“You let them go alone?”
Rune shook his head and growled. “They took off, and I only saw Bjorn once. You have no idea what a fiasco that was. Seems all the boys are towheaded.”
“But . . . but where are they now?” She sat up, bracing her back against the wall.
“Signe, they know where we are. They will find us.” He laid his hand on hers, fighting to keep impatience out of his voice. “Did you manage to eat some of that bread you saved?”
“Ja. Hard as a rock, but it has stayed down. I think I’m feeling better. Could you please help me to the necessary?”
“If you can keep from vomiting again from the stench.” He folded back the blanket covering her. “Come, the aisles seem a bit clearer.” He guided her to the head and, making sure he breathed through his mouth, waited until she finished.
“Can we get some water on our way back?”
“If the barrel has been refilled. They did serve coffee with breakfast.” He glanced down at her. “Nei, don’t get your hopes up. The breakfast was like the supper. Not enough to fill a bowl and so watered down that the porridge was more like gruel. We soaked our bread in it.”
Back at their bunks, Knute and Leif shifted from one foot to the other.
“Where is Bjorn?” Rune asked.
They both shrugged.
“Did he not come back in at the announcement?” They looked at each other and shrugged again. “He was supposed to watch out for you.”
Knute dug in his pocket. “I got two pennies. Leif got a piece of candy, but he already ate it.”
“I want to go out there again.” Leif looked up. “How come those nice people threw pennies for us?”
Rune started to give his disgusted opinion but stopped. Why take away the little joy his boys found out there? He looked to Signe, who was still shaking her head. Instead he dug in his pocket. “Here, Leif, this one hit me, so you may have it. Signe, do you feel up to our English lessons?”
“Nei, but perhaps tomorrow. You can teach me what you have already learned. Aren’t you concerned that Bjorn could be in trouble?”
“What kind of trouble? He is either still outside or came in. He can’t get off the ship.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She slid down to lie flat again. “Perhaps if I sleep, I will wake up well again. How I would have loved to see the sunshine and the blue sky. To breathe clean air.”
“Perhaps they will do the same tomorrow.” He tucked the blanket around her. “Come, boys, our teacher is waiting.” At least I hope he is.
Where, indeed, was Bjorn? And who was he with? Rune blew out a breath. Surely this was not a portent of life in America.
Chapter
3
Ellis Island was worse than anyone had warned them.
By the time they had waited in line to board the boat to the island, waited in line to enter the monstrous building, waited in line for the physicians to approve them, and waited in line to eat supper at real tables, they were given beds for the night, and Signe felt like a sleepwalker. Her ears ached from the constant noise. But the supper more than made up for the waiting, and cots with bedding seemed palatial compared with the board bunk beds on the ship.
She ordered the boys to remain right beside her after breakfast when Rune went to inquire about getting to Grand Central Station. There they would board a train for Buffalo, New York, where they would board a ship named Juniata for the final voyage to Duluth, Minnesota.
“We must hurry,” he said when he returned. “We will have another line to board a ferry across the river, and then we will walk to the train station.”
“What about our trunks?” Bjorn asked.
“They will be loaded on a wagon at the dock and then onto the train. That is part of our ticket.”
Signe closed her eyes. Uff da! Was nothing going to be easy on this trip? “And we ride the wagon too?”
“Nei, we will walk. They say it is not that far.”
She turned to her sons. “You will carry your packs, and you will stay right with us. There will be no stopping to look. I don’t care what all you can see. Do you hear me?” She looked each of them right in the eye. “Bjorn?”
He nodded, staring down at his hands.
“Look at me!” When he did so, she continued. “There will be no running off like on the ship, you hear me?”
When had Bjorn grown taller than her five foot seven? Did he grow inches on that ship? He looked more like his far all the time, even to the cleft on his chin, which was not a Carlson trait. Already his body was growing into a sturdier frame than Rune’s.
Again he nodded.
“You are all listening to your mor, right?”
All three nodded, but Signe caught the sideways look that Knute sent to Bjorn. “You can practice your English on the way, but if you get separated from us . . .” She shook her head. If only they had stayed in Norway. At least her sons were safe there. Bjorn had always been so dependable, but on the ship . . . Uff da did not begin to cover her feelings. Fear crouched like a lion, seeking to destroy at every opportunity.
Had she a rope, she might be tempted to tie them together in a line.
The sight of the skyline of the city as they crossed the river struck even more fear into her heart. Liverpool had been huge, but this? They docked and made sure their trunks were loaded for the train station, then set out at a brisk pace. There was no way they could walk abreast on the crowded sidewalks.
“You lead the way, Rune. I will follow at the rear.” She’d much rather be next to him, but the crowds made that impossible. At one point she almost lost them when he turned a corner and she got shuffled back by other people waiting to cross the street. Her heart thudded as if she’d been running until Bjorn, screaming her name, came pushing through the crowd and grabbed her hand.
Rune stopped and pointed to a huge domed building that covered several streets. “That is the station. The man on the boat said we couldn’t miss it. It is bigger than our town at home.”
