An Untamed Land Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Oh, hutte meg tu!” The words were whispered in awe. Buildings rose so high they blocked out the westering sun and numbered beyond her time and ability to count them all.
    “Come, come.” Roald turned around and frowned at her when he realized she wasn’t right beside him. Ingeborg put her feet in motion, though her mind remained suspended in disbelief. Could men really build anything so tall? Or was New York like the Tower of Babel, and God just hadn’t gotten around to crushing them down yet?
    Roald grunted under the weight of the load he carried. Not bothering to excuse himself, he pushed and shoved through clusters of jabbering immigrants who swarmed the docks like flies. The sight of huge black men, naked to the waist, lugging crates and barrels up a plank to a neighboring ship gave him pause. “Uff da,” he muttered, shaking his head. But it didn’t slow his pace.
    He stepped out of the way of a horse-pulled cart when the driver yelled at him. The tone and sneer of the man told him the words were lacking in hospitality.
    “If you’d speak Norwegian like any decent man, I’d have moved sooner,” Roald responded, returning glare for glare until man and beast passed by.
    So much for a warm welcome to his new land. He clapped his mind shut against the thought that the newspaper articles had been less than honest about Amerika welcoming all newcomers with open arms and free land.
    After three long years of planning and saving, he was finally here. That was enough. And his family was safe. He flinched again at the memory of Ingeborg leaning so far over the rail. One accidental shove and she’d have flown overboard. Uff da. Yet the merry smile that crinkled around her gray eyes made his mouth twitch in response. Ingeborg, Ingeborg. What am I to do with you?
    He stopped when he reached the head of the pier. Now he stood on solid land. His new land. His dream had come true! He set the bundles down and rubbed the shoulder where the box had dug a furrow into a muscle. “Ingeborg, just a . . .” But when he turned, she wasn’t there.

     
    Ingeborg followed the laden Roald down the ramp and up the cobblestone pier. Teems of immigrants from other ships and stevedores surged around her, carrying them along like twigs on a stream newly released from the bondage of winter. She hurried to keep Roald in sight. God help them if they got separated now.
    Strange languages flowed around her, people shouted above the noise of the crowd, and ships’ whistles bellowed out their calls—all blending into a mishmash of sounds that crashed against her eardrums. And she’d thought the ship’s engines loud! She wrinkled her nose and tried to breathe in small sniffs at a time. Rotting vegetables, horse droppings, smoke, unwashed bodies—the pungent smells assaulted her nostrils as intensely as the sounds did her ears.
    Roald strode on ahead of her.
    “Come, Thorliff, we must hurry.” She pulled him closer to her side and tried to move faster, but the carpetbag on her other arm weighted her down. A brisk wind snatched at the veil of her hat, threatening to carry it over the edge and into the oily water below.
    Roald disappeared in the surging mass ahead of her. She could no longer see his tall hat above the others.
    Fear clutched at her chest, driving the air out and cramping her belly. “Hang on to my skirt,” she commanded Thorliff, her voice breathless. She set the carpetbag down with a thump, reached up with both arms, and unpinned her precious hat, stuffing it in the bag at her feet. At least she wouldn’t lose that. She hefted the bag again, grasped Thorliff’s hand, and determinedly set forth. Roald would be waiting up ahead.
    When they reached the juncture of wharf and pier, Roald stood amid their pile of belongings, his arms crossed. His eyebrows formed a straight line, and his scowl cut deep slashes from nose to chin.
    “I thought you were right behind me. What if I lost you?”
    Ingeborg bit back a reply. She