Free Racing Home by Adele Dueck

piece of the heavy dark bread and gazed at it sightlessly. Would his father be proud of him? Or would he take all his work for granted, like Rolf? How could he ever know?
    “What are you going to do today?” Inga asked.
    Erik shook his head slightly and reached for the butter. Butter they wouldn’t have if he didn’t milk Tess.
    “Look for more winter feed, I guess.”
    The door opened and Rolf came in along with a gust of wind that lifted dust on the floor. Inga poured him a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.
    “I saw Lars yesterday,” said Rolf. “He was just back with a load of lumber from Hanley.” He took a sip of his coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The auction sale is only a couple weeks away, and he wants to be ready.”
    “Auction sale?” repeated Elsa. “Are they auctioning the wood?”
    “Don’t you remember what Mr. Haugen told us?” said Erik. “They’re selling the business lots in Green Valley at the end of August. Uncle Lars is hoping the people who buy lots will buy his wood, too.”
    “I thought Olaf was doing the hauling,” said Inga.
    “Apparently he found something else to fill his days,” said Rolf. His voice was stiff.
    Erik left to get the oxen, wondering what it felt like to have a son who wouldn’t talk to you.
    When he stepped outside, the first thing he saw was Tess standing in the garden, carrot tops hanging from her mouth.
    “You stupid cow!” Erik yelled, tearing toward her. Up till now she’d run loose without a problem, always coming back to drink at the slough, but he wasn’t surprised the garden had caught her eye. It was the greenest place around, even though the plants were still small. They’d eaten a few carrots as Inga thinned them, and one day they’d had fresh potatoes, but the vegetables needed weeks of sunshine to get full-sized. Rain wouldn’t hurt, either.
    Tess turned and ran into the prairie, stumbling over the uneven ground Rolf had broken. Erik let her go, but the next time he had her, she was going to be tethered like the oxen, though he’d be walking a long way to do it. He got the oxen from where he’d tethered them on the other side of the quarter and led them to the slough.
    Nearby, Rolf was building a tripod over the well hole.
    “This will make it easier to bring up the dirt,” he said. Erik nodded. They’d been working on the well in odd moments between other jobs, but progress was slow. This pulley should speed things up somewhat. Now they just needed something to make the digging easier.
    Rolf yoked the oxen to the plough while Erik watered his trees. The leaves on one were wilted and drooping, but the other stood straight and strong, as if it had never been moved.
    Picking up the scythe, Erik headed west, toward the river, looking for grass that no one else was claiming. He found a small patch at the bottom of a hill and cut it swiftly. Leaving it to dry, he moved on looking for another patch.
    The sound of hoofbeats caused him to swing around. Two horses and riders cantered toward him. One pulled to a stop a short distance away, the other rode in a circle around Erik, stopping right in front of him.
    “Hi, there, walking boy,” exclaimed Olaf in English.
    Erik stepped back instinctively, then stretched his hand out to pat the horse’s neck.
    “Is this your horse, Olaf?” he asked, sticking with Norwegian. “He’s beautiful.” The horse was all black, except for a blaze on his forehead and the raw skin of the fresh Boxed Q brand.
    “Unfortunately not,” said Olaf. “One day I’ll have my own horse, but these belong to Pete. Jim and I are just trying them out.”
    Erik greeted Jim. The man with Olaf looked at home on the horse in his wide-brimmed grey hat, cowboy boots and leather chaps. Jim nodded at Erik without speaking. Pulling a pouch from his jacket pocket, he rolled a cigarette.
    “I heard you’re not hauling lumber anymore,” said Erik, turning back to Olaf. “Are you working for