They pushed through the swinging doors and walked down some stairs. Signs pointed to the ticket booths and down more stairs to the tracks where the trains waited. “To Buffalo,” Rune said when they finally reached the window. “For five.”
The man eyed their tickets. “You”—he said a few words in English Rune couldn’t catch—“steamer to Duluth?”
Rune nodded, grateful he knew some of the words at least.
The man stamped their tickets and pointed to the stairs. “There will be signs in Buffalo for the docks for the ships.”
“You are going to Duluth too?” a man asked from behind them in Norwegian.
“Ja.”
“Can you speak English?”
“Very little.”
“My name is Lindstrom.” He held out a hand to shake Rune’s. “I’m going to Duluth too, and I’ve done this before. Follow me.”
Signe’s first thought was relief, her second—could this man be trusted? But Rune waited, and the two men walked together, talking as if they’d known each other for years. The boys stayed right with their father so as not to miss a word.
Signe followed, praying their trunks would get on the train and then the ship, praying she could keep up. Her frustration grew with Rune, who seemed to be having the time of his life and forgetting his family. After all, he had vowed to watch out for her. Among other things. She jumped when the train beside the platform blasted steam. What was she doing? Why had she ever agreed to come on this horrible journey? Adventure, Rune had called it. Her head felt as if it might fall off and roll under the train wheels.
Rune at least waited to help her board their train. Bjorn beckoned them to empty seats, where they shoved what they could in the overhead compartments. The two men took the seats ahead of the four facing each other where she and the boys stored their things, and she dropped onto the scruffy, once-velvet seat. The grime on the windows made the world outside look dull and gray. She heard the conductor shout, “All aboard!” and the t
rain jerked and screeched into motion. The boys glued themselves to the window, rubbing the grime off with their jacket sleeves. She wished she could watch the world go by too, but at the moment she needed the necessary. She tapped Rune on the shoulder, and he pointed to the end of the car.
The room was not much larger than she was, but at least it was clean. She washed her hands under warm running water. The ghost she saw in the mirror above the sink made her shake her head. Ja, that was indeed her. With dampened fingers, she tried to smooth some order into the dark honey hair braided and wrapped around her head. She repinned her hat, which surely was as disgusted with the trip as she. A knock at the door made her heart jump.
“I am sorry,” she muttered as she hurried out. How did one even apologize in English?
The man tipped his hat and answered something. She nodded and moved out of the way, the lurching train making her grab for the wall. Uff da! Would this never end? Back in her seat, her stomach reminded her that they’d last eaten on Ellis Island, many hours before. The biscuits she’d tucked in her reticule would have to do. Did Einar send money for food on the train? At least once onboard the ship, meals would be included, and hopefully superior to those served in steerage. They wouldn’t be of much use on the farm if they starved to death on the way.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her seat, the swaying of the train making her feel faint again. Oh, for even a moment of quiet.
“Mor, I’m hungry,” whispered Leif.
“I know.” How far would three biscuits stretch? She dug the napkin-wrapped packet from her bag and broke one in half. “You share this with Knute, but eat it slowly. It has to last.” Until when, she wasn’t sure. She gave half of hers to Bjorn with the same admonition.
“This is all we have?”
“For now.”
If only she had thought to save more food. Rune had frowned at her when he saw her wrapping the biscuits as it was. But he didn’t think of his sons, who needed to eat more often than he did.
Rune and Mr. Lindstrom kept on talking as if they’d known each other for a lifetime. Signe watched her boys, pointing out people on iron stairs that zigzagged up the walls of the brick buildings lining the track, or the wash hung on lines attached to those walls. Finally there were houses, then open country with trees and barns and cattle in the fields. They saw farmers on tractors or with teams plowing, even seeding. Would they ever have a farm like that? She shifted closer to the window so she could see better. They crossed rivers and creeks, the incessant clack of the wheels changing when on bridges.
The conductor came through after every stop, his voice announcing the next in metallic tones. The dining car was open for business. Someone had told her that eating in the dining car on a train cost more than a day’s wages.
Leif leaned against her. “My stomach really needs food, Mor.”
“When we get to the boat, we will have meals as part of the ticket. We’ll just have to wait.”
“How long?”
She shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
As dusk drew a curtain over the entertainment out the window, the voice announced that supper was being served in the dining car.
Mr. Lindstrom stood. “Are you going for supper? I’m sure your boys think someone cut their throats by now.”
“Uh . . . later,” Rune replied.
“Did your relative not include money to feed your family?”
“He included some emergency money.”
“Well, as far as I can tell, lack of food can constitute an emergency. Especially to growing boys.”
Signe closed her eyes. Surely Rune could swallow his pride for the sake of his boys. She breathed a sigh of relief when he stood.
“I guess we could have a bowl of soup.”
Knute started to cheer, but Rune gave him a look that worked like a hand clapped over his mouth.
Like ducks in a row, they all followed Mr. Lindstrom down the swaying coach and through a door that opened to a blast of hot air and the sight of tracks below their feet, the coupling of the cars shrieking metal against metal. Signe breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind her in the next car. At least the boys hadn’t stopped to chatter about what they saw below them. Another glimpse of the railroad ties flashing past set both her head and stomach to churning again.
