Icecutter's Daughter, The Page 6

  “The ice is nine inches,” Merrill’s father called, having drilled down into the frozen lake only a few minutes earlier. Nine inches was deep enough. Merrill also knew he preferred an even ten inches, but he’d settle for nine just to get an early start on the ice harvesting. People in the South wanted ice for their drinks and refrigeration, and who could deny them? The pay was good and the commodity rare—at least farther south. Merrill couldn’t help but smile as she looked around the frozen lake and snow-covered landscape. Ice was plentiful here.

  With her father’s authorization to go ahead, Merrill and her brothers began scoring the ice. The work was tedious, but Merrill couldn’t help but feel a little thrill of fear each time she walked the Belgians farther onto the ice. The horses weighed thousands of pounds, and while the ice was thick enough to sustain them, she couldn’t help worrying about coming across an unexpected weak patch. She’d seen a horse break through the water once. Merrill shuddered at the memory and quickly turned her attention back to Peter and Paul. “We’ll not be having any of those accidents today,” she assured them, praying that it would be so.

  “You talking to the horses again?” Flynn asked as he led one of the other teams to their place.

  “Sometimes I prefer talking to them,” Merrill replied. “They don’t talk back or ask silly questions.”

  Flynn laughed and kept moving. “Just making sure you haven’t lost your wits, sister dear.”

  Merrill shook her head. Since she was the only young woman in a houseful of men, Merrill often wondered that she had any sense left at all. Peter gave a soft snort and Merrill couldn’t help but smile. “You know us all too well, don’t you, boy?”

  “The cold can get to you before you know it,” Leo Krause told Rurik. They stood in the yard near the Krause barn. “We’re always glad for the extra help, but you should be aware of the risks.” He handed Rurik a pair of thick woolen mittens. “These will keep your hands warmer than gloves. The air gets trapped inside and adds extra heat.” He then handed over a pair of leather mittens. “And these you wear over those, and it will give you better grip.”

  “My uncle advised me of the dangers,” Rurik said, pulling on both pairs of mittens. “However, I’ve not done much of this kind of work. We harvested ice only a couple of times when I was a boy. After that my father was only too glad to buy his ice from someone else.”

  Leo nodded. “Well, as eldest in this family, I’ve helped harvest ice nearly all of my thirty years. Sometimes I think I was born on the ice. Unfortunately, with machinery and other means of making ice, I think our harvesting days are numbered. Every year the orders are fewer.”

  Rurik wasn’t sure what to say. Losing one’s livelihood was a fearful thing. “Do you do other work besides the ice harvest?”

  “Oh sure. We use the horses to help with logging and freighting. We definitely keep busy. It’s a good business. What of your family?”

  “All farmers, except me. I never found my interests in the soil.”

  “So you make furniture like Carl.”

  “Ja, that’s what I’m good for.” Rurik held up his hands. “And hopefully for ice harvesting, too.”

  “Let’s get to it, then. We’ll try to break you in slow—have you drive the ice back and forth from the lake to the icehouse. I’ll show you where that is before we head down. I’m sure the others are wondering where I am.” Leo led the way to the wagon where a pair of sorrel draft horses, already harnessed, stamped and snorted in the cold.

  They made a brief stop by the icehouse, where Leo explained what Rurik’s job would be. “The men stationed here will handle the unloading.” Leo waved one of the men over. “This is Basil Adlum. Basil, this is Carl Jorgenson’s nephew, Rurik Jorgenson.”

  “Good to meet you. Your uncle is a good man. We play checkers most every Sunday afternoon.”

  Rurik smiled. “I imagine he’s hard to beat—at least speaking from my own experience.” Basil seemed close to Carl’s age, but much stronger and healthier.

  Leo pointed to the other men. “Basil and his sons will handle this end of the process.”

  “We’ve been doing this since we were children,” Basil offered. “Hard work, but it goes much easier when you work together.”

