasn’t here!

  They’d come all the way from Norway to find his stepfather’s brother, but he was never where he should be.

  Stepping into the street was like walking into a sauna. Erik wiped the sweat from his face, wishing he could get back on the train and leave the dusty grey town far behind. He wanted to yell or throw things. He wanted to tell his stepfather how stupid it was to travel thousands of kilometres to see someone who wasn’t there.

  Mostly he wanted to ask his mother why she’d married Rolf Hanson. Erik was twelve; he was sure he could have supported the family. She hadn’t needed to marry just to get a home.

  She’d told Erik they’d live in Rolf’s house in the village and he could go to his grandparents’ farm whenever he wanted.

  Instead Rolf had moved the whole family to America.

  “Erik! Erik!”

  Shading his eyes from the hot sun, Erik saw his sister running toward him, her shoes pounding the boardwalk, her long, almost-white braids flying behind her.

  “What’s wrong, Elsa?”

  “Mama fainted,” exclaimed Elsa. “I heard someone fall and people yell. When I turned around Mama was on the ground.”

  “What do you mean? Weren’t you with her?” Erik grabbed Elsa’s hand and started running.

  “I was sitting beside some people speaking English. I was trying to see if I could understand them –”

  “You were supposed to stay with her.”

  “I wasn’t far –”

  “Where is she now? Is she hurt?”

  “I don’t think so. A lady helped her to the bench and brought water.” Elsa hardly had breath to speak. “Mama didn’t say, but I knew she’d want me to get you and –”

  “Don’t call him Papa!” Erik interrupted.

  “I didn’t,” Elsa protested. “Where is he? Where’s –” There was the smallest of pauses. “Where’s Rolf? Mama will want him, too.”

  “In a store,” Erik said, pulling her along.

  “Should I go back for him?” Elsa tried to free herself but Erik didn’t loosen his grip.

  “He knows where Ma is. He’ll come when he’s ready.”

  When they reached the train, Erik saw that people had begun unloading their settlers’ cars, piling belongings everywhere. He dropped Elsa’s hand as he scanned the crowd.

  “He’ll be worried.” Elsa glared at Erik before marching away.

  Erik wasn’t sure that Rolf would care, not that he knew what Rolf thought about anything. Erik didn’t talk to Rolf, and Rolf didn’t talk to Erik.

  Rolf had married Erik’s mother in October, 1907. In March, 1908, they’d crossed the ocean to New York, then gone on to Minnesota to meet his brother.

  Only Lars wasn’t there. He’d left a message about going to a town called Hanley, in Saskatchewan. After three months in Minnesota, they loaded all their belongings in a train and headed north.

  Now they were in Hanley and Lars was gone again.

  Through a gap in the crowd, Erik saw his mother on a bench. A woman in a dull green dress sat beside her, patting her hand.

  “Ma! Are you all right?” he asked when he reached her. “What happened?”

  “I’m just tired,” she said. “I didn’t know a train ride could be so difficult.”

  “It was terrible!” exclaimed the other woman in Norwegian. “Two weeks we were on that train, what with all the stopping and waiting. It’s no wonder you fainted, you poor dear, and in your condition, too.”

  Erik shot the woman a sharp look. What condition?

  “Where is Rolf?” Erik’s mother, Inga, asked hurriedly. “I thought you were together.”

  “We were,” said Erik, “but he was talking to a storekeeper. I was outside the store when Elsa came.”

  “He wouldn’t let me get Papa,” Elsa added indignantly.

  “Did he find Lars?” Inga asked. “Was it his store?”

  “He’s not here,” said Erik. The minute the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. He should have let Rolf tell her his brother had let them down again.

  “Not here?” repeated Inga. She pressed her free hand to her forehead.

  “Rolf will explain,” said Erik. He moved away, watching a man leading horses out of a boxcar. Erik wished they had a team like that instead of Rolf’s clumsy oxen.

  “Inga, I found him!” Hearing Rolf’s voice, Erik came back to the platform. “I found Lars.”

  Inga’s eyes met Erik’s for a moment, her lips pressed together firmly, but when she turned to Rolf she was smiling.

  “That’s wonderful. Do they live here in town? Did you see Kirsten and –” There was a slight hesitation. “And Olaf, too?”

  “Well, no,” Rolf said, rubbing his thick red beard. “I didn’t see any of them. But,” he added more quickly, “I know where they are. They’ve moved to a new town just a short distance away.”

  Erik stifled a groan. So much for finding Lars.

  “He and his partner own a lumberyard here,” Rolf went on, “and they’re going to build one in the new town. His partner, Gunnar Haugen, invited us for supper and to stay the night.”

  “Ma fainted,” said Erik, watching Rolf’s smile disappear. “She can’t walk far.”