One more open stretch between cars, and they entered the dining car, where white tablecloths covered all the tables set in front of the windows. They found two tables across the aisle from each other and pulled out the chairs. Surely this was too grand for the likes of them. Signe smoothed the tablecloth with an admiring hand. She had only one tablecloth in their trunks, and that for company, an extravagance she’d snuck in as a reminder that life would not always be hand-to-mouth living.
If that was possible. If they ever had a home of their own again.
A black waiter in a stiff white shirt and black bow tie stood at their tables with a pad and pencil. “Do you need menus?” he asked.
Signe could feel her eyes widen and looked to silence the boys. While they had seen people with dark skin on the ship and on the streets in New York, they’d not been this close to one. She glanced at her sons, who looked about to burst with comments. A barely visible shake of her head set them to staring at the white tablecloth.
Rune shook his head. “We’ll each have a bowl of soup.”
The waiter rattled off an explanation, and Mr. Lindstrom translated. “They have vegetable beef or creamed potato. Which do you prefer? And bread comes with that. Coffee or milk?”
Signe uttered a silent prayer of gratitude. Surely she could take some bread with them for the morning.
“The beef soup, please, and milk for the boys.”
“I’ll have the pork chops,” Mr. Lindstrom added after giving their order to the waiter.
Signe sat at a table with her boys while the men were across the aisle. How the waiters managed to carry trays full of plates down the swaying aisle was beyond her. She could hardly walk without hanging on to the backs of the seats, and they carried the trays with one hand, above their shoulders.
“How do they do that?” Knute whispered from beside her.
She shook her head. “I have no idea. I guess they’ve had lots of practice.”
She looked around the car. Most of the diners were dressed in fashionable clothes, with lovely fabrics in the women’s dresses and fine wool in the men’s coats along with starched white shirts. They were all fair of skin.
When one of the younger waiters set bowls of soup in front of them, she paused to inhale the fragrance. Her stomach told her to hurry, but she looked to each of the boys. “Bjorn, you say grace, please.”
His wide-eyed look almost made her smile. He muttered the grace that they always used in a rapid-fire pace and lifted his head to her nod of approval. They were no longer in Norway, but some things they would carry on with. They dipped their bread into the soup, the food disappearing in one breath.
The older black man stopped at their table again. “May I bring you more soup and bread?” He motioned to their bowls.
“Really?” The word burst out before she could stop it.
“Yes, ma’am.” He flashed a smile to both her and the boys. “Growin’ . . . need . . . food.” Even his voice was different, softer, and while she didn’t understand all the words, she got the gist of it.
She called on her newly learned English to say, “Thank you.”
All three boys echoed her words.
The man nodded and flashed them another of his bright smiles. When he returned, he set full bowls in front of them again, two baskets of crispy white bread, and a dish of butter pats lined up against each other. He also brought a pitcher and refilled their glasses with cold milk.
They said thank you in unison this time.
Signe ate slowly, not sure how much more she could hold. But there was no way to save the soup. She’d been sneaking bread into her bag, only allowing herself one piece so she could save more for the
boys. Finally she asked quietly, “Would any of you care for the rest of my soup?”
Bjorn nodded immediately and swapped his empty bowl with hers.
When the waiter returned, he nodded and smiled. “I can . . . more.” The more they understood. At their shaking heads, he asked again.
Signe looked to Bjorn, who shook his head too, mimicking stuffed cheeks. “Thank you. Nei—no.”
The waiter gathered up the dishes. When they started to stand to leave, he shook his head and motioned them to sit. “Be right back.” He returned with a basket of assorted cookies, set it in the middle of the table, and after refilling their glasses and her coffee cup, motioned to them to enjoy.
The basket was empty when they left the dining car. What they’d not eaten, the boys had tucked away in their pockets. Signe’s bag carried more cookies, along with bread. Drinking water, at least, was free.
At last the costly train trip ended, and another ship journey began. Compared with steerage on the ship crossing the ocean, the second-class cabin they were assigned on the ship in Buffalo was a glimpse of heaven. Bunks with clean bedding, room under the bottom bunk to store their personal baggage, and posted on the back of the door were the serving hours of the dining room.
“Three meals a day.” Bjorn spun to look at his mor. “Why is this ship so different than the other?”
“I have no idea. Just be grateful.”
“Can we go out on the deck to watch us leave the dock?”
Signe looked to Rune, who nodded.
“Let’s all go out there. Mr. Lindstrom said there are no restrictions on this ship like those on the other. We will stop in Chicago and some other ports, so I understand.” He stared directly at each boy, his brow furrowed in a way that they understood. There would be no mercy if they went beyond the bounds. “You will not get off at any of the ports but our final one in Duluth. Do you understand?”
“But we can explore the ship?” Bjorn nodded as he spoke, his blue eyes sparkling in anticipation.
“Ja, but when a sign says no, you will not go there. No sneaking around.”
The Promise of Dawn Page 3