  “They’ve brought a couple of Belgians, and they’ll take turns running the lift. They’ll hook the horse up here,” Leo said, pointing to a series of harnesses and ropes. “As you see, it’s attached to the ice lift. When they pull the horse forward, the ice will be raised to that door up top.” Rurik noted the door as Leo continued. “Then other men will take the ice and position it in the icehouse and pack sawdust to insulate. The train will arrive the first of the week and take all we can load. You’re welcome to come back and help with that.”

  “I’ll see if Uncle Carl can spare me.”

  Leo nodded. “You can see that the lift is slanted just a bit. The men will waste no time sliding the ice off, and the man handling the horse down below will back the animal up and the lift will lower to receive another block of ice. It goes very quickly with a well-trained team.”

  “And we’re the best,” Basil offered with a smile.

  “Indeed they are. We help each other with ice harvest around here,” Leo explained. “Come on. We’d best get down to the lake. We’re losing the day. Basil, we’ll have that first load up to you soon.”

  Rurik enjoyed the ride out to the lake. The countryside was frosted in snow and ice, but the brilliant morning sun made the ground and trees glitter like diamonds. There was a sense of exhilaration in the air as they made their way to join the others.

  There were several people already hard at work scoring the ice. The horse teams out on the lake plodded along, pulling runners that sliced grooves into the frozen lake. “Looks like they’ve begun cutting without us,” Rurik declared.

  “They’ll only cut it six inches,” Leo explained. “They’ll score it off and then drill in and saw blocks in sections. We’ll start in one area and process across the lake, being careful to leave the surface strong enough to support the teams and people.

  “That’s my family,” Leo announced. “My father is over there. I’ll introduce you.” He pulled the wagon to a stop near the ramp where they would bring the ice up out of the lake. Leo carefully positioned the back of the wagon at the edge of the ramp.

  “This is how you’ll have to do it,” Leo told Rurik. “You want to be sure and get the bed of the wagon even with the ramp to make the loading easier. We’ll slide the blocks of ice up the ramp, and you’ll take a hook and help pull them into the wagon. We try to get as much on each load as possible and then take it to the icehouse where Mr. Adlum and his boys can unload it.” After he was satisfied with the positioning and had set the brake, Leo nodded to Rurik. “Come, and I’ll introduce you to my father.”

  They trudged out onto the frozen lake, and Leo pointed to one of the teams of horses. “That’s Merrill over there with the duns. Then to your right is Tobe, and the farther team is Zadoc. And this,” Leo said, pausing in front of two very tall men, “is my father, Bogart Krause, and my brother Flynn.”

  “Who have we here?” Mr. Krause asked.

  “This is Carl Jorgenson’s nephew, Rurik. He’s come to help in Carl’s stead.”

  Rurik extended his hand. “I hope you don’t mind. Uncle Carl was not feeling up to it this time.”

  Krause nodded. “He’s not a healthy man anymore, but still I hate to tell him no. A man doesn’t like to be put out to pasture. I was glad to hear you were coming to help him with the business. Good to meet you.” He shook Rurik’s hand. “Do you know much about this kind of work?”

  “No, but I learn fast,” Rurik said, smiling.

  “I figured he could drive the wagon back and forth to the icehouse.”

  “That would be good,” Krause replied. “Are Basil and his boys ready?”

  “Yes. I spoke with them first. They’re back there laying sawdust and readying the lift.”

  “Good.
Well, as you can see, Rurik, we’ve been scoring the ice. We’ll get to work cutting blocks now. It’s a lengthy process, but the pay is good.”

  After that, there was very little conversation. Rurik insisted on helping with the initial cuts, and by the time the blocks were loaded, he was more than willing to take a break and drive the wagon. The hard work helped stave off the cold, but Rurik found himself longing for a warm fire and maybe even a cup of something hot.

  Nevertheless, he worked alongside Leo and his brothers for many hours before a break was called. They threw blankets over the backs of the horses, gave them water and oats, then sat around a nice fire to warm up a bit. There were refreshments of coffee and sandwiches, and all of the men, with exception to Merrill, ate and drank their fill. Merrill, on the other hand, showered attention on the horses.