  “Inga, are you all right?” asked Rolf, dropping to one knee beside her. “Should I find a doctor?” He glanced around. “There must be one in a town this size.”

  “No, no,” said Inga.

  “Or a buggy? Maybe someone can give you a ride to the Haugens’ place.”

  “I was tired. I’m not u
sed to the heat yet. If I take your arm, I’ll be fine.”

  “First I must speak to the station agent,” said Rolf. “We’ll unload the car after we eat.”

  The animals should be unloaded now, Erik thought. The cow and oxen needed to walk. They’d been fed and watered, but they’d be weak from not moving for so long.

  Rolf was back in a moment. “There’s no hurry,” he said. ”The train doesn’t leave till tomorrow.”

  “Did he speak Norwegian?” asked Elsa.

  “No, but my bit of English seemed to work.” He tugged on one of Elsa’s braids. “Did you think I’d need you to translate?”

  Erik followed slowly as Elsa skipped along beside Rolf and Inga. None of them, not even his mother, glanced back to see if he was coming.

  Someone bumped into Erik from behind, almost knocking him over. “Get out of the way, kid!”

  Erik stumbled, glimpsing pointed-toed boots and wide-brimmed hats. Cowboys! As the two men stepped into a building, one glanced over his shoulder at Erik, revealing a sour face and a drooping black moustache. Through the open door, Erik saw other men sitting at tables, drinking and playing cards.

  A moment later, Elsa dropped back beside Erik. “It doesn’t look anything like Norway, does it?” she said.

  Erik glanced at the grey buildings lining the dusty street. There was nothing behind them but blue sky and prairie.

  “No,” he said shortly. “It doesn’t look anything like Norway.”

  He wished he was still on his grandfather’s farm, not here in this flat land with its unpronounceable name. He missed the mountains and the trees. Even Minnesota was better than this. At least there were hills there. The part of Saskatchewan he’d seen was barren and empty. Only someone who knew nothing about farming would think he could farm here. Someone like his stepfather, who’d never ploughed a field in his life.

  Rolf stopped beside one of the unpainted buildings.

  “This is the store Lars owns with Gunnar Haugen,” he said. He led them around the side of the building past piles of lumber and poles. The door opened just as Rolf lifted his hand to knock. A man stepped outside, stopping suddenly when he saw them.

  “Ah, Rolf Hanson!” he exclaimed in a deep, booming voice. “You’re here quickly. This must be your wife.” He held out his hand to Inga and then to Elsa and Erik. Eric saw his mother wince when he grasped her hand. When his turn came, he realized why. He wondered if Gunnar Haugen had broken anyone’s bones while shaking hands.

  “I’m sorry that Lars and Kirsten aren’t here to greet you,” he said, still speaking Norwegian. He stuck his head into the room behind him. “Luise,” he bellowed, adding in English, “Come out here!”

  “I don’t know how good your English is yet,” he said, switching back to Norwegian. “But Luise, my wife, she speaks German. No Norwegian at all, so I don’t use it around her. She doesn’t talk German to me, either – except when she’s angry, of course.” He laughed as his wife joined them.

  “Come in, come in,” she said. “Do not stay outside.”

  The smell of food surrounded them as they stepped into the kitchen. After days of flatbread and gjetost, Erik was excited to have a real meal again.

  The table was set with bowls and mugs. Mrs. Haugen pointed to a bench for Elsa and Erik, then gave chairs to Inga and Rolf. Mr. Haugen pulled up a chair for himself, still talking. It was English with just a word of Norwegian here and there. His English was simple enough that Erik knew he’d heard most of the words before, but he had to think hard to remember what they meant.

  Mr. Haugen stopped in the middle of a sentence, switching suddenly to Norwegian. “You’re too tired to think English today,” he said. “I’ll quickly tell you in Norwegian, then we’ll go back to easy words in English.”

  Erik nodded with relief, and saw his mother smile.

  “This new town is just thirty-five miles away.” That was fifty-six kilometres, Erik calculated. He’d learned in Minnesota that people measured in miles here, but he was used to the metric system from Norway. “There’s no train yet,” Gunnar Haugen continued, “but they’re working on it. The town will be named Green Valley because of the trees between it and the river.”

  Erik’s ears perked up at the mention of trees.

  “Right now it’s a wheat field,” said Mr. Haugen, “but Lars and I decided not to wait till they auction off the lots. Earlier this spring we built a small building a couple of miles northeast of where the town is going to be. Lars and Kirsten live in the building, and we’re hauling as much lumber there as we can. That boy of his has been a big help. Works like a man, hauling as fast as the train brings it to Hanley.”