  Rurik greatly admired the Krauses, an obviously industrious bunch. They worked as one, seemingly knowing by instinct what the other would do. He supposed it came from years of practice and working together. Just like a wheat harvest in Kansas.

  The brother introduced as Flynn joined Rurik by the fire. “You’ve been a good hand to have,” he told Rurik. “Sure glad you came out to help us.”

  “My pleasure. I was just sitting here admiring the way you all work together. It reminded me of my family in Kansas.”

  “We know our responsibilities. Our father made it clear that we were each expected to hold our own. Now it’s almost become a competition.” He grinned. “I for one can work circles around Leo. He’s getting too old and fat.”

  Rurik laughed. “Well, it doesn’t seem to slow him much. None of your brothers could be faulted for that.”

  After the break they were back to work again, and Rurik felt aches and pains in muscles he’d never known he had. He knew he’d be grateful when the workday came to an end, though he had no idea of when that might happen. He had to admit, however, that he was fascinated with the whole ice-harvest process. The Krause men maneuvered the heavy chunks as if they were a part of their own bodies. The thick slabs were sawed and pried, pulled and positioned into the wagon, then driven to the icehouse. That was where Rurik came in. He found that to be much easier than sawing. The slippery, snow-packed roads were a challenge, but the horses seemed surefooted. Even so, when the light began to fade, Rurik was glad to know the workday was ending.

  He had no sooner returned to the lake with his empty wagon, however, than a commotion at the lake’s edge drew his attention. Bogart Krause was trying to maneuver one of the teams, and something had caused the horse on the right to become agitated. He refused to cooperate.

  Rurik wondered if he should do something to lend a hand, but then, without warning, the horse began to fight the man’s hold on the reins. The gelding was trying to rear, but the constraints of his harness and mate only made him more frantic.

  “Whoa, Herrman. Stand fast.” But the draft horse had no interest in instruction, and by now his distress was making the other horse frantic. Before Rurik could set the brake and climb down to offer assistance, Bogart Krause was knocked to the ground.

  One of his sons came running, but before he could reach his father, the horse named Herrman reared into the air and came down on top of Krause. The older man cried out in pain. In one quick motion, Rurik leaped from the wagon and ran down the ramp to the injured man. He couldn’t be sure which brother was working to calm the team, but there was no time for formalities or niceties. Rurik quickly grabbed hold of Bogart Krause’s arm and pulled him away from the flailing hooves.

  By now the Krause brothers were gathered around, and they lifted their moaning father and pointed to the wagon Rurik had been driving.

  “Let’s get him in the wagon and back to the house,” Leo instructed.

  Again the men worked as a team, each instinctively knowing what needed to be done. The exception was the one busy with the now-calmer team, leading the two large beasts to an area away from the other horses.

  Leo continued barking out orders. “Rurik, you ride in the wagon with my father. Tobe, Flynn—help Merrill get the teams in. Zadoc, you come with me. I’ll probably need your help carrying Father into the house.”

  No one questioned the man, but went quickly to work. Bogart Krause moaned from his injuries, but attempted to protest that he was fine as they made their way back to the house.

  “I’m sure it’s just sore ribs and such,” he said through gritted teeth. “Nothing feels broken.”

  “Just the same, it’s best that you get back and let the doctor look you over,” Rurik countered.

  Inside the house, Rurik helped Leo and Zadoc make their father more comfortable. With great care he unlaced the older man’s boots and pulled them from his feet while Leo checked his father for broken bones. It wasn’t long before the last of the brothers joined them, the one Leo had called Merrill.

  Rurik was stunned, as this one began to shed layers of protective garments, to discover that this sibling was not a man at all, but a woman. A beautiful woman with soulful eyes that held great concern for her wounded father. She gave Rurik a brief nod and pulled a knit cap from her head. Long, dark curls fell about her shoulders and down her back. Rurik had a strange urge to run his fingers down the wild mane, but of course did nothing of the kind. Merrill didn’t seem to notice the effect she had on him.