  Mr. Haugen stopped speaking as his wife dished out soup with a large metal ladle. Erik’s first spoonful told him it tasted as good as it smelled. Along with the bacon-flavoured cabbage soup were thick slices of fresh white bread. It seemed strange to eat soft bread when it wasn’t Christmas or Easter, but Erik didn’t complain. He declined the gjetost, though. He didn’t want to eat the brown goat cheese again for at least a year.

  “They’ll have the big auction sale in August,” Mr. Haugen went on. “We’ll buy a couple of lots and, since the building is on skids, we can move it to town that very day.”

  Mrs. Haugen offered cake, but both men shook their heads. “We must unload our car,” Rolf said in Norwegian, with Mr. Haugen repeating the words in English. Erik watched Mrs. Haugen put the cake back on the shelf. She caught his eye and smiled.

  “Later,” she said. “Before bed, we have cake.”

  Erik nodded, embarrassed, and followed the men out of the kitchen.

  “Wait for me,” called Elsa from behind them. “I’m coming, too.”

  “You can’t unload the train car,” said Erik. “You’re too little.”

  “I can unload as well as you,” said Elsa, tossing her head so her braids danced. “I’m nine years old.”

  “You’ll be a big help,” said Rolf, holding a hand out to Elsa. “I’m glad you’re coming.”

  When they reached the train, they saw some settlers loading belongings onto wagons, while others were making piles beside the tracks. One family had finished emptying their car and was spreading canvas over the pile.

  Rolf opened the door to the car. The cow and the two oxen turned their heads, and the cow lowed.

  “Time to get out,” said Erik, pulling himself up into the car. While the men placed the ramp in the doorway, Erik untied Tess and turned her around. “No more trains for you,” he said as he encouraged her toward the ramp. “From now on you’ll have to walk.”

  Erik doubted the cow wanted to walk all the way to Green Valley. But, like Erik, she didn’t have a choice.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Closer

  Elsa stood at the bottom of the ramp with a fistful of grass. “Come on, Tess,” she coaxed. “Come get the good grass.”

  Tess headed straight down, her head stretching toward the green blades in Elsa’s hand.

  The oxen, Black and Socks, were soon tethered near her in the grass by the train track. Erik lugged the crate of chickens over beside them. One of the brown hens lay stretched out on the bottom of the cage, while the others walked on top of it. He reached in for the sick chicken, dropping her on the ground. She twitched slightly. Shrugging, Erik gave water to the healthy hens while Elsa filled their food dish. He went back to the car for another load, but Elsa stayed with the hens, trying to get the sick one to drink.

  Near the track they piled the chests and boxes of household supplies brought all the way from Norway, along with the few pieces of furniture they’d purchased in Minnesota.

  Very carefully, Rolf carried out two panes of glass. They were wrapped in a quilt, then slid between pieces of wood.

  “Windows,” said Rolf proudly, “for our new house.”

  Erik tipped over the water barrel, letting the last of the water spill onto the floor of the car before rolling it down the ramp. The other water barrel, heavy with pails, hand
tools and a rifle, had to be moved more carefully.

  As they worked, Erik watched enviously as another family led out six horses, two cows and some pigs. Turning away, he shrugged his shoulders. At least he’d only had to care for three animals on the train, not twelve.

  Mr. Haugen and Rolf half-carried, half-dragged the walking plough. Erik and Elsa brought out stovepipes and tarpaper. Almost invisible against the wall of the boxcar, Erik saw his skis.

  The last thing out of the car was the wagon. As soon as they set it upright and tightened the wheels, Rolf said they would fill it.

  Erik felt his eyebrows shoot up. Now? It’s almost dark.

  “Good thing I came,” said Elsa. She ran over and grabbed the handle of one of the round-top trunks. “Can we put this in first?” she asked.

  “Possibly,” said Rolf. He glanced at the pile of belongings. “Yes, I think so.”

  Loading the wagon took longer than unloading the car. Everything had to be packed carefully to make it fit. In the end there were a few pieces left by the track.

  On top of everything was the crate of chickens. Elsa carried the sick hen in her arms, cradled like a baby.

  “She drank some water,” she told Erik. “I think she’s going to live.”

  Back at the house, Mrs. Haugen served large pieces of rhubarb cake while Inga struggled to describe the rhubarb soup she’d made in Norway.

  When the cake dish was empty, Erik wrapped himself in a blanket on the kitchen floor, glad to be in a house after sleeping so many nights in the train car with the animals.

  The sound of coals being shaken in the stove woke him in the morning.

  “Ready for breakfast?” Mr. Haugen asked in English. Erik nodded and watched him lay thick slices of bacon in a black frying pan.

  Mrs. Haugen took bread and coffee to Erik’s mother in the bedroom. Elsa helped with the dishes while Erik went outside to water the cattle.

  He was just finished when Rolf and Mr. Hanson drove up in a wagon drawn by two immense black horses.

  “Beautiful,” Erik breathed. “As good as grandfather’s horses.”