  “Father, how are you feeling?” she asked, bending over him.

  “I’m all right, daughter. You’re all making too much of a fuss.”

  “I’d wager your body is saying otherwise.” She raised his shirt and carefully began to run her fingers over the man’s chest and ribs. “Are you breathing all right? Does anything feel broken?”

  “Nothing’s damaged but my pride,” the older man muttered. “Now stop fussing.” He struggled to sit up, but gasped and laid down again. “It’s . . . my back,” he said, looking at Merrill with a bewildered expression.

  She nodded. “You boys get Father in bed, and I’ll bring him something for the pain.”

  After some time, Merrill determined that her father’s back was only strained and that the horses had done little damage overall. Bogart Krause tried to argue with his daughter when she demanded he stay in bed, but Rurik got the distinct impression he wasn’t trying all that hard to fight her.

  The Krause brothers insisted Rurik stay for supper, and when the meal was finally presented, he found that his appetite wouldn’t have let him leave even if he’d wanted to. He sat between Flynn and Zadoc and marveled at the thick meatballs and gravy covering mounds of mashed potatoes and sauerkraut. He’d never eaten such a combination before but found the variety of flavors to be quite complementary. Added to this were buttery rolls the likes of which Rurik had never tasted—light and just a touch sweet. It looked like Merrill had prepared much of it ahead of time and finished it up after working the ice harvest all day and taking care of her injured father to boot!

  Merrill checked on her father from time to time and took him additional food, but otherwise she seemed content to let her brothers do all the talking. Rurik answered their questions about his work with furniture and his plans for the future, but all the while he kept his eyes on the young woman, hoping no one would notice. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known. Even his own sisters . . . the women in Rurik’s life, with exception of Svea, had all been strong, industrious workers. But Merrill seemed to outshine them all. Rurik couldn’t imagine the woman ever sat idle.

  After the meal Rurik helped to pick up the dishes while Merrill’s brothers excused themselves to see to chores. Following Merrill into the kitchen, Rurik immediately noticed the painted cabinetry.

  “This is quite beautiful,” he said, placing a stack of dishes by the sink. The cupboards were painted a powdery blue and trimmed in white. The white borders had been carefully decorated with colorful flowers and entwining green vines. “May I ask who painted the cupboards?”

  “I did,” Merrill answered as she poured hot water from the kettle into the basin.

 
“You’re very talented, Miss Krause.”

  “Call me Merrill, and thank you,” she said, placing the cutlery and plates in the water to soak. “My mother taught me. She loved to paint, and I do, too.”

  Rurik made his way to a pie safe. On the doors, Merrill had created pastoral scenes for each of the four seasons. “This is charming. I think it would be a wonderful thing to offer on the furniture my uncle Carl builds. I can imagine women all over the country enjoying such a piece.” He looked back at Merrill for her response.

  She shrugged. “It’s something I do to feel close to my mother. She died when I was ten.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Merrill. It couldn’t have been easy growing up without any womenfolk around.”

  “It’s worked out well enough.” She shrugged. “Would you like to see a dresser my mother painted?”

  He smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

  She picked up a lamp and led the way into a small room off the main hallway. “She did that green piece right under the window.” She crossed the room and placed the lamp atop the dresser. “She was considerably more talented than I.”

  “Not from what I’m seeing here. I easily note the same remarkable traits. You’re both gifted.”

  Merrill smiled. “Thank you.”

  He again was struck by her expressive face, particularly her eyes.

  She seemed embarrassed by his praise, so Rurik said nothing more about her artistry. But in the back of his mind he was already making plans to speak to his uncle. It was entirely possible that Miss Krause could be a great asset to them. Painted furniture was popular, and Rurik knew there was nothing like it at the Jorgenson Furniture shops.

  Smiling to himself, he followed Merrill back to the kitchen. He picked up a towel and began to dry the dishes as she washed them, and considered how he might go about convincing his uncle.